Sneeze, cough, post links

I've got some cold/allergy thing going on that I'm totally using as an excuse to not go to yoga today. Also, my usual ride isn't going, and that makes me extra lazy. In the meantime, I'm distributing germs all over my cube. Best employee ever. Anyway, this is kind of a random assortment of things I saw recently that are worth checking out: BRAINS! We read a crazy neuroscience book for our book club last month, and this neuroanatomist's talk about her own stroke was really interesting in light of what I'd so recently read. It would be pretty crazy to experience your brain shutting down and knowing exactly what's going on and why, but not being able to do anything about it: Via Jeff Fecke. Though you may have to go to the conference website and tell it to continue in order to actually watch the video. For those of us nerdy nerd X-Philes who have July 25th circled on our calendars already, Wonkette brings us a delightful rundown of all the horrifying government conspiracies featured on the X-Files in the '90s that have had frighteningly similar real-life counterparts during the current Bush administration. It would be funnier if it weren't so creepy. Mulder & Scully Crack 9/11 Condi Conspiracy. (Wonkette) The inimitable and always adorable Ezra Klein has a really good LA Times op-ed on the disgusting wink-wink, nudge-nudge culture of complicity surrounding prisoner-on-prisoner sexual assault. There's nothing funny about prison rape. (Los Angeles Times) Twisty does a great takedown of our favorite Russian girl-vodka. Choice quote:

The persistent feminization of unisex commodities certainly bodes well for Dude Nation; if every day weren’t already a big ole lap dance for patriarchy, I’d say they should book the Diamonds Cabaret and its lineup of prepubescent strippers for a giant Feminism’s-Goin’-Down pole-a-thon. Because the Empowerful Pink Marketing Juggernaut continues to cut a wide swath across the globe, and the meager cries of a few doddering spinster aunts are not enough to slow it down.

Feminizers without borders: Moscow edition. (I Blame the Patriarchy)

Pluggers makes me cry. Again.

Reasons I am crying:

1. Ew.

2. Ew.

3. We get it, Pluggers are old.

4. If I were a Plugger, I would have to be constantly drunk to just get through the day. But apparently Pluggers hate themselves too much to even bother numbing the pain of their existence.

5. Also, ew.

Death, denial, other words that start with d: Sarcasm as an Emotional Shield, Part 2

Part one here.

Back from a blogging hiatus, to the relief of all, Twisty Faster of I Blame the Patriarchy has recently descended from the mountains to share morsels of her radical feminist blame-age with us starving little people. Now, I don't always agree with Twisty (I'm not sure my patriarchy-blaming skills are advanced enough), but her writing is always incredibly witty and awesome. But aaannnyway, Twisty's father died a while back, and her account of the whole funeral business is, well, hilarious. On the funeral home:

You wouldn’t believe this joint. It was like the set designers from Twin Peaks and Napoleon Dynamite had fused with Elvis Presley’s interior decorator and been reborn as Liberace’s angst-ridden evil twin, who then suffered a psychotic break, and bought up the world’s supply of harvest gold flocked wallpaper, brass upholstery tacks, and fake oak paneling, and ate it all with fava beans and a nice Chianti, and then puked it up all over the living room from Sartre’s No Exit.

OMG. Twisty goes on to tell us how she almost died laughing after retrieving her father's urn from a touched-by-an-angel type spotlight display. (In Irish accent: "I'm an angel sent from God, and you can only see this light shining on me when I say those magic words. Also, I may strangle this dove at any moment. P.S. Skunkhair is the best angel mentor evah!") Anyway, this outburst of inappropriate laughter reminded me of my immediate family's inability to act with proper decorum the summer two of my grandparents died. But you know what, that's how we deal. We gather together in the foyer and make jokes instead of crying and hugging. When we pulled into the church parking lot at my grandpa's funeral and the hearse was there, my mom said, "Dad's here!" Because she is crazy and because that's what we do. Like when my oldest brother broke his head trying to jump bikes in his culdesac (at age 24, mind you), and once we knew he wasn't going to die, his roommate, my mom, other brother, and I made jokes about things we could do to trick him when he woke up in the hospital. His girlfriend was crying. It didn't work out between them.

Making the jokies is such a good way to fend off the pain. Because you know what, I don't want anyone to see me that way, I like to save the tears for private depression time. And as long as you can still laugh, you can convince yourself that everything's okay. Often it is not okay, but denial is a very effective tool. However, let me tell you a little story about denial: eventually you do have to deal. It always catches up with you: Grandma's still gone, your relationship is ending, you do hate your job, those pants have never looked good on you, etc. Of course, people who are not emotionally retarded realize this. Not that I know anyone like that. Anyway, what I'm saying is, is that sarcasm is a good way to stave off real emotions while in public or until you're ready to deal with them. Luckily, nothing bad ever happens to me, so I don't really need to use sarcasm in this way. Haha.

James K. Polk: Our nation's first (and greatest) mulleted president*

Nerdy U.S. history blogging to follow (obvs):

Ahead of his time hair-wise, but does it look to you like he's wearing a neck brace?

James K. Polk was a man with a plan. A four-point plan:

1. Fuck the Bank of the U.S. I don't trust paper moneys!
2. Fuck tariffs, let's have free trade!
3. Fuck England, we're taking Oregon! (Or most of it, anyway.)
4. Fuck Mexico, we're taking California! And Texas.

James K. Polk and his mullet were so good at fulfilling his four-point plan, that he didn't even bother running for re-election in 1848. Which is probably for the best, because he died a couple months after his term ended. Then we would have been blessed with President George M. Dallas, who also served as Grand(wizard)master Flash of those sketchy Freemasons. Though it would have deprived us of the short-lived presidency of the admirable Zachary Taylor, whose untimely death brought into power the namesake of one of America's most beloved alcohol-infused conservative cartoons. But whatevs. James K. Polk, Tennesseean, former Speaker of the House, fashion trend-setter extraordinaire, was incredibly goal-oriented, and could probably teach some of those lame corporate seminars about productivity that people are always having to go to.

Interesting fact: apparently James K. Polk had kidney stones growing up, and the experts at Wikipedia suggest the operation to remove them at age 17 may have left him sterile. Or maybe he and his lady just never got it on because he was GAY. Or maybe Jesus never blessed them with a baby because He was waiting for the Four-Point Plan to be fulfilled first. Or maybe James K. Polk just hated children. Or was impotent. Can you think of any more reasons why James K. Polk and his wife never had any children? Wild speculation is encouraged.

In conclusion: James K. Polk got shit done. Also, he owned lots of slaves, but my white privilege allows me to ignore those parts of history and just talk about the fun parts. Like the Mexican-American War! And 54-40 or fight! Mmm... Manifest Destiny is delicious.

*I stole this astute hairstyle observation from someone else on the internet who is funny, but I don't remember who it was. Sorry, no linkies!

Happy hump day!

"L-Train." The most ridiculous shit comes up under Google image searches. You should probably know that these fine young gentlemen are not only good blog illustrations, but also REALLY LOVE JESUS.

I remember when I was introduced to this name for Wednesday during my first year of college by Perpetual Roommate Katie. It amused us to leave ridiculous notes for one another on our ubiquitous dorm-door white board, and this was a favorite. This white board was also the birthplace of the affectionate moniker "L-Train," which I gladly accepted and continue to look on fondly when it shows up in occasional notes from the Perpetual Roommate.

So, speaking of roommates, I'm sure we all recall a few weeks ago when I completely failed at submitting our Peeps dioramas (we so would not have won, BTW, the winners are pretty much professional). But anyway, via skippy the bush kangaroo, I came upon the delightful suggestion that we should use our leftover Peeps for s'mores at this DESSERT BLOG. Best. idea. ever.

That is all for now. I have to go to the dentist for the first time in a long time today. Like, since I was still covered under my parents' dental insurance. I probably have about 14 cavities. So I may have to hold off on the s'mores until I can eat solid food again.


UPDATE: I have eleven cavities. This will apparently take four separate appointments to remedy. Good god.

Al Franken's feminist cred

Lest you think Al Franken's campaign ignored my fabulously-written complaint about them ignoring feminist stuff on the campaign website, I should probably publicly note that I got a PERSONALIZED response (obviously, from not Al Franken) last week that I've been too lazy to write about. Someone named Natalie sent me a very nice thank-you and invited me to call her so we could chat!* Apparently he had some of the feminist ladies to his house in February to talk about their "issues." She sent me this NOW write-up of the event:

Read this doc on Scribd: Now times

This is all well and good, and solidifies my love for Al, but it doesn't address my original complaint: WEBSITE OMISSIONS. But whatevs, it was really cool to get a personal message back, and maybe one day they will update the campaign site. Until then, you should go donate. I'm willing to throw another $25 in his direction for the email response alone. Also, he was totally adorable on Letterman: Part two here. Wow, there is a lot of code in this post. *I will never call her to chat.

Quote o' the Day: Liquor for Girlz! Edition

"Next time we go for a walk on the beach and a quick douche, it will be great to have our own vodka to drink afterwards, instead of the yucky man vodka." -Melissa McEwan on the ridiculousness that is Russia's new "ladies' vodka." Drink Pink! (Shakesville)

I really don't know what people used to do at work before the internet

So, I have an Al Franken update and a Sarcasm Part 2 post forthcoming, but I'm not feeling what the Pretentious Ex-Boyfriend liked to refer to as "the inspirado." So, you know, awesome links and such again--all touting the awesomeness that is the blogosphere, and how it manages to seep influence out into the "real world" on occasion.* There's this sweet story about how some people find boyfriends through the blogging tubes. Maybe that's what I should try. I wouldn't have to touch anyone. Shakers in Love. (Shakesville) Then there is the account given by the illustrious Minnesotan biologist/blogger PZ Myers of how he was kicked out of a screening of the (presumably) terrible Ben Stein-supported creationist screed Expelled! He's in it. I actually read about the incident first in The Pioneer Press, which made me really happy. Somebody in their newsroom was paying attention long enough between "investigative reporting" forays onto MySpace (this is not a joke, they sometimes cite it as a source in local news stories) to catch that people are talking about this. Anyway, I love when the blogs spill out of the tubes into traditional media sources, and I can point at the newspaper and say, "I read him! He's awesome!" EXPELLED! (Pharyngula) Okay, that was only two, but what do you want from me? Sign up for Google Reader and subscribe to your own goddamn RSS feeds or whatever if you need more reading materials. *Yeah, I'm blogging about blogging again. Suck on that, "Anonymous" commenter!

Sadly, I do not see this advice being applicable any time in the near or distant future

Incredibly valuable, however. We've all got some crazy shit floating around in our collections. And xkcd is pretty much always awesome.

This reviewer's cap is really comfortable- Black Sheep: too much gore, or exactly the right amount of AWESOME GORE?

So my pal N and I decided we wanted to have a crappy movie night. This was to commemorate the time we watched The Brothers Grimm starring Matt Damon and the late Heath Ledger. We skipped over like 45 minutes, and it didn't even matter. That movie was HORRIBLE and about three times longer than it needed to be. Anyway, we'd both heard of Black Sheep and decided pretty much immediately that it would be a fine choice for distracting us and drowning our sorrows in (also a DELICIOUS bottle of Hey Mambo sultry red). Especially after having so recently enjoyed the disgusting-ness of Teeth, the gratuitous blood and guts in this movie were very pleasing. I will now list some reasons I liked it so much, since lists are easy and take less effort than actual paragraphs: 1. KILLER SHEEP. OMG best idea ever. I'm not big on animals myself, and have always been wary of big ones like sheep, that are supposedly harmless but could probably really do some damage if they wanted to. And I love that the main character has a sheep phobia from childhood. The puppetry and effects were awesome. 2. GENETIC ENGINEERING CAUTIONARY TALE. It's kind of like watching a ridiculous New Zealand X-Files episode, what with the "science is dangerous in the wrong hands" lessons. Don't fuck around with sheep DNA, boys and girls, you will be EATEN and/or turned into a were-sheep. 3. TONS OF FUCKING SWEET FAKE BLOOD AND ENTRAILS. I was just telling a friend of mine that my favorite shots were the ones where the sheep would bite into somebody, and their insides would come stretching out like a long piece of pizza cheese. 4. NATHAN MEISTER. He's cute. 5. THE TONE. Like Teeth, Black Sheep kind of moved back and forth between being actually a little bit suspenseful and scary, incredible amounts of gore, and really fucking funny moments. Later I realized the whole semi-spoofy/semi-homage-y nature of this type of horror film reminds me a lot of Shaun of the Dead. It's not quite as well done, but you can't knock the premise--or the New Zealand accents. Anyway, definitely worth renting or seeing at a midnight showing-type event. It's always fun to cringe and gag with a large, cheerful crowd of people.

I AM Margo

Today's Apartment 3-G. Josh has more.

I'd like to thank Jesus for dying so I could have tomorrow off

Well, my ANTM predictions about Claire turned out quite positively--she did win the challenge. I've now moved up into 28th place overall. I wish there were actually money and/or prizes riding on this fantasy league, but I think it's mostly just for people with too much time on their hands. But anyway, I've got Good Friday off manana, and I have no plans. Although my ridiculous wildlife calendar (Florida panther this month, with a manatee inset) is telling me that tomorrow is also Purim (is that Jewish?) AND a full moon. I just consulted Wikipedia, and found out that Purim is the Book of Esther one. I love how the Jews were always being delivered from annihilation by lamb's blood on doorways or by having a really hot Jewish chick marry the Persian king and then talk him out of killing everyone. That crazy Yahweh, what will he think of next?! How fortuitous for those of us who love commemorating Jesus' crucifixion and playing with our Purim graggers to be able to combine those in a crazy Good Friday Mass-crashing ra'ashan extravaganza! That's totally where I'd be tomorrow if it weren't for my pesky monthly "transformation."* Luckily, today is the Vernal Equinox, and I'm sure there's some sort of religio-pagan ceremony I can perform to make up for it.

In the meantime, some linkies for the long weekend:

I think I have a moral obligation to link to all blog posts written by Tinky-Winky. (This one's for you, Julia!) Commenter Strike! (Jesus' General)

Continuing my passive-aggressive battle to get my awesome vintage/novelty shirt(s) back from Whatshisname, I thought this was a well-written analysis of why t-shirts are so important and hold so much meaning. Choice quote: "The ideal shirt will have a funny logo, a year attached to it, and will be as thin as rice paper. In the event that two white people have shirts that meet this criteria, the superior ranking is given to the person who paid the least for the shirt." Tru dat, bitchez. $1.19 bin wins every time. #84 T-Shirts. (Stuff White People Like)

OMG Ludacris ho map. (That one's for Anne, my favorite 360-ho.) Via Terrible Mother.

Happy Holy Weekend, friends! I will be celebrating all weekend long/hopefully avoiding making any incredibly awkward scenes in the meantime.


*Something I have in common with both Teen Wolf and Jesus is a love of facial hair. Oh my god, maybe Teen Wolf IS JESUS. You guys, the Second Coming happened in a mediocre 1985 teen movie, and we didn't even notice!!

He hates those billboards from God, too

From Crackle: Mr. Deity and the Book - Season 1, Ep 9

I fucking LOVE Mr. Deity. And I love that "Lucy(fer)" is his (ex-)girlfriend.

I'm not really sure how I have friends sometimes: OR Sarcasm as an Emotional Shield, Part 1

SYLLABICATION: a·loof
ADJECTIVE: Distant physically or emotionally; reserved and remote.

Is it any wonder she's totally my new hero?

I've gotten that one. Also, "snobby." Something must be working. Besides the fact that a shield of aloofness can protect one from many (though never all) of the friendly characters/sexual predators one runs into while riding public transportation, it also functions to keep me from making an ass of myself. Or so I like to believe. (The aloofness does tend to fall away after a couple drinks. But I suppose that's also kind of the point.) By "ass" I mean someone who reveals their true desires, lets people get emotionally close to them, and can consequently be hurt by those they choose to trust. You may say, Lauren, without emotional intimacy, isn't your life a lonely, empty shell of selfishness? Depends on what you mean by "empty." I manage to fill mine with plenty of alcohol and television.

Now, don't get me wrong, I can certainly enjoy the company and emotional support of others. A select few (who make up probably 93% of this blog's readership), anyway. But appearing aloof allows me to take my time in choosing friends.* Because once I decide to trust somebody a little bit to like me the way I like them, we will still probably never talk about our feelings (soberly). Unless something particularly shitty is going on with me, my main approach to emotional relationships is "deflect all pain inwardly with sarcasm until something really bothers me and/or I become convinced I can trust this person." Laying bare real, vulnerable feelings is TERRIFYING. (Reason number 1 why therapy is not fun.) And my usual crushingly low self-esteem keeps me from believing that most people even give a fuck about how I feel. But in the form of bitter jokes, I get to express myself indirectly, and my friends are allowed to laugh in solidarity and no one has to cry or hug each other.

So, my ode to sarcasm: Thank you, dear, non-literal speech, for allowing me to express feelings in a way that creates emotional distance. And thank you, dear sarcastic friends, for exchanging insults in place of sincere tokens of affection. Let us all continue to vent our joys and frustrations through verbal irony, because as long as we're laughing, we're not crying. And if I accidentally express an earnest sentiment in your direction, just blame it on the booze.



*And even if we are friends, I probably won't ever touch you voluntarily. That's another story, however.

ANTM fantasy league update

I've reconfigured my team: I feel that Fatima will continue to act like a bitch (either because she's mean or just plain dumb, it's hard to say), I saw in the previews that Whitney's going to get all up in somebody's business this week, and I just really like Claire and assume she'll be winning some challenges soon. I'm currently in 99th place, and I hope to stay in double digits with my new lineup. Looking forward to tonight's episode! Feel free to discuss.

Good reads for those of us who can (Read, that is. And if you can't, then why are you staring at my blog?)

I was trying to save up a longer list, but there were two fine posts I read in the last few days that I thought I should link to, and my computer (AKA work) hours are dwindling for today. I'm in the midst of formulating a post on some of my life's philosophies,* and you might see how the whole "actually doing my job sometimes" thing occasionally gets in the way of such projects. But anyway, both are related to gender issues that I find fascinating. FIRST: This is not unrelated to my post a while back about America's Next Top Model, and Tyra's bullshit "the fashion industry is so flawed in its beauty standards, but everybody should try harder to conform to them" "advice." Yeah, I just used scare quotes right after a sarcastic paraphrasing set of quotes. Deal with it, bitchez. Anyway, so I was reading Hugo Schywzer's "We love your look, but lose fifteen pounds" post about advising a student on values, conformity, and economic necessity in relation to the modeling industry. This student is barely making ends meet waitressing and doing some modeling on the side, but in order to transfer to a four-year school (to get her bachelor's in women's studies), and afford to get by, she's looking into trying to secure steadier modeling work. Apparently an agency is interested in signing her, but they think she needs to lose weight. There's pretty much a 764578698% chance that in real, non-fashion industry life, this young woman is totally thin and hot already. Anyway, as someone who is conscious of the patriarchal and consumerist values the modeling industry perpetuates, this girl is torn about what she should do. She desperately needs the money, and this is the kind of work where she can make a lot without too much of a time commitment and still continue to be a full-time student. She just has to cave to the pressure to lose fifteen pounds. Now, I will never be presented with such a dilemma, seeing as how I am already too short, fat, and old to be a model (though blonder and thinner than some people, of course!). But I can see why she'd do it. She wants to stick it to the patriarchy through her women's studies work, but she can't afford to do it unless she conforms to patriarchal pressures of unnatural thinness. I mostly just thought it was an interesting example of how principles sometimes come into conflict with the real world; where economic and other demands often take precedence over our ideals. You should check out Hugo's advice to her. She responds in the comments. SECOND: As a sometimes-honorary Wisconsinite, I really enjoyed Amanda Marcotte's delightful My god, Earl, they got football! They got football! about generally loathsome conservative talk radio host and apparent gender role police-person Laura Ingraham's comments on Brett Favre. Apparently he shed some tears at his retirement press conference. When she heard about it, she said, "All these years, and I didn’t know there was a woman quarterback in the NFL." Poor Laura Ingraham. She seems to be unaware that human males are not only capable of FEELING emotion, but sometimes it causes them to do this icky thing where WATER LEAKS OUT OF THEIR EYES. I know, I thought only chicks did it, too!** Because everybody knows that all things "feminine" (like feelings) are "weak" and therefore "bad." Amanda goes on to discuss one of my favorite topics: anxious masculinity. I am so fascinated by the concept of a gender identity that by its defining characteristics, must be constantly proven and re-proven, or it might just completely collapse (into WOMANHOOD, ew!).*** Despite being disappointed by formerly-supermanlymanmale Favre's girly display of emotion, Ingraham's also flattering her listeners into thinking that they must be so superior to dudes who CRY (on TV!):

But the listener is not given complete reason to despair, because the underlying message is a big ego boost. “My god, what a manly man he-man you are! You’re even manlier than Brett Favre, because he’s up there crying and you’re not. You know that beating Favre in the Manly Olympics is like getting the automatic gold.” Of course, you can’t hang your man gold on the shelf and call it a day. The Manly Olympics are perverse games, with every day starting brand new, and automatic revoking of your manhood credentials should you ever decide to sit one out. Or that’s what they hear. Everyone who plays in the Manly Olympics is to[o] scared to find out what happens if you decide to just quit and find better things to do with your time.

Unfortunately, my manhood credentials expired a long time ago. Maybe Brett Favre and I can go apply for new ones together. Because he's, like, hot, and we should totally hang out. (CALL ME, BRETT!) *Don't worry, I won't get all "earnest" on you; it's about using sarcasm to avoid emotional vulnerability. Duh, only an IDIOT would dread possible sincerity. **Were you aware that Hillary Clinton is ALSO a woman? Shocking. And shameful. Goddamn crybabies. ***This is, of course, the flipside of the "women must be pretty and skinny and not like men" patriarchy coin: "men must be strong and stoic and not like women." Mmm, maybe if I get bored at home I'll photoshop a "patriarchy coin."

St. Brendan's photo update

Done...

Dear lord, our sink is gross.

...and done.

Are they made of real Girl Scouts?

Sadly, I could not actually track down this clip online. Everyone should definitely go watch The Addams Family again, though.

I love Thin Mints. And Samoas (or whatever their new politically-correct name is). There were Girl Scouts at Walgreen's the other day (genius!), so I jumped at the chance to buy some, having previously lamented that I didn't think I'd have an opportunity to buy any cookies this year. And I'm certainly not the only one to have those thoughts. But I have to say I was a little disappointed to see Kate Harding's take over at Shapely Prose on all the cookie-mania*:

As I’m reading all this blog-talk about Girl Scout Cookies, I keep thinking of the non-American readers who must think either A) We have all lost our goddamned minds, or B) “Damn, those cookies must have solid gold in them!”

Dear non-American readers,

It’s A.

Love, Kate

Wrong and wrong. It's not SOLID gold, that would break your teeth, silly! It's liquid gold deliciousness that comes in the form of crack-laced chocolate. Obviously. I don't care if my desire for these cookies has more to do with a false sense of scarcity than their actual objective tastiness. Love 'em.


*Seriously though, do go read the actual post for a good take-down of the Girl Scouts' website's eating disorder-inducing advice to young girls.

This St. Patrick's Day will not end in vomit

Dear heathens who are celebrating St. Patrick's Day today even though Herr Pope said we should do it on Saturday, Let me give you a few words of advice: a) carbombs are gross and will destroy your soul/stomach, but if you insist upon it, b) DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES USE CRAPPY KNOCKOFF IRISH CREAM. Yes, St. Brendan's, I'm talking about you. I mean, it doesn't taste quite as butterscotch-y as Merry's, but you only need to wake up at 5:30 in the morning to throw something up one time before you lose your affection for it. What I'm saying is, is that this blog officially endorses Bailey's. Accept no substitutes. And for god's sake, who thought of putting it in Guinness* with whiskey in the first place? Goddamn crazy Irish bastards. But back to St. Brendan's. Whatshisname and friends bought two bottles for St. Patrick's Day last year. This was overkill. Besides doing some carbombs (I gag a little at the memory), I thought it would be smart to make a drink with old St. B's. I believe it was root beer, Jameson's, and St. Brendan's. It may have been successful had I been in possession of a martini shaker. But alas, the stir-mix was insufficient and St. B's ended up curdling into little chunks. I drank most of it anyway. You may say, Lauren, you are obviously an idiot and probably got what you deserved. And I would say, perhaps. But at the time I was just trying to cope with the fact that I was the only girl there and all the guys had just gone to see 300 that day and WOULD NOT SHUT UP ABOUT SPARTA. Anyway, the extra bottle (or remnants thereof) of St. Brendan's ended up in MY liquor cabinet with some other gross things Whatshisname was trying to get rid of. Like Goldschlager. Well, after the breakup, Whatshisname took with him all his classy alcohol, a certain stash that shall not be named, and a ridiculous number of my awesome Goodwill t-shirts (I WANT THEM BACK). However, Goldschlager and St. Brendan's were so thoughtfully left for my roommates and me to enjoy. And by enjoy, I mean think about pouring down the sink every time I remember it's there. I think that in the spirit of the holiday, I will go home after work and dump St. Brendan's right down the drain. And then I will responsibly recycle the bottle. So, one last word of advice, o ye faux-Irish revelers: don't let your boyfriend store his shitty alcohol in your liquor cabinet. You will never be rid of it. Ever. And let's try to stay away from boarding the vomit train this year. Love, ME *Guinness is gross. Objectively. I understand that there are many people, most of them people who, unlike me, actually like beer, who quite enjoy Guinness. These people are wrong. I maintain that it is objectively gross. That is all.

It's like a plot straight out of "Are You Afraid of the Dark?"

Via Wonkette, I came upon this awesome story of a creepy, sideways-walking "gnome" that's been scaring local townsfolk in Argentina (complete with video footage!). Although I have to say I was a little disturbed that they called him/her a "midget" and a "creature" (that's little person-phobic!), the video is quite creepy/hilarious. It would be so great if we found out that it was some misanthropic little person who acquired a pointy hat and started shuffling around town at night just to fuck with people's heads.

This photo comes from a sweet website I found during a Google image search for gnomes. "Gnomes Without Homes" is all about stolen lawn gnomes, their travels, and their owner's attempts to get them back. OMG. But so about lawn gnomes: I totally stole one with some friends in high school and was wracked with guilt about it for a very brief period of time. I think it's probably still gathering mold in my friend's garage back in the 'Couv.

Profiles in Facial Hair

I don't really have anything to blog about today, but I did come upon this fabulous beard interview. There's an awesome photo gallery of this guy's beard through the years.

"I'm not Gloria Estefan, only one percussionist."*

What diva sang "Reach," the theme song of the 1996 Summer Olympics? Um, GLORIA ESTEFAN. God, I am so the most valuable random '90s pop culture trivia team member ever. My brother and sister and I watched every obscure Olympic event that summer, spending the entire day in front of the television. My mom was working full time then, and wasn't around to make us go outside. I have very fond memories of that time. But anyway, I tried singing this song to my friends after I totally, like, won trivia for us, and no one remembered it! How is that possible? Here's a refresher, friends: Apparently it's no longer working, try this one. *Todd in FotC "The Third Conchord," obvs.

Worst Roommate Ever: Peeps Diorama Edition

So I fail at life. Apparently the deadline to submit our Peeps dioramas to the Pioneer Press contest was Monday night at midnight. I didn't get around to it until Tuesday afternoon. FAIL. Sorry, kids! But I told my roommates that I'd post our non-entries on my blog, where up to several people might admire them. So:

Master Peeps Theater Presents Jane Eyre. Admire those flames, kids. Also: the giant dragonfly.

The X-Files: The Truth Is Out There (we didn't think of any puns). I spent a lot of time making sure that Ford Taurus was from the appropriate era.

Sorry I suck at deadlines, roomies! But now they're on the internets and we will be famous.

I write to Al Franken: Why no love for the ladies?

This would be a picture of me and Al Franken instead of him from really far away if I weren't so awkward and shy. Also, I would have said the following things in person instead of emailing them to his campaign. I rule.

Dear Al Franken,

I think you’re missing a great opportunity by not specifically addressing women’s issues on your website. Any truly progressive political platform must include stands on women’s and feminist concerns. Obviously, we should all research candidates, but not everyone has ample spare time to surf the internet at their overpaid data entry jobs like I do to try and decipher all your views through search results. Granted, it took very little Googling to discover that you have done benefits for both Planned Parenthood and NARAL, but I don’t think voters should have to either make the assumption that you’re pro-choice or do a bunch of research to find out. I caucused for you at the Senate District 65 Convention, and I’m assuming that as a U.S. Senator, you would vote to renew and improve legislation like the Family and Medical Leave Act and the Violence Against Women Act, but I don’t actually know. Because your website doesn’t tell me.

Norm Coleman has a zero percent pro-choice score from NARAL. He is squarely in the pocket of the forced-pregnancy movement. I emailed him about the Brownback Amendment (Global Gag Rule), and got back some ludicrous form letter justifying his yes vote by citing the old “promoting family values” argument. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to think that most Minnesotan families don’t particularly value increasing worldwide AIDS infections and maternal death rates by de-funding health and humanitarian organizations that have the gall to mention the word “abortion.” In the Senate, Coleman has also consistently shown himself to be unconcerned about women’s lives and health through his confirmation of various judicial and political nominees who use extreme religion and conservative ideology to limit and deny women everything from adequate reproductive health care (Plan B, “partial-birth” abortions) to the ability to sue for pay discrimination (Ledbetter v. Goodyear). Members of Congress have power over laws involving parental-notification and interstate transportation for abortion, the funding of (sexist and medically inaccurate) "abstinence-only" education, welfare reforms and efforts to reduce poverty, providing child care and early childhood education, universal health care, sexual harassment and employment discrimination, and other matters of direct (and disproportionate) concern to women and their families (see a nice complete list from the policy agenda of the National Council of Women's Organizations). Pro-woman candidates and elected officials should make their views known and commit to fighting for women on the floor of Congress.

Guess who also doesn’t address women’s issues on his campaign website? That’s right, Norm Coleman. But his voting record leaves no room to speculate about what his stances are. Assuming you get the DFL’s nomination next month in Rochester, it’s up to you to let Minnesota’s women and pro-woman voters know just how far apart your views are. Speaking to at least a few specific issues that concern us on your website would be a great start. Besides, anyone who’d be turned off by a progressive/feminist agenda is probably not going to vote for you in November anyway. See John Edwards’ archived campaign site for a great example. He seems like a nice guy, maybe he’d just let you copy and paste it. I hope you and/or whatever passionate but underpaid staffer who actually reads your emails take this into consideration. I’m a supporter, but I know I’m not the only one who would be even more vocal and enthusiastic if you’d take a stand and add some (sincere) nods to the ladies in your already well-defined and progressive platform.

Sincerely,

ME

Junior High Crushes Revisited: John Stockton

Reminds me of how my favorite use for the internet in the late '90s was for finding pictures of my favorite hot guys and making collages of them on Print Shop Deluxe. I was really cool.

You may say, Lauren, John Stockton could not have possibly attended your junior high school. And I would say, you are correct. But it would be really lame to actually talk about the boys I liked that I went to school with. My only excuse would be "I was in junior high, OKAY?!" It's not like I ever dated any of them, and 79% of the boys who liked me before college turned out to be gay. Can I retroactively refer to myself as a fag hag? I still love you guys! Thanks for not actually going out with me and then coming out. No, besides Prince William, JS was my big celebrity obsession circa ages 13-14. Decidedly not gay. And decidedly AWESOME.

I thought of John Stockton today in honor of the fact that I am going to my first NBA game since said obsession, back when the Jazzy Jazz were good and my dad took my brother and me to see them play the Blazers circa 1997. I think I was the only Jazz fan there and they lost.* But I could see my Johnny S from way up high in the cheap seats at the Rose Garden, and he looked just as short in person as he did on TV. This of course, was a never-ending source of amusement to me, considering that in real life--AKA not standing next to other freakishly tall professional basketball players--he would be considered quite tall (6'1"). Perhaps this was the beginning of my long-standing obsession with men who I deem adorable by how "pocket-sized" they are.

Anyway, I just wanted to take the time to reminisce with myself and the intertubes about how awesome John Stockton was (all-time assists leader!) and what a shame it is that he never won a championship. God I hate the Bulls. It seems that in his retirement, he's moved back to his hometown of Spokane (ew), WA, where he lives with his 87618976 Catholic children. I imagine he continues to be adorable and badass.

*Note: the Jazz being from Utah and me being Mormon was purely incidental, and I resent it highly when anyone says otherwise.

Quote o' the Day

"Astronaut is the most prestigious career in America? Dennis, are you 12 years old?" -in a takedown of Dennis Prager's "feminism causes depression"* hypothesis at Sadly, No! *It must be all that goddamn equality that's fucking with my brain chemicals!

I put on my reviewer's cap: TEETH- great movie, or GREATEST movie?

This past Saturday night my partner in X-Files and celebrity gossip crime, Pal N, and I went to see the midnight showing of Teeth at the Uptown Theater in Minneap. OMG. It was, how you say...? AWESOME. Now, despite my very own sister's objection to the concept of "film criticism," I loved it enough to put together a few words as to why. It also helped that audience members are particularly raucous at a midnight showing. There was much yelling, cheering, and wincing. I'll number my reasons for loving it, for no particular reason and in no particular order (SPOILERS ABOUND): 1. IT MAKES ABSTINENCE-ONLY FREAKS LOOK STUPID. Now, don't get me wrong, back in my Mormon days I was all aboard the "waiting until marriage" train, but then I actually had the opportunity to not wait. Things only got more complicated from then on. I could totally feel Dawn's pain when she wanted to get with the cute Christian boy who was always staring at her longingly (and kind of creepily), but felt so many conflicting emotions and desires. GUILTY GUILT GUILT GUILT. Personally, I gave all that up. Unfortunately, the object of Dawn's desire turned about to be a RAPIST. And he got what he deserved. But it was such a great scene where she was supposed to give a talk about how "true love waits" and suddenly realized how creepy the whole ring-pledge thing was. CULTY. And then there was how the female genitalia was blocked out in the health textbooks. "We can't have those kids knowing how their bodies work! What if they start using them?! For sex!" Poor Dawn didn't know what the hell was going on down there (setting aside her peculiar "adaptation"). I'm all about people making choices about their sex lives (or lack thereof). Abstinence is a totally legitimate choice--IF those making the choice have all the available information for their health. Not misogynist, misinformed pseudo-science that places girls as gatekeepers and denies their own sexual desires and agency. But whatevs. Moving on. 2. ASSHOLE RAPISTS GET WHAT'S COMING TO THEM. Now the one guy wasn't a rapist, but he was using Dawn, and he deserved to get his penis chomped once it became clear this wasn't about Dawn's pleasure but about his social capital. And then there was the CREEPY gynecologist and the old man at the end. Good lord. Anyway, they all deserved it. I never thought the sight of a severed penises and fingers could elicit such enthusiasm from a crowd of movie-goers. But I was totally with them in their celebration. It's too bad the only man in the movie who didn't completely suck was Dawn's dad, but I guess this is a horror movie, so not too many good things are supposed to happen. 3. THE TONE. Part super-creepy, part disgusting, part hella-funny. 4. FEMALE SEXUALITY GETS THE RESPECT IT DESERVES. Pretty self-explanatory. 5. MARVELOUS ACTING. Jess Weixler was phenomenal as Dawn, and John Hensley was brilliantly creepy as the leering stepbrother. There are probably more reasons, but I am getting lazy. So, go see it! It's so fucking awesome.

New musical obsession/technical difficulties.

So I tried to post this video like 12876587 times, but YouTube apparently hates me, so you should just go check out this Thirsty Merc video: Wasting Time Especially watch for Rai's adorable facial expressions ~2:35. It's too bad they seem to only really play in Australia. Hopefully come tomorrow there aren't like twelve posts of this video on my page. I suppose there are worse things in life since I just keep watching it over and over again anyway.

The Caucus: America's Lowest Form of Democracy

It's hard to take seriously a form of voting that resembles an elementary school field day.

So last Saturday I went to my local senate-district caucus convention. It was half incredibly boring and half completely ridiculous. I loved it. But I have to throw this out there: CAUCUSING IS THE STUPIDEST WAY TO VOTE EVER. The day began quite early for a Saturday (Roommate A and I left the house at 8:30, ew), and when we arrived at Humboldt High School, we stood in a very long line to register with everyone else who hadn't bothered to show up earlier. (I got a nametag! On a piece of yarn!) My roommate was corralled into some sort of strategy discussion with some other Jack Nelson-Pallmeyer supporters and I found us seats with our other precinct delegates. Now, let me tell you a little story about the Humboldt High School auditorium: the stairs are TREACHEROUS. They are all different sizes. This seems to be by design. WTF? I watched as some woman tripped and fell down a bunch of stairs. They had to call an ambulance. I hope she's okay. She was moving around and stuff, so she's not paralyzed, but she didn't even get to caucus. Fuck you, Humboldt architects. A great way to start the day.

Moving on, the caucus started about an hour or so late. SHOCK. We had to like, ratify the rules and agenda before we could do anything. But before that, we did the Pledge of Allegiance, which I haven't done since, god I don't know when. I hate America almost as much as Barack Obama. (I also do not wear a flag lapel pin. I generally don't have lapels, but I'm still trying to make a statement.) Anyway, lots of people nominating themselves for various local party positions and blah blah blah. Roommate A and I shared the one pen she actually thought to bring and went through all the platform resolutions, voting on whether or not to forward them to the state convention. There were over a hundred. Some of them were good, like the ones about ending the war. Others were vaguely offensive, as in: "Men should stop being forced to pay child support for children that are not their own." I mean, that seems basically reasonable, but I've spent enough time on the internets to see a Men's Rights Activist's fingerprints all over that shit. So I voted no. Maybe I should've waited around to hear people read their statements explaining the resolutions. But I was so not going to stay later than I absolutely had to.

But so there were a few more hours of motions and seconding and saying, "yea" to close nominations and such. I enjoyed observing our hot, young city council member with his adorable small children, because I'm a creep like that. But in the meantime, there were speakers! There were state politicians, but I don't care about those people. I was excited about Betty McCollum, who is fucking awesome, and about the candidates for Senate. Ciresi and Nelson-Pallmeyer both spoke in the morning. Ciresi was blah. Nelson-Pallmeyer was actually pretty good, and I could see why all the hippie types were working for his campaign. But I have a special place in my heart for Al Franken. I was afraid he wouldn't show, but he came right before we split up to sub-caucus. (Strategery much?) He is so short and adorable and funny and I kind of have a crush on him. (THOSE GLASSES!) And he jumped off the stage and almost tripped on a microphone wire. It was great. The crowd was very enthusiastic. Then he came into the audience and he was like six feet away from me at some point, but I am very awkward and shy and couldn't work up the nerve to ask him for a picture/chat with him. But I could have, had I not sucked so much.

Then it was time to do the ol' Sub-caucus Walk-us. OMG ridiculous. I don't know if this is what Thomas Jefferson et al had in mind for our representative democracy (setting aside all the women and black people that were there, of course), but have I mentioned that it is THE STUPIDEST WAY TO VOTE EVER? 'Cause it is. But it was kind of fun. I managed to find a Franken sub-caucus that wasn't also an Obama group (remember how I'm kind of on Team Hillary now? Go Texas and Ohio!) The only Clinton sub-caucuses were uncommitted for Senate, and I really wanted to support Al, so I went for Al Franken/Universal Health Care. I couldn't argue with that. Our sub-caucus was viable, so I didn't have to walk again. During the second walk, though, all the Franken staffers were trying to do mathematical calculations to figure out how to win remainder delegates or whatever. We kept having to shift a few people between Franken sub-caucuses. It was ridiculous. Again, kind of fun, but I really didn't feel like I was VOTING or anything. It felt like a game. But Al won the most delegates to the state convention, so huzzah!

Anyway, that is far more than anyone ever wanted to know about my experience at the caucus. I'm glad I did it, if for no other reason than blog fodder. I might have actually nominated myself for some local party position if I planned on still living in Minnesota six months from now. Oh, well. Mostly, the lesson is this: caucusing is the least-straightforward, most silly way to hold a primary. God bless the Minnesota DFL and my six hours of participatory democracy on a Saturday!



STILL TO COME: I write to Al Franken's campaign to tell him all the things I didn't say when I had the chance.

God I hate everything

I am totally in a FUNK. That's right, I said "funk." I managed to (mostly) conquer a ridiculous OS conversion in the last few days and I'm going to grad school and I've got all of my limbs, so I don't really know what my problem is. Perhaps it's a lack of Flight of the Conchords in my life. It's been too long, fellas. I'm just going to watch this over and over until it helps.

Pluggers Rage: I reveal a conspiracy of stupid

Dear Pluggers cartoonist and "Chief Plugger" Gary Brookins,

Please try to make it less obvious next time that you've completely given up.

EXHIBIT A: Pluggers Sunday March 2, 2008


EXHIBIT B: Pluggers Monday March 3, 2008


BRAIN ASPLODE. Don't get me wrong Sr. Jefe Plugger, I wouldn't want to put the effort required into actually drawing a different picture of Harvey Rhino or whatever this character's name is gorging himself on large amounts of fattening foods every day, and I realize the Sunday and weekday strips may be submitted at different times, but SERIOUSLY. Don't you think maybe someone should've checked to make sure you weren't essentially running the same "Pluggers are fat/here's a picture of a fat rhino licking his lips" panel two days in a row? Or did you think your real-life Plugger/fans wouldn't remember from one day to the next what abomination you've wreaked upon the comics page? Well, some of us use this thing called "the internet," and I don't mean a "Plugger internet," which would probably have something to do with badminton or some other such net sport that requires little physical effort. No, the real internet reveals all, including the fact that you just reuse the same panels over and over. Not that that wasn't obvious before. You've just fulfilled your own definition of "plugger": "They represent the 80 percent of humanity who unceremoniously keep plugging along." This is certainly without ceremony.

Love always,
YOUR BIGGEST FAN

I personally prefer the Pluggers Randomizer for an honest sampling of life in Pluggerville (just keep refreshing, the laughs never end). Dear god, I still hate Pluggers. But it would be a tragedy to not have it around to get angry about.

Quote o' the Day

"Anyhow, based on all this, either the International Women's Forum is Charlotte Allen's idea of the longest, least funny joke in the history of humor, or Charlotte Allen hates women. And I'm betting on the latter." -Jeff Fecke (oh how I wish the IWF were a sick joke)

Is it the depression, or am I just a bitch?

Because sometimes it's hard to tell, to separate my own natural anti-social tendencies from a chemical imbalance. I try to make myself interact with other people sometimes even when I don't feel like it, because I usually eventually enjoy myself. Especially if there's alcohol involved. (But lets gloss over that issue for the time being.) It's so bizarre how one minute I can be fine, and the next totally agitated. (Obviously, I realize this happens to non-depressed people too to varying degrees.) And it can be difficult to say whether I'm actually upset about something, or if the dysfunctional part of my brain is like, "THIS IS A BIG DEAL," when it really shouldn't be. I really try not to take it out on other people, but I still worry about being thought of as moody and unpleasant. Because I don't really like very many people, and it would do me well to not alienate the few I do. So... perhaps what I'm saying is that I AM kind of a bitch, and also mentally ill. Perfect combination.

So sorry to get all introspective, my dear five or six (possible) readers, but all I could think to blog about today is what a foul mood I find myself in. That whole "Monday morning" thing sure isn't helping. I'll try and keep the depression blogging to a minimum in the future. It's kind of, like, DEPRESSING.

Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The Misanthrope.
I know, WTF, right? But as Veronica Mars* says near the beginning of season 2:
"I'm remembering why I'm a misanthrope."

NOTE: People who are my ex-boyfriend are not invited to comment on this post.

ALSO: Al Franken/caucus blogging coming soon. Get excited!




*Yeah, I'm quoting Veronica Mars. Deal.