i have decisions to make this week: non profit or corporate? the choice is down to these two organizations, both of them great. one will make me happy; the other will allow me to pay down debt (which will make me happy, but in a different way.)

roomie was offered a job today with a consulting company - yay!

so this week will be my turn.

i'll miss my mornings.

for the feminists in the room: dr b.

a very hot discussion about feminism going on over at my friend Bitch. Ph.D.'s blog. be sure to also scroll down a bit and read her post about trusting women. it was so spot on i had to stand back and go 'wow.' just - wow.

dang, i like smart women.

The Black Commentator : The Plot to Destroy Social Insurance - Issue 133

The Black Commentator - Cover Story: Death by Design - The Plot to Destroy Social Insurance - Issue 133

why? because it's late, i'm about to go to bed, and in case the guy on whose blog i posted a snarky comment about why privatizing social security is bad for brown people stops by.

i shouldn't complain

from the greenfairy over in london, i guess i shouldn't complain about poss. working for the non-profit sector for 15k less than i made last year. i should be glad i'm not living in england.

random

tax day. thank god for e-file.

i'm spring cleaning this week; have reorganized the bedroom, bought a bookcase, separated clothes in Charity and Laundry piles; have interviewed twice this week (should know today whether i'm in or out); have purchased new yellow file folders and must decide what i'm going to do with all my shoes.

must also apologize to M- for totally forgetting we were having lunch on monday. i think i hurt his feelings. (you know, when you don't call to confirm, i have a memory like swiss cheese.)

let's wish roomie good luck on her interviews today.

real republican values

via echidne we get to see what republican members of the house voted for re: the bankruptcy bill.

it's a succinct post that makes me think their votes distinctly qualify as class warfare, don't you?

(ok, i have to go to bed. early morning interview.)

how to ruin comic books for everyone

The Heretik: From the Same People Who Brought You a Cartoon President!

so basically, our brilliant idea is that iraqi children are going to be extremely enthusiastic about a 'roid rage version of disney's jasmine whose boobs are falling out of her radioactive suit.

cuz, you know, they won't GET that she's an infidel tool of the united states or nothin'.

(what i love best about this tactic in the overall strategy to democratize the middle east is how totally fucking LOW BUDGET this is, as usual. our intel was low budget, the war/aftermath was half-assed and NOW we resort to superheroes. fantasy. myth. i know - why don't we just dig up john wayne's corpse, reanimate it and drop it from a helicopter in the middle of sadr city? i'm sure that'll be just as effective.)

another poem: jd mcclatchy

i was a senior when jd mcclatchy was my poetry professor at ucla. he spoke like a prissy brahmin grandmother, wore yellow very well, had a very precisely manicured beard and, occasionally, had to pick his pants from his backside during lectures.

i remember a day when he asked the class who frank o'hara was talking about in 'the day lady died.' some girl chirped 'judy garland?' mcclatchy stared at her, sighed. from the top of the lecture room, i said 'billy holiday. she's lady day.' we looked at each other and then he moved on. the next week, after class, he pulled me aside and gave me an advance copy of rita dove's 'through the ivory gate' saying he thought of me and thought i'd like it.

i like clean poetry that's crisp like cold green apples. so here's one in honor of our current cultural and political moment:

Honest Iago

If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me. And remember, I know my place.
In following him, I follow but myself.
All I want to do is help.

I'd rather have the tongue cut from my mouth
Than speak against my friend. This crack of love
Will grow stronger than it ever was before.
There's reason to cool our raging, no?

I cannot think he means to do you any harm.
The chemotherapy seems promising.
These latest figures will show you what I mean.
All I want to do is help.

I had not thought he was acquainted with her.
Yes, yes, this boxcar is returning to Poland.
Sure, I've already tested negative twice.
I am bound to every act of duty.

Your sins are forgiven. This is only a phase.
I could swear it was her handkerchief I saw.
Trust me. Everything is under control.
All I want to do is help.

From TEN COMMANDMENTS (1998)

poke my eyes out with a flaming fork

this :

a. takes the word 'tacky', dresses it in a pantera t-shirt with gold lame tap pants and then stands it on a corner wearing frosted pink lip gloss.
b. ironically exposes the hollow heart of our post-9/11 patriotism.
c. is almost as sad as bikerfox (almost)

extra credit:
the man who loves america is not wearing underwear. (True/False)

[thanks, bitch and eschaton]

another one for the culture wars: man dates

Feckless is back.

and she comes out the gate with a times article about the curious lengths straight men go to avoid being taken for gay.

sad. the male mind seems to be a rabbit warren. (did i spell that right?)

hi

welcome, heretik.

pharmacists for life: creepy

when a new political action group pops up, as problematic as we find their positions, we tend to assume the people behind them are well-intentioned if a mite misdirected, right? i mean, we may disagree with phyllis schafly but she's not crazy, right? (bad example) or, those chicks at concerned women for america - they're just carried away by their fervor, right?

well, here's the scoop about karen brauer, the president of pharmacists for life. via atrios.

read it, follow the links and wonder at the sheer bucket of crazy this woman is.

then, when you've picked up your jaw from the floor, contact your nearest planned parenthood and ask what you can do to help stop these people.

bwah!!

is that pain in his eyes?

oh, the short path from 1970s heartthrob to...real estate agent.

snort.

via DC MediaGirl

late night blogging: dithering

wednesday, M- and i were supposed to have lunch at his place. now that he's dating our good friend T-, he and i don't really hang out much. (my basic theory: hm, you are no longer available to give me the attention i require, so...) but i had been feeling a little bad that i dropped off the earth for a little bit so we agreed on a cheap lunch date at his place.

M- moved to the northside, across from the catholic church where he's music director. it's an old neighborhood full of families, indie rockers who've been priced out of bucktown and wicker park and people's grandparents. it's like the brooklyn of chicago, almost. since it was a mild blustery day, i decided to take the bus up western to his place and walk over. the best of al green played on my disc man and i was in urban bliss, traveling across the city to my own soul soundtrack.

when i got to his place, i looked for a buzzer. couldn't find one. i read all the little notes and signs on the front door. i even jiggled the doorknob. there was his mailbox. how to get in? i walked around to the side of the building; maybe there was another entrance. nothing except an entrance to a lawyer's office on the ground floor. two white haired old men shuffled past, giving me a once over as i paced on the sidewalk. i called M-. wrong number. strange, i thought. i re-read the signs telling the UPS man to come on up if he had a delivery. whatever, i thought. no one would actually leave their front door unlocked in the city for a UPS man.

so i called M- again. still a wrong number and the guy who answered was getting pissed off. by this time i'd been loitering for about 10 minutes on the sidewalk wondering how i was going to get to M-'s apt. it never ocurred to me to actually open the effing door. i mean, this is the city! who leaves their front door unlocked to all and sundry? off the sidewalk??! it's unsafe!

so i found M-'s car, wrote a note and stuck it under his windshield:
"hey! i was here! i did NOT blow you off! i just didn't want to get arrested for breaking into your building. so...boo. let's reschedule for next week. i have your birthday card. love, ding"

it also never ocurred to me to get ghetto, step into traffic and yell up at his window. i just turned around, started walking the pleasant 5 blocks to the train back to the loop, sang 'how can you mend a broken heart' aloud and spent a lovely afternoon in bookstores reading dirty french poetry instead.

there are things i'll do for friendship but, apparently, using common sense isn't one of them.

late night blogging: poetry is good

it's national poetry month. to celebrate i bought a copy of verlaine's femmes/hommes. yikes. naughty, naughty, naughty.

you must get a copy.

here's one of my favorites from billy collins.

The Best Cigarette

There are many that I miss
having sent my last one out a car window
sparking along the road one night, years ago.

The heralded one, of course:
after sex, the two glowing tips
now the lights of a single ship;
at the end of a long dinner
with more wine to come
and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;
or on a white beach,
holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.

How bittersweet these punctuations
of flame and gesture;
but the best were on those mornings
when I would have a little something going
in the typewriter,
the sun bright in the windows,
maybe some Berlioz on in the background.
I would go into the kitchen for coffee
and on the way back to the page,
curled in its roller,
I would light one up and feel
its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.

Then I would be my own locomotive,
trailing behind me as I returned to work
little puffs of smoke,
indicators of progress,
signs of industry and thought,
the signal that told the nineteenth century
it was moving forward.
That was the best cigarette,
when I would steam into the study
full of vaporous hope
and stand there,
the big headlamp of my face
pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.

what academic 'freedom' would look like

having taught at a university i think i can insert myself into this conversation, as annoying and dumbass as this conversation is. but instead of rehashing the 'you're a leftist brainwasher/no, i'm not - you're a luddite!' arguments, let's get practical.

what would a conservative or, ahem, balanced english course look like?

let's put together a course description and reading list for a general lit course for non-majors - late 19th/early 20th C? feel free to respond with your suggestions, additions.

where's kathleen woodiwiss when you need her?

i think i'm getting bored or burnt out or something. after months of reading how everything basically sucks unless you happen to be a very rich white man living in a suburb, life's glow sort of dissipates. and this job/life purpose crap is wearing me down. ding used to be a fun girl, full of wacky naughty romperific stories. no longer. all she can think of is debt, responsibility, obligation and taxes.

today i actually had a 3-minute fantasy about landing another corporate job, selling my soul to mammon and saving enough money to buy a condo. this blows. this totally blows. i'm about as fun as a southern baptist in boystown. on my other blog, churchgal (which has gotten some good traffic lately), someone actually implied that my worry comes from satan. sigh. sigh. SIGH.

i want to live in that sarah vaughan song, 'bewitched bothered and bewildered.' instead, today i'm standing in the unemployment line and manny, the case worker, called me 'little girl' and said my name the way it was meant to be said. and i blushed!!

is that what my ordinary life has come to? getting jazzed because someone PRONOUNCED my NAME RIGHT?

can i get an amen?

Ravings of a Corporate Mommy: Corporate Life Archives

i'm supposed to be on my way to the unemployment office; i'm supposed to be throwing my panties in the dryer; i'm supposed to be getting some coffee.

instead i'm reading corporate mommy's tales of corporate hellishness and i'm riveted. i can't tear myself away. it's the same, isn't it? being an office wench or being upper management - if you're a woman and there's someone bigger than you in the tank, it's the same.

whaddya know: an epiphane.
(yeah i'm spellin' it the OLD way!!)

make your own south park character.

heh.

all about The Man

this story made the rounds a couple of weeks ago, didn't make much of a blip (thanks, terry) but here's another go at it from alas, a blog.

when it was discussed on another blog, a question was raised about the disparity between black and white women; i was sort of struck by that, too, and came to the conclusion that it was because black women tended to stay in the workforce. meaning, we don't go on sabbatical, on leave, work part time, etc. most of us either can't take that time (is there another breadwinner in the house??) or won't (i've worked my ass off for this job and you'll pry it from my dead brown fingers.)

but this is a mere digression: the real news - all women still make FAR LESS than our fair brothers. (cough) still. STILL.

even playing field my ass.

Ravings of a Corporate Mommy

i was totally surprised by this one.

usually i gloss over motherhood blogs unless they're by academics; it's my own bias and i freely admit it. but this one struck me differently. maybe it's her voice - smart, sharp like a filed paperclip, and funny. maybe, because i've worked in that world and worked for women like her, i understand how she's juggling her life, travel schedule, presentations and fighting with HR. this post about a meeting is spot on - the corporate ego, the stultifying meetings that stretch the space/time continuum, the divide between team members and upper mgmt.

hers is a blunt-eyed view of a world she knows well.

[edited because a good post is a clean post.]

heh. red tent.

since Hugh, my monthly visitor, just left (after taking up residence for the past 2.5 months straight), here's a little ditty from the Pissed Kitty.

monday's meme

i'm too preoccupied with boring job search stuff to be very engaging and so i need to blow the cobwebs away. so i'll do this (thanks, psycho kitty):

If you had to pick five fictional literary characters who would best embody you (in some aspect, either now or in the past), who would you choose?
Emma (Emma - Jane Austen)
Jane Eyre (Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte)
Dorothea (Middlemarch - George Elliot)
Monica Szabo (Spending - Mary Gordon)
Robin Hudson (Robin Hudson Mysteries by Sparkle Hayter - who cares if it's not literary?)

Which five books (any genre) have had the greatest influence on you?
When and Where I Enter: The Impact of Black Women on Race & Sex in America
Pride & Prejudice
The Wretched of the Earth (Fanon)
The Signs of Our Time (a very light intro to semiotics but it was the first wedge that broke literary theory open for me.)
A Rose in Winter (Kathleen Woodiwiss - uh...when you read her and you're 12, you are never the same again. where is my pirate? oh, where?)

What is your favorite commonly censored book?
Catch-22

If you would ever burn a book (God forbid), which book would it be? Why?
Waiting to Exhale. Painful boring craptacular - and singlehandedly created 4 stereotypes of black womanhood that made us all look like we hate black men.

Are you a monogamous reader, or do you like to read around?
I get so bored so easily. Why read one when you can read 3?

Last one, and be honest: Do you skip ahead to the ending?
Always. Just the last paragraph.

another one?

do we really need another book about hooking up? really? are we really such a fertile, clueless market that we need some manhattan twenty-something telling us how to date casually?

i have an idea for a dating book. how about one called Grow Up.

think oprah would invite me on her show for that?

why it's good to live in a blue state

The New York Times > National > Illinois Pharmacies Ordered to Provide Birth Control

note the worry of ms winckler: that the state's order to pharmacists to do their job might, in fact, prevent the pharmacist...from doing their job.

uh huh. yeah.

now i'm getting sleepy

before i forget, roomie and i caught the matinee showing of sin city and it was fabulous. if you've always wanted your movies sprinkled with an axe to the groin, now's your chance.

i can't sleep. went to see jon stewart tonight at the rosemont theater. (i don't think these two things are related.)

1. he's shorter than you'd think. but, for some reason, that doesn't really matter to me.
2. uh, when he used profanity i got all tingly.
3. if only they could clone him and then distribute him freely amongst all of us who love him. yes. i love him.
4. i was one of four brown people in the entire theater. we even had the two guys in front of us help us look. said one to the other: "you know, this is just about the whitest crowd i've ever seen."
5. i tinkered with the idea that i'd post my photo, just to spark things up a bit, but then had a few thoughts:
- i don't understand the instructions for posting a photo on my profile
- um....no
- blogbot needs better technical writers because i didn't understand ANYTHING
6. hmm...who would i pack for a deserted island: eddie izzard or jon stewart? oh, jon. you had me at 'we have a tape of a guy fucking a pinata...'
7. if i take the nonprofit gig and supplement my income by... selling an ovary, that's ok, right?
8. steve gilliard is an angry black man and i heart him for it.
9. hugh's visit is finally coming to an end. i can start taking iron pills for all the blood loss.
10. what's the actual definition of having one's salad tossed? (ahem)

la la la

i know you all have much better things to do than watch horrible, craptacular shows like The Bachelor but i don't.

last season jen kicked all the bachelors to the curb in a move that was met with a sigh of relief: 'thank god this is totally over.' it was three months of watching a bland chicago trixie roll her eyes, push up her boobs and lead three men to the edge of her girl cliff before pushing all of them over it.

this season is even worse. meet charlie, the latest in a long line of newly plucked monobrows who want to find their soulmate on tv. perhaps it's a testament to his personality or to how desperate this show has become, but they've pretty much stripped this show of any pretense to Harlequin book-themed romance and turned it into a kiddie pool filled with mud and women who've clearly bought their breasts. gone are the fuzzily shot dates; to the wayside are evening gowns and princess fantasies. now it's all lap dances, body shots, accusations of slut-dom; the rose ceremony, that pageant of separating the wheat from the chaff, is nothing but a chance for the 'girls' to dish, slam other women and basically show how crazy they are. it's amazing what people will do for exposure. the only redeeming thing about this show is chris, as we wait for him to finally go postal and beg to be put out of his misery.

(and yeah. i am procrastinating getting dressed for an interview in one hour.)

the horns of my dilemma

so.
met today with the ceo and head of marketing of the y. they'd welcome me in their organization and it'd be a fantastic way to get my feet wet in the non profit world - programming, marketing/communication, development and administration. they're looking for someone to mentor and i'm looking for experience. the organization hits my sweet spot: women, racism, reproductive and economic issues. i'd be able to write.

but. the pay is SO low. it can't be ignored and, since it's non profit, can't be avoided. i'd be taking at least a 15k hit. 15k. not forever. there's no way i'd stay in this position for more than 2 years. but jeebus. 15k. that takes me back to grad school. no extras: books, music, travel, shopping, drinking. at least sex is free.

i have a couple of bites from the corporate world this week; i have to give the y my answer probably by friday. eeks.

and the beat goes on...

another story of pharmacists refusing to fill scrips for birth control.

via Bitch. Ph.D.

chicago had its first case of this a few weeks ago and the protest against it was organized by planned parenthood (i heart PP). this nonsense is spreading to the cities and we *must* do something. ignorance and a facile reading of the bible shouldn't be allowed to force a woman to have children she doesn't want.

i don't know what's been going on with blogger for the past two days but it's been annoying as hell. slow, slow, losing posts. grrr. ass.

anyway, quick update: today is my meeting with the ceo of the ywca. let's keep those fingers crossed. tomorrow an interview with a recruiter and then friday, jon stewart at rosemont.

in other news:
tax time is beginning to make my worry
hugh is still visiting but may be on his last legs
more pharmacists can't wrap their minds around science while they refuse to fill birth control prescriptions
last night i dreamed that i was having a flaming affair with chandler from friends. the hell--?
the sun is out and it's finally spring.

how cool is that?

phhfft.

"Operation Red Scare" Information Site

sigh. of course they're college republicans. of course.
are they even aware of the historical resonance of what they're doing?

dumbasses.

unemployment: day 1

i'm not going to start a lame countdown of what it feels like to be unemployed (not being used; idle; otiose.)

but i do want it noted that my hair is all over the place, my teeth are unbrushed, i skipped the gym, i'm sitting in bed and i'm still in my nightie. npr's soothing tones are coming from my bedroom radio. i've been reading about grant writing and non-profit fundraising and slowly planning the rest of the week. and i'm still in my nightie!

YAY!!

i'm wireless!!

just what i need: an excuse to be utterly mobile and otiose while unemployed. heh heh heh.

thoughts on the shiavo thing here.

it's churchgal.

pardon me!

Facts on Farts

fascinating. i'd call this perfect dinner party factoids.

[via my roomie, who is particularly fond of this topic.]

who says poetry is boring?

Chicago Tribune | Chicago poet seized as fugitive killer

suddenly filled with the need to read this guy's poetry.

finally hits home

Chicago Tribune | Protesters rip store over birth control

i thought it couldn't happen here - not in the big city - but apparently i was dead wrong. but at least there was immediate action over it.

today i cried

when i walked in the door, after a short cab ride home, i dropped my bag, mumbled hello to roomie, shuffled down the hall to my bedroom and took off my coat.

then i leaned against the wall and cried like i haven't since my mom died.

i'm so tired. so very very tired. i'm tired of putting other people's needs in front of my own. i'm tired of thinking about what's good for the ceo, the firm and the practice instead of what's good for me. i'm tired of planning someone else's day instead of my own. i'm tired of having nothing left for myself at the end of the day. i'm tired of watching my dusty To Do list get even dustier. i'm tired of the niggling thought that i will never make this plan of mine happen.

i'm tired especially of being the good girl, of doing the right thing for everyone else and it's patently clear it's not good for me. i'm tired of knowing that Hugh has come for a 3 month long visit because i've been stressed out my ass for the past 5 months. i'm particularly tired of the fact that a fucking job has made me cry while crammed into the corner of my very filthy bedroom - a bedroom that wouldn't be so filthy if i had some fucking time to clean it.

i'm tired that i can't think of the last time there wasn't this knot at the top of my shoulders, that my feet didn't hurt, that my back wasn't stiff, that i was truly indolent and relaxed. i'm tired that i can't remember the last time i was content and satisfied. i'm tired dammit.

and if this girl doesn't get a rest soon, her head just might pop like it did in 1992.

perfect ending to a perfect day (grr)

James Wolcott

depressing and heavy like a bare foot steeped in tar wolcott's post today matches my mood.

10 things i'm looking forward to once i'm unemployed

1. sleep
2. becoming a lady of the day.
3. hanging out with my roomie who is also between gigs (but who has a bigger severance)
4. blogging properly. i have tons of new links to add, maybe update the look a bit, maybe be less one off and more thoughtful. and stop writing about my period (which i'm finally going to have to give a proper name, now that it's become my companion.) Hugh. My period is now Hugh.
5. looking people in the eye again. you know when you're at work all the time you only look at the clock, your screen or the space just left of your boss' head?
6. the different ways i can stretch a cup of coffee and a croissant.
7. maybe a quick frolic in the middle of the day.
8. cleaning my room. really. it's unbearable. i need a flamethrower and a shovel.
9. uh...having no excuse not to work out.
10. oh, yeah. looking for more satisfying work. that one.

at last. sorta. kinda.

over the weekend, i started a list of things i'd look forward to once my job here was over.
well, i better finish that list, 'cause my replacement starts tomorrow.

there is relief; i've been so busy still being the good worker bee, i didn't dedicate a whole lot of time to networking and the new job search in the past three months or so, and now i'm going to have the mental space to get my shit together and be less inconsistent about it.

there is also fear. holy crap, what about bills? rent? shit.

relief: i finally get to relax.
fear: crap - how the hell am i going to survive?
relief: i get to write more.
fear: who cares about writing when rent is due?

you get the picture.

Bitch. Ph.D.: Argumentative women

Bitch. Ph.D.: Argumentative women

Dr. B is one of my favorite people; i read her every day, envy her her quick grasp of tough ideas and her sharp, biting, lucid way of taking down a dumbass.

so here's dr. B on argumentative women, a particularly dear topic to me, a dedicated contrarian. i'd write more about this (and about a formative experience i had in the 6th grade with my first petition) but alas, i have...work.

the bog dream

The land was brown and so was the sky. Trees pricked up like vanilla beans. I lived in a twig cabin by a bog. The bog was brown and wore a skin.

My husband, a boggy damp man, was away. He was away often and I liked him being away. On a hill I could see the Big House through my window. It was dark gray. I would sit in the window and look at the House that wasn’t brown. I was in the window of my twig house when the man with Knightley’s face, who lived in the big house, came down through the twiggy forest and stopped by my window. He invited me to the house and I climbed on the back of his horse and we rode to the (might as well say it) ‘castle’.

There, he walked me through all the rooms asking how I liked them, if I wanted to change anything. He introduced me to his zingy red-haired freckled sister. He walked me through his suite – the small dressing room, the unexpectedly small unmade blue canopied bed, the writing desk and chair, the rugby shirts and khaki shorts thrown over dressers and tables.

Then, holding my hand in the middle of his messy rooms, he asked me a question. I couldn’t hear his question but I saw his mouth move and I knew it was an important question. His milk-white forehead was a little bit furrowed. But I shook my head and pulled my hand out of his, even though being in those messy rooms made me feel lax and heavy, like a cat fed too much cream.

Instantly, I was back in the twig cabin by the bog. It was raining and in the distance (or from the sky – it was both views at once) the skin over the bog grew taut. The rain was so hard and black it made seeing hard, but I was unblinking in it, staring at the increasing bog. The bog began to look like a fat pudding.

I reached out of my window, across the flooding forest, and pricked the skin with my finger.Exploding and swelling the bog overran the forest floor. It was so fast, so black and thick, my damp boggy husband, who had been on the other side of the forest was overcome and he died. I watched from my window as the bog river flattened everything in its path. There was a certain satisfaction knowing I had exploded the bog. I wanted it to reach the castle and batter it down, but the hill was too high and the bog ineffectually swamped at its feet.

I heard a sound in the trees closest to my house and there was the man from the castle, his face changing from Knightley’s to a high-cheekboned Chinese face; it corresponded to his mood: Chinese for gentle, Knightley for stern. He smoked a pipe in the rain and wore tweeds. He wanted me out of the twig house and when I stepped outside, the rain stripped me of my clothes. I was naked. I turned to find another dress but Chinese Knightley, now stern, said he liked me this way and we walked next to the bog, on our way to the castle.

We climbed the hill, my body feeling free and wet; he was silent behind me still smoking the pipe. Inside the castle was quiet; no bustling sounds except the sound of the water dripping off my body onto the marbled floor. We climbed the stairs to his rooms again. He laid me down on his bed; he was naked, too. His face was in a constant slow flux, melting from Chinese to Knightley and back again until it was dizzying. The sheets were warm and dry. We just laid there on our sides, looking at each other.

Then his sister knocked and I panicked. I ran to the side bathroom door to hide and peeked through the round window while the two of them talked, his face turning back to stern Knightley. She laughed, hugged him and waved to me as if she knew I was there all the time. When she left he held an egg sandwich we shared in bed. Then we slept. We were so tired. It was quiet and we slept on the too small messy bed, listening to the spattering of the rain on the stone and the soft shhhing of his face changing.

(i had this dream about a year ago and wrote it down; i just found it today and thought i'd share it.)

never the twain shall meet

Guardian Unlimited | The Guardian | Don't do it, Camilla

back in grad school my friend Dr. A-- and i sat in a bar and mused aloud what it would be like if the two of us were married. since he was gay and i was not (if still a virgin) we knew there were some marital borders that wouldn't be crossed. in our conversations, the word separate was used a lot: separate bedrooms, separate entrances, separate groups of friends, separate social schedules - but all with the knowledge that you were with someone who totally understood what it was you wanted.

basically, a relationship with someone who wouldn't interfere too much.

my parents lived for a while in separate rooms; there was a whole year i remember my mom camping out on the living room couch. a friend's parents still have separate beds, like mary and dick in the dick van dyke show. all the men my dad counsels complain their wives don't touch them anymore. (which probably has more to do with something they did wrong than any social trend, i think.)

Dr. A is now 'married' to a great guy, has a thriving real estate side-business while a tenure-track prof at Private University, is raising a son and lives in a magnificent house overlooking Hollywood.
my friend J--, while notorious for being a fickle circuit boy back in the day (albeit a highly educated one), has finally found happiness with his T--; they share a condo in uptown and T-- is going to move to michigan if J-- is offered a position there.
M-- and D--, also gay, are sharing a house in DC and basically live like a married couple from the 50s, going to boring barbecues and wondering where the swingers are.

i, while not married, have a great roomie i spend most of my time with, am about to do something interesting with my life, and pretty much live as independently as i can.
most of my girlfriends are giving more thought to buying dogs and condos than finding a boyfriend/husband.

just sayin'.

job, what job?

so here is where things stand on the career front:

Global Human Resource Conglomerate took a pass on me. (shrug)
Co-worker is having lunch with the CEO of National Women's Organization today and their topic of conversation: Me!
Tomorrow I have a meeting with the SVP of Communications at Nationally Huge Bank.
At the end of the month I'm having dinner with two women who've left the corporate Skinner Box to start their own non-profits.

oh, and they're interviewing another someone tomorrow to replace me . let's hope it works out.

*hic*

ooh.
i shouldn't have had all those gin & tonics; i should have eaten something (i should have had lunch that day); i shouldn't have hung out with the band. i should have been a model of rectitude.

i should have forced myself to vomit as soon as i got home instead of vomiting at 3 in the morning over the side of my bed. (i'm glad my bedroom window is open, bathing my bedroom with cold).

and so now here i am at work, shivering, sick, nauseous, throat sore, shaky, bilious and shaggy.

how not to treat your customers in the blogosphere...

Thrashing Through Cyberspace: AOL Eavesdrops, Grants Itself Permission To Steal Your AIM Conversations

this is perfect. perfect. perfect.
in addition to stuffing our mailboxes with crap cds, now they want assert some weird ownership over user's content. follow the links.

via metafilter

the bitch is back

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: Dish It Out, Ladies

so the tired old meme about women just not being able to hack it in the rough and tumble world of ranting and talking out your ass hits the ny times op ed pages - and practically affirms every old stereotype about crazy women, hysterical woman, meek women and why women fail to 'dish' it.

excuse me, what women are these people talking about? every single woman i know loves to dish it - and has the scalps to prove it.

great white north

i'm in minnesota.

bloom off the rose

the sparkly relaxation i feel when i've romped has worn off unusually quickly to be replaced by prickly sensations of dread, stress, grr-frustration and general ovarial displeasure.

my period is back. what. the. hell.
it just went away last week! in fact, it seemed to disappear exactly when i was making plans to call B-- (previously known as WetNacho.) it was as if my uterus was squealing, 'hey, girls! we're about to have company! clean up!'

but now that company has eaten all the chips, said goodnight and called a cab, the girls feel it's all right to muck about the place again.

i'm not having it.

well, ok. i am. because if i try to not have it and go on the pill, the hormones will kill me and give me a stroke. (not in that particular order.)

The Revealer: My Radio, My God

The Revealer: My Radio, My God

this is an excellent piece from a christian woman who works for her local npr station (gasp! horrors!).

read it while i revise my resume for the umpteenth time and figure out how i can be less materialistic while trying to be a social do-gooder.

dry spell broken

oh my.
the relief, the lassitude, and the post-coital train ride home, my bra crumpled in my tumi bag.

wet nacho is no more.

spidey and jesus: good buds

heh.(05/02/02)

i'm brain dead, i tell you. brain dead.

modo...yawn

The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: Frozen Mermaids, Scary Sirens

when women's autonomy is under serious threat we get her bland musing on plastic surgery and individuation. can we just get serious for a moment? huh? for one quick moment?

(erm, conversations about my bed and career are totally serious - good sleeping health and economic feasibility are good things.)

who can be surprised at the bland homogenized actresses around us? our culture has reached a point when difference (both at an ideological or physical level) needs to be erased so that our own puny identities can remain stable and strong. we are creating a cultural suburbia that will be harder and harder to escape. our celebrities morph into one another; our politicians slowly melt into indistinguishable parties; our citizens become more lumpish and silent.

tell us something we don't know, MoDo.

my career

so yesterday i had a fantastic second interview with Global Human Resource Consulting Co. it lasted 2 hours. i had wonderful conversations and even used my newfound vocabulary from harvard's 'Difficult Conversations' book. (yes, trust-bridge IS going to enter the corporate lexicon.) wearing my new glasses, sporting glossy curls and pants that didn't make my ass look like a squeezed tube of toothpaste (unlike today's ensemble), i was an advertisement for corporate project mgmt-hood.

then i told my boss about it.

today, i had a voicemail from her: "Ding, MM from Gargantuan Banking Conglomerate is going to contact you soon. She wants to talk to you about foundation work and non profit work and she also wants to set up a lunch meeting with you with So-and-So to talk about what you really really want to do. Do NOT fall back on the corporate stuff. You are TOO GOOD. Get me your resume. We are going to talk tomorrow."

this morning my boss stood in front of me and said: "Ding, in this city MM and So-and-So are the two hardest women to get in to see. They don't see anyone. They want to see you and they are opening their little black books for you. If you need my help all you have to do is ask. Just ask. Don't be afraid. You are going to be glorious. We just need to find you a place to be glorious in."

i'm SO not good about accepting help from people. especially white people. sorry, it's true. the power differential is hard to ignore. aargh.

more blather...

and ... since i just got a check from a 401k i totally forgot about, what should i do with it?

buy a really nice bed? (my futon is making my back hurt)
put it in a CD? (it's not that big of a check...)
pay off student loan? (yuck)
put half away and use other half to buy lovely adult bed, with linens?
open savings account?
roll it over?

be responsible adult OR spend it now on something like... a really great bed?

the clue kevin drum needs to get

New Words Bookstore Web Site, About--No Frames Version

i know. dead horse. beaten.
but if he really wanted to know where the girls are (gag) then all he has to do is go here.

ass.

blather

the new season of the amazing race rocks - and managed to get me to cry. wearing cut off shorts and flannels, these two hog lovers mangled the english language, the spanish language, needed subtitles, and slowly jogged their way across peru. but when big soft men with southern accents cry while describing their deep love and affection for one another, i have to get all teary, too.

in other tv news, jennifer (the blandest of all bachelorettes) took a road less traveled and decided that NEITHER of the bachelors would get her boring-ass hand in marriage.

and i'm still on the hunt for the perfect pair of trousers. (why can't i find a pair of pants cut exactly like my favorite pair of jeans soi can wear them to work?? why?? why does the clothing industry have to frustrate me?? why can't i find that nice pencil skirt that won't pull across my tummy?)

um, and i'm going to minneapolis next week.

envy me for the excitement i leave in my wake.

love is in the air

uh, not my air. BC's air.

this is what i love about parties - the sense that you're riding a razor thin line between social disaster and the best orgy in town. it's hard to maintain that delicate balance. thanks to my roomie's near-obssessive (love you!) drive to throw an annual oscar bash that rivals most gay parties i've been to, sunday night veered from the ecstatic (the best gay jello mold dedicated to superman i've ever seen) and the bizarre ('baby in the corner', dedicated to jerry orbach, mustered out of matzoh crackers.)

but, lo, there in the dark corner under the tea lights, lurve blossomed. my friend BC took one look at T-- (tall, gregarious, gorgeous T--) and lost his heart. i could see the vibes rippling off him like microwaves. and, to my surprise (not to mention the dismay of roomie) the vibes were received loud and clear. yes, BC has a voice that's pitched somewhere higher than jennifer tilly's but that's ok. love grows in all sorts of fallow ground.

when i said i hoped they went out, A-- mildly freaked out, but that's ok, too. you see, in our friendship circle we function very differently. A-- is the traffic cop, bringing red flags and danger signs to everyone's attention; i am the bystander, watching the accident from the curb thinking that the drivers were both adults and should have known better themselves. to A-- BC is a big red flag; to me, he's a mild diversion.

we're all adults, right?

let me count the ways today blew:

1. boss out of the office with bronchitis (is that contagious?)
2. power outage because of a blown transformer by the brown line. (big boom)
3. process and work flow issues with nerve-bitten consultants
4. one office manager on the verge of going absolutely postal
5. piles of crappy paper that desperately cry out for order and organization
6. a realization that i 'quit' this job back in november
7. so much caffeine ingestion, my eyes are scratchy
8. so much caffeine ingestion, i resemble a puffer fish wearing black cropped pants and high heeled boots - with a 'fro
9. new company identity launch scheduled in two weeks - we're not ready we're not ready we're not ready
10. feeling anemic as am going into week #3 of my period because am so effing stressed out

(though am not as stressed out as my roomie A--... poor butternut tree - some lame ass in london tried to steal her identity wednesday!!)

dooce

couldn't have said it better.

go here if you want to read just about the funniest, snarkiest tale of how a blog can get your ass fired. (J-- take heart! your mealy-mouthed coworkers should be thankful you show the restraint this woman didn't have!!)

i love her swagger.

bloog

i'm feeling a little bloogy. however, i bought a new pair of cropped pants over the weekend that i love. i need new shoes for it. now.

but one thing has caught my reluctant attention: i could have sworn people had already pounded this topic into the ground, but i guess not. (i also would have thought that xx blog's rhetorical twist on it would have ended the navel gazing...)

imagine an empty expanse of beach. a row boat nudges the shore. scads of pale, bloviating men jump to the sand. "Ah," they say. "We shall claim this island for ourselves! We shall name this wide open free uninhabited beach Blogosopia!" and the men cheer. from the tree line, a group of women watch them cheer. they watch them light fires and lay down and mark different territories. 'how annoying', they murmur. and so they leave the cover of the trees to move further down the beach.

'hey,' says one layabout guy. 'i think those are women there.'
'no. can't be.'
'yes. there they are.' and he points to the group of women moving down the beach. he waves and the women wave back.
'absolutely not. this is Blogosopia and there are no women here! we are the first! yay for us!'
'uh, i'm pretty sure those are women...'
'well, we'll just pretend they aren't here, then.'
another cheer.

this whole deliberate blindness reminds me of a conversation i had with my father once, about the 'down low' thing. he and i were having drinks with my friend Dr. A and his partner, S--. my father was absolutely floored that there could be 'straight' black men who preferred to have sex with gay men. (the whole DL phenom is another thing i don't have time for right now. maybe later.) Dr. A and i laughed. Dr. A said, 'mr. ding, being on the down low has existed for ages. there were songs written about it during the harlem renaissance.' and he quoted one. and another one. my father gaped like a fish.

he said, 'i never knew this. why haven't i known this?'
i said, 'but gay people have known this.'
he said, 'i'm shocked.'
i said, 'if you really wanted to know about gay history, dad, it's all there. you just have to look.'

so to all those people who find themselves on the side of the hegemony, here's a word of wisdom from me to you: get a fucking clue. step outside of your fucking subject position, for once, and realize the world is wider than the two foot radius surrounding your body.

before you open your fucking mouth to ask 'where are the women [insert current brain fart here]?' stop and think. really really think.

think about why you're asking that particular question. ponder more valuable questions: why aren't i linking to women political bloggers? what am i assuming when i imply female political bloggers don't exist? what does it mean when i implicitly assert female bloggers should model a masculine-defined blogging practice? how have i gotten so far being such a dumbass?

banishment

so this morning i found a snark-like anonymous comment somewhere. it went along the lines of 'snitty snitty...another leftwing blogger...snit snit yawn.'

so i deleted it. it pissed me off and i erased it. (thanks, blogger, for fixing things so i can do that now.)

i only wish i could exercise that same editorial mastery in real life...

gag

Legal Affairs Debate Club - Can the Law Regulate Reckless Sex?

via well-timed period (who gagged, as well.)

is this day over yet?

Improv Everywhere Mission: McDonald's Bathroom Attendant

because i'm so tired - and didn't get as much accomplished as i would have liked - i'm taking a break.

join in.

arrgh.
am finishing a position paper on blogging for my co and have run into bit of a roadblock.

how hard can it be to find a blog expressing hatred of/displeasure toward/disillusion with a product and/or corporte entity??

a big blog. an influential blog. something like...'Microsoft Ate my Baby' or 'Jihad on WalMart' and they get 2000 hits a day, you know? come on, i need the InstaPundit of anti-corporate blogs...

arrgh.

[there is so no way i'm linking to instahack.]

what i won't be watching: texas house

reality blurred + PBS' Texas Ranch House now casting.

is 'plantation house' a few seasons away?

kung foo hustle

can't wait to see this movie.

who's with me?

[edited because 'fung foo' just sounds lame...]

social security made easy

i'm a big fan of easy ways to make math less freakish for me. so i totally appreciate this way of calculating how much i'll get screwed if bush gets his way 'fixing' social security.

pass it on.

dude. now you know.

so let's say you're stuck in an airport and you have nothing to read. let's say you're in the mood for something lighter than What's Up With Kansas? yet more interesting than the airport flight guide.

perhaps a romance will fit your mood. but no, you think. there's this half naked 'indian' guy on the cover. where do they find these people, you wonder.

here.

why student newspapers are hilarious.

[thanks to bookslut]

what's for dinner?

Simply Recipes
my roommate A-- says that i am the slowest cook alive. she says watching me prep a dish is like watching, well, like watching something slow do something even slower.

but i don't care. when i'm in the mood, i don't mind cooking. and i really don't mind it when i have all the ingredients. (cough. word to the wise: if a recipe calls for beef stock, substituting chicken broth and then replacing every other ingredient with a close approximation won't work. just sayin'.)

i especially like cooking things in large batches, mainly because that's how my mom cooked. so - soups, stews, lumpia, pansit (mine is still weird, though), adobo, umba - all of these things can be cooked for a whole bunch of people. i'm much less successful cooking for one other person. (which is why i often fake my dinner parties. it's just fuckin' easier, you know?)

i'm also much less successful picking good recipes; i tend to pick them the way i go grocery shopping. (a typical grocery list: fancy mustard, dark chocolate, pasta, fancy cheese, grands biscuits, kashi, ice cream and doritos. WTF??) i read a recipe and get all caught up in the romance of it without thinking about what this will actually taste like. i guess i pick the recipe for what it signifies rather than its essential qualities.

go figure.

[but thanks to my friend J-- at Delicious Biting]

project runway: the best. show. ever.

watching the designers dish on each other on the 'filler' episode before next week's finale.

rowr. 'we all felt sorry for you because you're such a terrible designer.'

total smackdown for la pepper.
it's inappropriate how giddy i'm feeling right now.

the road called my uterus

crapity crap crap.

says our fearless leader, harry reid:

He acknowledged some complaints from abortion rights groups about the party's shifting rhetoric. "They have to keep their folks geared up, just like people who work for more highways," Mr. Reid said. "That is what they do, just like the pro-life groups." [emphasis mine]

uh, no, mr. reid.

abortion rights, reproductive rights and all aren't like lobbies who work for more highways. dr. b rightfully points attention to the fact that everyone is gaming this argument; there's no woman at the center of it. it's all like a game of risk to everyone, only set on my uterus. the right likes to look at the fetus; the left looks at the donor base. where's the woman for whom this matters?

to borrow reid's analogy, our fight for autonomy is no different than fighting for a road.

funny

Steve Gilliard's News Blog : Pill taking

if funny also means 'lame.'

jeebus. (the good stuff is in the comments.)

frailty, thy name is ding

His message to me was typical – sober and dark like a Puritan’s suit but barely covering something less seemly underneath:

“When will I see you again? I’d like to make up for last time. Sorry for the terse message.”

I groaned. This was the latest such email in a series I’d received from him since our disastrous reunion last summer. Feeling cornered I suggested dinner, prepping him with dire warnings of my being “shaky, stressed out and easily shattered.” (Perhaps, in the words of my roommate A—, I can’t fault a guy for having mechanical difficulties. That didn't mean I was getting naked, though.)

Let’s skip back a few years, when naked was our friend. Our intense 4-month long carnal carnival was coming to some kind of conclusion; we could both feel it. We’d soon have to stop rolling around in sweat for a few minutes to actually talk about what this was. But thanks to being two people who have the communications skills of overeducated Helen Kellers, our conversations completely misfired:

Him: So…what do you think about having a drink with me or meeting my friends soon? [Do you like me?]
Me: Uh…ok. I actually didn’t think you had friends. [You scare me.]
Him: You don’t know me. [So you don’t like me.]
Me: I know. That’s my point. It’s not like we’re actually dating here. We meet, we have sex, we chat for a while, I take the train home. Is that a date? [Deflect! Deflect!]
Him: But would you? [But do you?]
Me: What? [Yes. No. I have no idea. You scare me.]
Him: Be interested in me. Beyond this. [Because I like you.]
Me: Uh…sure. [Jesus. Shit. Crap.]

It’s no wonder the implosion of our pseudo-relationship gave birth to the words “cold, calculating bitch” and “intense loner freak.”

Saturday night: Dinner and conversation was lovely; in the middle of espresso he invited me over to watch Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. Hm, I thought. Odd choice. So I said yes. What could be so wrong with one movie? And it’s good to go to his place, I said to myself. The cold bareness of his apartment will reinforce why it never worked out between you in the first place. You have furniture and he doesn’t. He lives like a weird monk and you don’t. You will keep on your clothes no matter what happens.

Sitting primly on what passed for his couch, we managed to get through half the movie before he pushed his cat off my lap and …well, the loss of two garments is hardly an entire outfit, so I think I still kept my promise with myself.

early morning gossip

this morning, while touching base with my unofficial mentor at my firm about my new job search, found out through a very connected person of hers in her home state who's also heavily involved in black democrat circles (especially in illinois) that the rumblings about a hilary run for pres in 2008 are more than rumblings. they're seriously thinking about it.

i think they're nuts.

all that AND a bag of chips

bill clinton, grammy winner.

problematic fantasy: president bill clinton reading me a bed time story. sigh.

heh. man nips.

James Wolcott: Mystery Beefcake

I choose sex

One of the things I’ve noticed about the Unplanned Pregnancy Debate (hey, notice that reframing?) has been the elision of one aspect of choice – the choice to have sex.

Amanda at the XX Blog hits the issue on the head when she says:

I don’t really think that most Americans are confused about what they want to see, which is safe, accessible contraception and abortions in the first trimester.
For those women that “deserve” abortions, that is. The real gray area that has always been a huge gray area is where the idea of pregnancy as punishment for naughty girls comes into play.

In the current conversation about choice and pregnancy (and whether or not you get to choose to be pregnant) options seem to be available if you deserve it. The price of deserving choice, or redemption if we want to use the language of religion, is a woman's victimhood. In other words, I can exercise authority over my reproductive choices/future only if my autonomy has been compromised by an act of aggression - rape or incest. Victimization earns autonomy.

Autonomy that I already exercise, by the giving and taking of sex, cuts off further choice. By practicing safe sex, by even saying that I have the right to be sexual on my own terms and that I can maintain or manage my sexuality, I am opting out of choice later on. Apparently, in today's sexual politics, for both the right and the left, a woman only gets ONE choice.

So who receives the benefit of a full range of choices? Not the Victim Woman; once she uses her choice to have/not have an abortion, the choice flow chart ends. She stays victim - either of the aggressor or the act the aggressor forced her to make. Her agency virtually disappears. The Naughty Woman, who's chosen sex over...whatever, if an unplanned pregnancy occurs, must learn the lesson of consequences. How many times has a discussion between pro-lifers and pro-choicers devolved into someone sniffing,"Well, she shouldn't have been doing that, anyway!" or "Well, now she knows what happens when you have sex." The chance to remedy a mistake, an accident, disappears in order to punish the Naughty Woman for having sex in the first place.

I think the Consequences argument is (for lack of a better word) bullshit on a couple of levels. Not only does it seek to make pre-marital sex punitive for the woman participating in it, it returns sex to the marriage bed as if that's where it belongs naturally. Moreover, it posits that women have never been fully aware of what the product of unprotected sex or a failed condom can be. Basically, it nullifies our earlier choice to have sex. In other words, I only had sex because I didn't have all the information.

Which brings us to moral agency. Hilary Clinton’s speech successfully repositioned the argument as prevention of unplanned pregnancy vs. prolonging abortion, and correctly made sex education the center of the solution – but only in terms for teens (children), poor women who don’t normally have access to contraception, or married women who wanted to use contraception for family planning. What about women like me? Single women who choose sex – maybe with one partner or perhaps with a few. What about women like me – educated, knowing women, who rationally (or irrationally, depending on the lover) choose a sexual life and considers it appropriate (and moral) to have one? Is premarital sex a moral act for a woman? Over at XX Blog, Amanda thinks so. So do I –less so for religious reasons than for ethical ones, if that’s the right word. (Though I have to say that my religious background is always hovering just at the corner of my vision…much to my dismay while in the throes of whatever folly I’m in at the time.)

I had a rhetorically beautiful line of argument laid out about female agency and choice but I guess I’m less coherent than I thought. I guess I’m trying to say that I’m tired of the single woman, the strong woman who has always known what she’s wanted and why, being a blank in our conversations about sex and morality.

i'm late to the party...

but i'll do my best to summarize.

apparently, this guy posed as reporter and somehow (wink wink) gained access to the white house briefing room to ask questions that were so soft they coulda been named gund. he worked for a 'news' agency that apparently had no offices and was funded solely by a GOP outfit out of texas. his news stories were made up entirely of GOP talking points. in other words, he was a shill. a straight up shill.

and apparently he liked lounging around in his underwear and promoting man on man action on different websites.

(those family values sure are strange...)

anyway, score one for the bloggers here (and on kos) who broke this story and made this guy shut down.

heh.

black history month: day 10: social security

today's lesson.

(ok, so i missed the first 9 days, ok? gimme a break. i'm making black history of my own.)

alan keyes, father of the year

this is sad.

last summer keyes' daughter had a blog that made it sorta clear she was gay. it was picked up by another blog and, well, you know how these things go. the blogosphere went slightly insane - was it right for the other blog to pick up her blog and link to it, effectively 'outing' her? (i guess she wasn't out to her parents.)

there was much pointing of fingers as well as shoulder-shrugging ("she's the daughter of a public figure in the middle of an election. deal.") blah de blah.

some even said keyes was such a freak he'd kick her out of the house if he found out.

need i say more?

yes, the election. again.

came across this post discussing how kerry lost heavily among white working class women in the 04 election. (no, i can't get over it! our lives are ruined because of shrub! ruined, i say!)

i remember reading articles about the decline in women's support but the numbers weren't too specific about which women were soft on kerry. i always assumed it was lazy ass yuppies. guess i was wrong. it was our blue collar counterparts. shifting our gaze from the election to the here and now, i wonder what women can do to bring these women back. these women have the most to lose with bush policies. working class women are more vulnerable to economic disaster; they're less likely to have health insurance; they're less likely to make enough money to support a family and keep a home. they, like black people, benefit more from social security benefits and medicare.

why isn't this message getting across? what has the democratic party failed to do to engage these women?

amazing race: only feh

obnoxious southerners won.

i believe my hatred of this couple birthed itself when kendra opened her ignorant mouth and, as they were leaving senegal, said, "this country is absolutely wretched...and they just keep breeding!"

she's an ass.
harsh? unsympathetic toward her clearly sheltered and under-educated existence? possibly. probably.

she's still an ass.

girly round up

The Well-Timed Period

one of my favorite sites has posted some good stuff updating us on the state of women's reproductive health lately. one post in particular discusses the refraiming of the abortion issue in terms similar to hilary clinton's in her speech. (and, if i may say so, sorta like i did when i was high on pain killers last year).

all the back and forth over conception, morality and such conveniently avoids a discussion of the real problem - how to deal with unplanned pregnancies?

i have a little problem with the language of the 'nurturant parent/stern father' binary (why father?) but the framing itself makes sense. if we are trying to reduce the number of unplanned pregnancies (of which unplanned children will be a result) then what do we do? do we help women help themselves by making preventative measures available (thereby reducing the number of abortions over time) or do we want to increase abortions and unplanned pregnancies because we want to punish women for having sex?

if the second 'option' is what we're really going after, then it seems to me that the whole 'think of the innocent babies' meme is a cover, isn't it? it's a patriarchal move to control female sexuality and autonomy. right?

anyway, follow the links to the original white paper and have a good read.

judgment v. knowledge

Informed Comment

An argument that judgment matters but knowledge does not is profoundly anti-intellectual. It implies that we do not need ever to learn anything in order make mature decisions. We can just proceed off some simple ideological template and apply it to everything. This sort of thinking is part of what is wrong with this country. We wouldn't call a man in to fix our plumbing who knew nothing about plumbing, but we call pundits to address millions of people on subjects about which they know nothing of substance.

oh, professor cole...

monday night tv

tutoring totally blew tonight. my student, a very fast 7th grader, left her books at school because she 'didn't feel like carrying them.' working on her black history month project was horrific. she wanted to do a report on joe louis or aaliyah or michael jordan/jackson or anyone famous. anyone who's actually done something significant for the african american community was 'boring.'

grr.
...
on the bachelorette. blackouts, deaf mothers, ugly siblings, drunk families, men with fish lips, broken stemware, boring conversation, loads of alcohol. it's time for the home visits. heh.

on super nanny. not only has this show reinforced my decision never to have kids, it has moved me to email my sister and brother in law to tell them they are the best parents EVER. EVER.

this hour of domestic mania is a parade of women trapped in suburban cul de sacs slowly going insane. the fathers are utterly detached, escaping to the outside and unable to understand what's going back in the domestic space during the 8 hours while he's gone.

it's like watching a japanese horror movie: dutiful women become wild haired demons. no, they're becoming berthas. that's exactly what this show is - Jane Eyre: the Corrected Version. (and how perfect the nanny is british.)

actually, speaking of super nanny, over a conversation with our friend J-- about her boyfriend, we discovered how helpful super nanny can be for all of us. she actually uses the super nanny techniques for conflict resolution:

--maintain eye contact and come to his level
--in a low, authoritative voice tell him what he's done wrong
--demand an apology for naughty behavior

heh. i think that's effing hilarious.
(um, it could also explain why i've never had a successful relationship.)

James Wolcott: Prof Harpoons Maroon

my favorite culture writer tells us about the smackdown professor juan cole recently gave to hacktackular joshua goldberg and reminds me one of the few reasons academia is fun is that one has a chance to administer righteous bitch slaps to mediocre minds, all and sundry.

it's also a reminder that our culture is an example of the rapid deevaluation of knowledge - more and more, expertise in a given subject is giving way to a lackluster flattening. (where else would you have someone blatantly admit they know nothing about a subject, yet offer a whack-ass opinion anyway - and then have the gall to get their panties in a twist when they're called on it?)

inner dialogue

what have you been doing all day, you ask.

well, i say, i've been working.

but isn't this the job you're quitting?

yes, but think of it as the long goodbye. (pause) i think i'm conflicted. i'm thinking that i will be rescued or something.

rescued by whom, you ask.

well, someone who will take me away from all ... all this. (wave of hand) i want a rest for a bit while someone takes care of all the paper and just leaves me alone - except for when i want to have sex. like a mama bear in hibernation who only wakes up for a little hibernatory nookie.

i see, you say.

yes, i say. it's impossible and i think i've stayed away from the gym too long - i tried pulling on a sock this morning and nearly wrenched a disc in my back - so the hibernatory nookie is going to have to be on hold for a while until i get back in uh shape.

and what shape are you in now, you say.

sort of a pearish, softish, soap shape. like lever 2000. but brown. (pause) scratch that. don't think of brown lever 2000.

perhaps an avocado?

yes, i am shaped like an avocado. an avocado wearing boot cut jeans and square-toed stacked heel buff leather loafers.

would you rather wear something else?

i'd really like to wear a sexy librarian outfit, but it's too cold and besides i think my middle is too soft. (pokes middle) see? or, if not the sexy librarian, then the sleek assassin outfit. something that would allow me to go deadly and change the course of history forever. sort of like a kill bill ... but not bill...

yes, you need a rest, you say. your thoughts are becoming dangerous.

mm, yes. a rest. which brings me back to the beginning of our conversation and why i need one.

need what, you ask.

a rest, i say.

why, you say.

because i'm working.

sorta sad...

CNN.com - Actor Ossie Davis dead at 87 - Feb 4, 2005

bummer. he was such a cute old guy. and he was just given a kennedy center honor...
on the other hand, the oscar death montage will kick ass.

heh. new website.

hear anything particularly asinine in your workplace?
put it here.

the readability is crap but i like the idea.

(assistants, rev your engines...)

I avoided the halting, robotic tones of our POTUS last night. I couldn’t take it. Last year, my distaste of the POTUS drove me nearly insane. I’m determined to hold on tightly to mental health so I told A—that we weren’t watching it. Not when everything he says is lies and stupidity.

Bitch, PhD has a nice summary of what this crap ‘ownership society’ means – “you’re all on your own, fuckers.” Think your employer owes you anything? Think again – pay for your healthcare all on your own – you own that. Think insurance companies have an obligation to insure you? Think again. You own it. Think your government has an obligation to make sure its citizens face the future with some kind of net in place so they don’t end up beggars in the street? Too bad – you own your own future so you better make damn sure you can afford it.

That’s what ownership means – those who can afford to survive. Those who can’t – too fucking bad. I wonder if anyone knows what an ownership society looks like.

So what are we (those of us under 55) to do? Most likely we’ll stare blearily at the numbers flashing in front of us and we’ll say, ‘Dude, I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.’ We won’t realize that the benefits our meager suck-ass jobs give us are on the chopping block in about 4 years. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be 39 – too old to suddenly refinance my quite comfortable pseudo-middle class life.

This morning a coworker and I were trying to figure out the details of this Social Security plan on the front pages of the WSJ. Some questions – is this mandatory? What do they mean when they say ‘voluntary’? Like, what happens if, in 2010, I say to the government, “Screw you – keep my money where it is and when I’m 60 I better see it.” What happens then? Where are they getting their numbers? What happens if I die – who gets my benefits then? Where does my money go? Would my beneficiary get survivor benefits? What about disability? Would I be able to roll over whatever money they’re talking about into my current Fidelity 401(k)? I’m totally confused. And if they want to start doing this with fucking health care insurance, I’m totally screwed because that’s already a labyrinthine tale of “Huh?”

Our City on the Hill is beginning to look like a Besieged Fortress, lit on the inside while the growing masses get hungrier and angrier down below. Certain communities are used to this. For them, society has always been like this. They’ve always lived on the margins. But we’re not used to it, are we? We’ll freak out. When the middle class starts looking more like the poor, I’d like to see who’ll be left to take our side. When are we going to wise up and start asking ourselves ‘In whose INTEREST is it to dismantle what little social safety nets we have?” Who profits? (Think the long game, people – long game.)

Do we want to wait that long or is there something we can do NOW to stop this hysterical juggernaut into insanity? (Remember when the world maintained an appearance of rationality? Remember when we didn’t dread every new sentence emanating from our Fearless Leader’s mouth? Remember when life was actually good, or at least not like some horrific Ayn Rand novel)?

I’d really love to see us stop being sheep. Really. Stop it.

want some nudity with that juice?

here's what's going down in middle america.

(snort)

[thanks to my coworker G--]

yay!

BugMeNot.com

hate having to log on to a site just to read a cool article?
no more!

thanks, bookslut.

my head hurts

The New York Times > National > Church Groups Turn to Sonogram to Turn Women From Abortions

does anyone else feel like they're in a margaret atwood novel?
cuz i do.

GOP and Civil Rights, pt 2

Chicago Defender / Local

um...

[edited: via BitchPhD]

Safe, Legal, and Never - Hillary Clinton's anti-abortion strategy. By William�Saletan

Safe, Legal, and Never - Hillary Clinton's anti-abortion strategy. By William�Saletan

thoughts are bubbling around moral agency, motherhood, pregnancy and all sorts of stuff.

more later.

[edited: via Girl in the Locker Room!]

a break

Manolo's Shoe Blog: My Name Is Tommy, And I Have A Torch

heh - one of the special people...
(i've been working very hard and my eyes are about to pop out my head.)