All right. Day two and I̢۪m already slacking--I̢۪m late getting this
thing posted. I tried to set up parameters for this blog. I̢۪m only
going to post once a day, and only on weekdays. Otherwise, nothing else
will get done around the house or on the manuscript. And I̢۪m sure
that̢۪s fine with the seven or eight readers I probably have. I do
have an excuse, though: we had company all day long and they just left.
So, Arnold̢۪s running for Governor. This is undoubtedly going to be
the only show in town for the next few months so to add to early
carnival-like atmosphere the media is already running amok with, I will
add the phrase "good for him.” Say what you will about the man’s
accent or the fact he̢۪s a mediocre actor or that he̢۪s got quads the
size of eighteen-wheelers. Say whatever you want about him, he̢۪s
tough and he can take it. Which I don̢۪t personally think is a bad
quality to have in a politician as it keeps them from having
Corleone-sized chips on their shoulders.
Every time I̢۪ve switched CNN on today, there̢۪s been some talking
head bleating on about how smart he is, like they have to convince
people of this before anyone will think of him as a legitimate
candidate. I don̢۪t know why they bother. It should be obvious that
the man is intelligent. For one, he had the good sense to marry a
Kennedy. For another, you don̢۪t get to his position in Hollywood,
living and working in the dog eat dog world that exists in the
entertainment industry by being stupid. You simply can̢۪t be stupid in that business: it isn̢۪t an option. You can be a dimwit actor who thinks Titus Andronicus
is the name of that tanning place down on Melrose and that good abs are
what̢۪s really going to get you that job as the fry guy on a KFC
commercial, but it̢۪s not going to get you anywhere. It takes good
sense to know movie making is a business, not a fantasy world created
at the whim of a talented director. You have to know enough, at the
very least, to have someone on the payroll who isn̢۪t going to rob you
blind, and Arnold, as we all know, is most assuredly not poor.
Hollywood is probably the closest example we have to Darwinism today,
and Arnold has undoubtedly proven that he has survived and is the
fittest.
I personally don̢۪t like Arnold all that much as an actor. The
“Terminator” filmsâ€Â¦bleh. Not really my favorites. The husband
would vehemently disagree with me, but eh, who really cares all about
that? He loves the “Conan” movies. I think that’s all that really
needs to be said, wouldn̢۪t you? (Although, I will admit I find James
Earl Jones rather interesting in the first one. Talk about taking a
walk on the wild side, eh, James?) The thing I do like about him is
that he is absolutely unapologetic about who he is, what he likes, what
he thinks and how he lives. How many people can you say that about
these days? If you smoke, you probably go outside to do so. If you
drink, you probably don̢۪t ever get drunk in public. You wouldn̢۪t
say something politically incorrect these days because you̢۪re afraid
of coming down on the wrong side of popular opinion. Arnold smokes, he
drives a gas guzzling Hummer and he probably has a beer at the end of
the day and enjoys it. And he̢۪s got plenty of ideas about what needs
to be done and is willing to talk about them. People will say, “Oh,
but who would dare tell Arnold what to do?” I’m sure plenty of
people have in the past: he just blew them off. He̢۪s confident enough
in his abilities to know what matters and other people̢۪s opinions
aren̢۪t important. The thing that makes him different from another
bodybuilder politician whose-name-shall-never-be-uttered
on this blog, is that the man has a great deal of tact: he knows when
to keep his mouth shut. And that̢۪s an important skill to have no
matter who you are. One more thing I like about him: he̢۪s a
Republican in Hollywood and he̢۪s never hidden it. That says a great
deal.
Whether he̢۪ll make a good governor of California is another story
entirely, but I have to say, if the first twenty-four hours are
anything to go by, well, it could be impressive. How many other
Republican candidates could have gotten Riordan to drop his
gubernatorial ambitions on the first day? Who else would have had the good sense to hire Pete Wilson̢۪s entirestaff?
Granted, Gray has to be recalled first, but I think we̢۪re past that
point entirely. The man̢۪s own Lt. Governor threw his hat in. It can
only go downhill from here and oh, is it going to be glorious. And if
Arnold does win, well, he can hardly do worse.
If you̢۪re an observer of politics, this is going to be the equivalent
of that Barroom Blitz Krokus likes to yodel about. I, for one, can̢۪t
wait. All the free entertainment you can eat.
And speaking of people who have thrown their hat into the ring, what
the hell is up with Gary Coleman? The man’s claim to fame is “What you talkin’ about {Willis, Mr. D., Mrs. Reagan}?”
and we̢۪re really to think that this idiot can run the fifth largest
economy in the world? That he can get California̢۪s debt back up from
near junk status on the S&P? The punchline is inevitable, so I
won̢۪t put it in print, but I think you can imagine it if you try hard
enough. Close that other Window that̢۪s running on your computer with
the three naked Asian women and you just might be able to do it.
So my mind is on idiots now and I have to ask: what kind of sheer
freaking dork would pay $50,000 to hear who Carly Simon considers to be
so vain they probably think this song is about them?
Dick Ebersole, that̢۪s who. The president of NBC Sports has paid fifty
thousand smackeroos to find out who was the subject of Carly Simon̢۪s
whopper hit “You’re So Vain.” It was a charity auction thing and
he gets to hear this earth shattering news over lunch at Carly̢۪s
Martha̢۪s Vineyard retreat. And, even better, he has to sign a
non-disclosure agreement before she̢۪ll tell him. Now, who really
gives a rat̢۪s ass about who this song is about? Or not
about, they way Carly tells it. I̢۪d pay fifty thousand bucks to find
out who Deep Throat is, but to pay that kind of money for this? Talk
about a lame-o auction item. What? Did all that fundraising for the
Clintons cause the well of ideas to run dry, Carly? I hope that charity
is laughing all the way to the bank. I can tell you who the vainest one
is: Dick Ebersole. Where̢۪s my fifty grand, Dick?

Posted by: Kathy at 11:16 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1188 words, total size 8 kb.

--I̢۪m going to link to this story,
but I̢۪m assuming you̢۪ll have to pay to read the whole thing, so be
prepared for extensive quotes.
Reparations for property lost in war is an idea that goes back a long
way. Before we had courts of law, people pretty much just raped and
pillaged to get what they thought they had coming to them, and to add a
little thing best described in euphemistic terms as deterrence
. Nowadays, we have courts and bureaucracies that handle this sort of
thorny issue. But for the Jews who lost property in Germany in WWII,
they have the Conference on Jewish Material Claims against Germany, or
Claims Conference (CC) for short. According to The Economist, the CC
was: “Born in 1951, this is the main channel compensation and it has
become a giant: it lists its 2002 revenues as $826m. Of this, $598m
came in (and $590m went out) as direct compensation to Holocaust
survivors: $222m from the German government, $271m from a foundation
set up in 2000 by German companies, and $105m from Swiss banks under a
scheme set up in 1999. But the CC has other roles. After German
reunification, by agreement with the German government, it could claim
“heirless” ex-Jewish properties in the GDR, unless the heirs turned
up with valid claims for them or compensation for them.”
Here’s an example of what they do: “Who did own the two buildings
in ex-communist East Berlin? We do, said a Jewish family in the
mid-1990̢۪s, its members by then scattered to Britain, Israel, and the
United States. First nazified, then nationalized by the German
Democratic Republic, the “buildings” in Strassburgerstrasse and
Georgenkirchstrasse in fact no longer existed: one vanished in the
1939-45 war, the GDR had demolished the other for a road scheme. But
they had once been valuable, and with newly united Germany accepting
responsibility for the Nazi past, as the GDR had not, the family hoped
for compensation. It got a shock.” This shock came from the CC.
“The deadline for individual claims was the end of 1992â€Â¦But the CC
had set up a “goodwill fund,” for latecomersâ€Â¦In vain, after much
argy-bargy, the CC in late 1996 offered {the family}50% compensation,
DM184,187.56 ($122,000), in brisk terms: “Should you not agreeâ€Â¦the
total amount will be given to Jewish welfare organizations for the
benefit of Holocaust victims.” Take it or lose it. The family took
it.”
And it gets even better:
“Arguably, this family was lucky. The CC had at least waived its fee;
and some early claimants with strong cases but unready for a row, faced
offers of 40% or even less, says Netty Gross, a Jerusalem journalist
who has long studied this issue. That need not be unfair: the costs of
researching a cheap property may be the same as for a valuable one. But
these days, the CC offers successful claimants a standard 80%, taking
20% for its own expenses.”
So, basically, they file claims for Jewish owned property in the former
GDR to either receive either restitution, the actual physical return of
the property, which the CC then sells off, or compensation, for which
the overwhelming number of claims was the only option. If you go to
CC̢۪s website, www.claimscon.org you̢۪ll see how their success rate
in the claims procedure flows down to the bottom line. According to
their website,
by the end of 2002, they’d filed 98,997 claims for “real estate and
other business properties as well as certain other unidentified claims.
The German restitution authorities have ruled on 57,324 claims, of
which only 8,278 were approved for the Claims Conference. Of the
remaining properties, 7,158 were approved for the original owners or
heirs of Holocaust victims; 24,054 were determined to not be Jewish
properties; and 17,807 were duplicate claims (e.g. due to changes in
street addresses). Of the 8,278 rulings in favor of the Claims
Conference, restitution (actual return of the property) has been
awarded for 2,810 properties, and compensation ordered in 5,468
properties for which restitution was not possible.” So, the numbers
that I find interesting there are the 8,278, the actual number of
successful CC claims, and 7,158, the number of CC submitted claims
approved for the Holocaust victims and their surviving families. That
would mean there were 1,120 claims approved for the CC by the German
government for which there are no surviving Jewish owners or heirs of
said owners, or the owners simply have not come forward yet to make a
claim, so the CC is taking the property into trust should that happen. 1,120.
That̢۪s a lot of potentially profitable property with potentially no
one being on the receiving end of the profits other than the CC. It̢۪s
like letting the insurance company be your beneficiary on your life
insurance policy if you fail to name one. But, also, keep in mind that
the German government hands the property and the money over to the CC,
so they̢۪re in charge of the disbursements, minus their costs, of course.
They have control. The Economist adds: “Over time, it has sold a good
deal: in 2002, sales and compensations jointly brought it $101m, though
it still got $9m in rents. And the goodwill fund has shared in this:
the CC, which in 1998 invited new applications to the fund by the end
of that year, says it has paid $164m to heirs, and set aside $157m for
pending applications to be decided.”
Ok, so where̢۪s the problem you ask? I can find a few in all of this,
but my first objection would be that the CC never advertises the
information it does have in regards to unclaimed Jewish owned property.
More Economist: “â€Â¦has urged the CC to make public its lists of
properties and the names of former Jewish owners. This would help
people who may have fair claims but not even, 60-plus years and a
Holocaust later, be aware of them. So why not do it—on the internet,
for example, as with some other categories of Nazi-era assets? One
answer from the CC used to be that this would also help opportunists.
Ms. Gross thinks the real answer is that it is a cagey body that sees
the information, like the properties, as essentially its own to be used
for its purposes; not as improper, but as its own.” Why do you think
they filed claims for the 1,120? I̢۪ll leave the speculation up to the
experts in the field, and I̢۪m sure they have a perfectly good
explanation all lined up, but I don̢۪t know if I like the idea of a
partially self-funded bureaucracy applying for restitution on Jewish
properties for which the CC might or might not be aware they̢۪re the
only potential beneficiaries of a successful claim. It̢۪s dodgy in the
extreme. They defend themselves: “As Julius Berman, the CC chairman
points out, it did set up the goodwill fund and go on accepting claims
after deadlines have passed.” The Economist author goes on to say,
“It’s fair to deduce that it {the CC} cannot have simply been
playing “what’s ours is ours.Ӊ€ I don’t know. I think The
Economist is been a tad too nice to these people. To be fair, there
were no statistics or figures listed in the article about how much
money over the years the CC has disbursed from their proceeds, like
they claim to, to Jewish welfare organizations. I̢۪m not talking about
claims of Holocaust survivors, but of the money the CC says it gives to
support survivors from the proceeds of their property maneuverings. The
total figures of charity allocations are listed on the CC̢۪s website
and it̢۪s troubling in the extreme when you add it all up, or subtract
it as is the case here. According to the CC̢۪s website, in 2002, they
made allocations in thirty-five countries to Jewish welfare
organizations totaling $93m, of which $89.6m came from property
proceeds and the German foundation, “Remembrance, Responsibility, and
the Future.” They do not delineate how much of that $89.6m came from
the property proceeds, but I suspect it̢۪s the lesser of the two
contributions. Something̢۪s just not right here. If they̢۪re
threatening claimants with the loss of their claim money, saying agree to our fees or the whole lot goes to charity
like they did with the family above, how come only $93m was disbursed
to charities? Take the $101M they brought in from property sales and
compensation in 2002, as listed above, and add the $9m in rents and you
get a whopping total of $110m. Now, here̢۪s where the subtraction
comes into play. They say part of that $89.6m listed above was from
property proceeds, how much of it we don̢۪t know, but even if we just
make a guess, and say half of
that $89.6, which would be $44.8m, came from property proceeds, then
subtract it from the $110m they say they brought in 2002, that̢۪s a
very large, unaccounted for chunk of change. You can fiddle with the
numbers yourself. Where did the money go, then? Administrative costs?
Research costs on claims where the only beneficiary is the CC? Where
did the money go? If my math is right, and my assumptions are proven
correct it̢۪s a fair question. Is it being invested? If so, for whom?
The CC? Or for future disbursements? How much are they making on those
investments? If I were a Holocaust survivor, or the child of one, I
would want to know exactly how the CC runs itself and where this money
went. And it should be noted that the property proceeds are only a
portion of the money flowing into this organization besides the
settlements with the Swiss banks and German insurance companies. One
such example is a settlement with the German Finance Ministry over
Kristallnacht,---approximately $65.6m, of which $16.2m of that will go
to the Central Council of Jews in Germany, but it̢۪s considered
restitution for the religious buildings that were destroyed that
horrible night in 1938. None of these sums that are bandied about on
their website and in the Economist article would be considered to be
chump change by anyone other that Bill Gates or Warren Buffett. The
rest of us think that̢۪s a lot of money. I don̢۪t know if there̢۪s
sufficient evidence to prove that they̢۪re holding back, but I think
there̢۪s enough evidence in the light of day, that if you take a
calculator to it, it doesn̢۪t add up. This isn̢۪t a task for me, with
my highly questionable math skills, but even I can tell something
smells here. I am not a big fan of bureaucracy, specifically any sort
of self-funded bureaucracy. Look at OSHA, for an example. The minute it
became responsible for funding itself in the early 1990̢۪s, the number
of violations it reported---and then subsequently fined businesses
for---skyrocketed. Where were all those violations in the years they
were fully funded by the government of the United States? Unreported?
Did they just not bother to go looking? I think we all know the answer:
bureaucracies breed laziness, protectionism, and contempt, whether
fully funded by governments or if they are responsible for funding
themselves. And this particular bureaucracy, specifically established
to provide some small measure of justice on behalf of Jews, is irking
me. Their actions barely reach the transparency level. Yes, there is a
goodly amount of information on their website regarding their
activities, but just by looking at it, and seeing how the information
is disseminated across the website, there̢۪s something going on here.
The CC is simply not transparent enough. There is no information listed
as to what part of their funding goes toward expenditures. According to
the Economist article, the amount they receive for their costs in
settlements seems to vary widely from case to case, even if it̢۪s
settled down to a mere 20% in recent years. The essential question,
however, remains: why should they be charging the claimants for the costs involved?
If the reason these claims are taking place in the first place is
because the German government is taking responsibility for the
Holocaust in a way the GDR never did shouldn̢۪t they be footing the bill for the claims?
Since the CC is partially self-funded, they would undoubtedly tell me
that all this generosity costs time and money and the German government
is chipping out a fair amount already. I would ask them in return: if
you̢۪re stated mission is to make sure Holocaust survivors are taken
care of, should you be deducting what seems to be a large sum of money
for what seems to be entrenching and ensuring your own survival? They
hold their information tight to the vest, because they believe it̢۪s their
information. It̢۪s not. In fairness, however, according to the
article, the CC board when it met in July, with a bit of pressure from
Jewish groups, “agreed at last to publish the old Jewish owner’s
names on the net; maybe in mid-autumn, with a six months deadline for
fresh claims. It is still not keen to publicize that decision; to avoid
a premature rush, it says; it argues that if you can recognize an
address you would have claimed already.” I don’t really think this
is too impressive on the whole. Hmmph. They make it difficult for
claimants to come forward, and in the case of the family listed above, they tell them to take the settlement offered on their terms or they get nothing at all?
My God. Just think about it. The irony here is unbelievable. If you
were a Jew in 1930̢۪s Germany, a big chunk of your life was dedicated
to following dictates set down by the bureaucracy of a government who
hated you. The Nazi̢۪s made you run around the mulberry bush as many
times as they could: bureaucracy was part of their weaponry against
Jews. It̢۪s ironic in the extreme that another bureaucracy would put
these poor people through hell just to get back what was theirs, and
then to top it off, take a contingency fee. What are they doing with
that money? I want to know.

Posted by: Kathy at 07:39 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 2368 words, total size 15 kb.

--My very first correction. I told you I was horrible with names. It
seems the name of the emcee for the “La Femme” show at the Gay
90’s is Morgan not Morty. Don’t know why I could have possibly thought that. And it’s not Deeliteâ€Â¦it’s D.Liscious. Pardon my drunken recollections and thanks to Mr. H. for setting me straight.

--Chuckle for the day
Talk about your tax dollars at work. I feel a large, hysterical burble
of laughter working its way up from my belly, into the vocal chords and
out of the mouth. Oops. There it went. It̢۪s ringing through the
office as I write. --How did he get this job?
Don̢۪t get me wrong. I enjoyed his comments and very much agreed with
them, but come on. You work in the State Department, the place where
they measure success by the number of ashtrays shuffled on the long
table at talks on this, that or the other, and not in actual signed
treaties and you said that ?

Way to go, but don̢۪t expect to have a job at the end of the month.

Unless, of course, this is Bush̢۪s and Powell̢۪s way of ratcheting up the pressure on the pipsqueak in Pyongyang?

Curious reply to the hubbub: “Bolton,
in a statement issued by his office, said: ``I am happy to play
whatever role the president and the secretary want me to play.’”
Naaaaah. Couldn̢۪t possibly be. We all know Bush is way too stupid to
ever make a surreptitious move like that. And we all know that Powell
would never be able to make a play like that because he̢۪s too busy
squirming feverishly in his chair and shouting down the house like
Arnold Horshack to be heard over Boom Boom Rice and Donald Barbarino.
They couldn̢۪t possibly have instructed an Undersecretary of State to
make a provocative statement bound to get Pyongyang off its ass and
into talks. They̢۪re not clever enough.
We all know that. --All the men(and possibly the women, too, you never
know) who are reading this are going to undoubtedly sigh monstrous
sighs of disappointment at this admission, but I just finally watched Patton
last night. Ok, yeah, I know. Stop right there. I̢۪ve seen the whole
pacing in front of the flag scene and that was the reason I never
followed through. Yeah, yeah. You thought it was the best scene in the
damn film. Ok. Great. I̢۪m happy for you. I was personally bored to
tears by it, and as a result never watched the rest of the film. Lucky
for you we came in late on it last night. Missed the flag pacing scene
entirely and was absorbed by the rest of it. The guy was a nutjob.
There̢۪s no getting around that fact. He was a megalomaniacal freak,
so we̢۪ll just skip right over it and simply say that it̢۪s nice that
in time of war there̢۪s always a place for everyone, no matter how
insane they are. Now, now, don̢۪t get all testy. I will freely admit
Patton was a brilliant tactician, the likes of which we haven̢۪t seen
since Hannibal marched his elephants through the Alps on his way to
plunder Rome, nor will see again until the human race gets comfortable
fighting in lines again (and have no fear, it will happen, and George
S. would probably agree with me). And he more than did his part to rid
us of the Nazis. Bully for him.
What I found interesting about the film was how relatively sympathetic
it was toward his actions and words. If he made a blunder in the press,
they showed him as misunderstood. If he didn̢۪t play politics as well
as he should have, they showed how tortured he was by his failure to do
so. If he showed admiration for the German army and Rommel, in
particular, it was because he simply admired
them, not because he sympathized with them. If he kept former Nazis on
the payroll, running the waterworks, it was because they were the only
ones who knew how to keep the water flowing. If he didn̢۪t want to
suck up to the Soviets, it was because he wanted to push them back
behind their borders while he still had an army to do the job. If he
backhanded a soldier who was hiding in a hospital because the shelling
was wearing on his nerves, it was because the man was a coward and
Patton couldn̢۪t stand the sight of him.
In other words, they showed his pragmatism.
You could tell that this film was made by people who remembered WWII
well because they had lived through it. There was no imagined hand
wringing or revisionist history. There was no imagining what would he be thinking?
They knew. They̢۪d lived through war and they didn̢۪t have to
imagine. They knew there were hard choices to be made by everyone
involved and that sometimes it just wasn̢۪t an option to worry about
what people would think of you if you did something that wasn̢۪t
popular or seen as ethical. You did the deed and you worried about it
later. Patton knew this instinctively. The people who made this film
knew this instinctively.
As a contrast, I read a novel a few years back titled The Runner
by Christopher Reich, who is a very good writer of international
thrillers. The story was set in post war Germany, Berlin, in the months
after the allies had divvied it up into the four sections. Reich
portrayed Patton in his novel as black without any diverting shades of
gray to him: it made him a better villain that way. Patton hired Nazis
because he agreed with them and thought them good people not because
they kept the water flowing. He admired the German Army because he
sympathized with their cause, not because he saw them as a capable foe.
And so on and so forth. The way Reich wrote it, Patton was
the villain in postwar Germany. Not the Nazis who̢۪d brought the world
crashing down on their people. Not the profiteers who took advantage of
the situation. And not the Russians who wanted to land grab as much as
their tsarist ancestors had. And you have to wonder, despite the fact
there are plenty of people who lived through WWII still around, how did
Reich get away with this thinking? I̢۪ll grant you it̢۪s a novel, but
to come to that sort of a deduction is quite beyond the pale. I suppose
it will sound naïve, but has revisionist history gone so far as to
completely ignore the realities of war and the people who lead us
through it? Particularly
this war. Are the shades of gray being ignored because black and white
are more comfortable resting places for the people of past eras?
It̢۪s a sad thought that someone like Patton, who was more than
comfortable with the idea of history judging the correctness or
incorrectness, of his actions, can̢۪t even get a fair shake sixty
years later.

Posted by: Kathy at 06:52 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--Chuckle for the day from Mr. H.: Thank
you for posting the correction yesterday, I feel much betterâ€Â¦Although
my dear, I do not think it is possible for someone of the gay way of
life, to set anyone "straight," although maybe previous b-friends would
beg to differ. I prefer to use the terms "put one on the correct path"
or "made me see the error of my ways" or even better yet "set me in the
conservatively acceptable lifestyle". See, when giving directions I go
"forward" not “straight”; it is "directly ahead" not “straight
ahead.” Lets try a sentence shall we: “Look at that heterosexual
standing directly ahead of us.” That was fun, wasn’t it? Another
twist: “Look at that obviously non-effeminate, female loving person
with a penis standing heterosexually in front of you!”

Geez.

--Well, it took some time.
But they finally did it. Well done and I sincerely hope that it hits
Ghaddafi where it hurts, but I have my doubts. Would it be overly
cynical of me to think that he̢۪s just bought his way out of sanctions
and that executives of ExxonMobil are already lining up at the nearest
consulate to snag a visa to visit that lovely country? That is if they
haven̢۪t already done so.
Look for gas prices at a pump near you to go up soon. You̢۪d think
more oil=cheaper gas, but no. They̢۪ll be looking for a way to offset
all those billion dollar bribes they̢۪ll be paying to Ghaddafi and his
cronies.
You didn̢۪t think it would come out of their war chest, did you?


--Interesting story:

It̢۪s amazing what you̢۪ll find at the bottom of a lake.

I would have loved to have seen that five hundred pounder splash down. Talk about a cannonball.

Groan There̢۪s your bad pun for the day and I̢۪m out of
here.

Posted by: Kathy at 05:36 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 318 words, total size 2 kb.

Oh, lighten up

Memo to Roger Ailes and Al Franken: GO HAVE A COCKTAIL!

Posted by: Kathy at 05:36 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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--Today is laundry day. I will be writing this in between running up
and down the stairs to the basement to switch loads, so if the blog̢۪s
a wee bit schizo, you̢۪ll forgive me. I hope. Bone in midair. Ahem. Laundry Tip O̢۪ the Day:
For blanc de blanc whites, fill up the tub of your washer with hot
water, add one cup of powder dishwasher detergent (like Cascade or
Electrasol, but don’t buy thatâ€Â¦too freaking expensive. A generic
variant will do) to the water. Let dissolve. Add your whites and let
soak for a half hour. Spin the load out and then wash as usual. You
will find that this will get your whites whiter than if you had used
bleach. Don̢۪t know exactly why
it works, but it does. There are water softeners in dishwasher
detergent. I know this much. And I̢۪m pretty sure there̢۪s bleach,
too. Perhaps it̢۪s the combination of the two that works? I don̢۪t
really know and I don̢۪t honestly care. All I know is that the
husband̢۪s socks have lasted for two whole years since I̢۪ve been using this trick and are still
without holes. Before, when I used bleach, they lasted a yearâ€Â¦max.
Yeah, I know. Laundry tips are lame. But what do you want? Tips on how
to make a homemade nuclear bomb? I told you I was half haus frau. Haus
fraus don̢۪t get into fission. There̢۪s not enough space in the
kitchen for that sort of thing and it would undoubtedly mess up my
floor. --If pressed, I would have to admit that my favorite magazine is
“The Economist.” I first started reading this journal in college,
back in the heady days when I was in charge of the Econ/Soc Reading
Room for two hours at a time and had it at my disposal. The best way to
describe it is that it’s the British variant of “Time,” but
without the hand wringing, Chicken Little attitude, or the mediocre
reporting. Their editorials are no-nonsense and generally (in my
opinion) right on the money. And the best part is that their writers
have a wit no American has ever seen the likes of. They slap down sheer
idiocy in a tsk-tsk, school marm-y tone that would do any headmaster
proud. Perhaps their cockiness is because they̢۪ve been in business
for a hundred and sixty years ,
but I would like to think it̢۪s just because they̢۪re not going to
take crap off anyone. It̢۪s always fun to sit down and read the thing,
but I will apologize for my North American-ness, which causes me to get
the magazine only a few days before the next issue is published. I̢۪m
behind the times, of course, but it̢۪s all right with me because the
content is as juicy as a freshly rolled lime. I̢۪ll probably share a
few tidbits every now and again, but this week̢۪s issue had some
seriously good stuff. --In their “World Politics This Week”
section: "It was
reported from the State Department that if Israel persists in driving
its “security wall” deep into Palestinian territory, America will
reduce its loan guarantees by the amount Israel spends on building the
wall."
I must have missed this one in the American media. I hadn̢۪t heard a
thing about it. I don̢۪t know why I̢۪m surprised, though; the Israeli
wall is one of the most underreported stories of this year. In case you
didn̢۪t know, Sharon is building a lovely little wall right through
the heart of the West Bank with the stated purpose of stopping the
terrorists from going into Israel and suicide bombing their citizens.
The main problem the US government has with this wall is that, besides
being a major obstacle to the Road Map, is that it is cutting
Palestinians off from their jobs, their homesâ€Â¦that average, day to
day stuff you need to have a life. And it̢۪s a fair, middle of the
road position to take from the stance of a negotiator. The reason for
the wall, of course, is the security of Israel, which is their number
one reason for doing anything. And I can understand that. I really can.
Your life and limb are on the line if you live in Israel. And Israel
most assuredly has the right to exist. But a wall? This
is your best solution to the problem?
Hmmmm. When have walls worked in the history of man? Did The Great Wall
keep the mongol hordes out of China? Nope. Did Hadrian̢۪s little folly
keep the Anglos and Saxons from sweeping down into southern England? Or
for that matter, did it keep the Normans from going North? Nope.
Berlin? Nope. That sucker came down. When walls are used in this
context the message boils down to a big "SO THERE!" We can build a
wall, and you can't. We have something on the other side worthwhile
enough to want to keep you out of. "Now, go away before I taunt you a second time!"
Ah, if only Sharon could hire John Cleese to deliver his insults. Then
again, I don't think Cleese speaks either Hebrew or Arabic.
What walls do have is have a fair amount of success in creating a
bottleneck effect, forcing everyone to go through at a certain point so
they can be monitored. But does Israel really need that? Isn̢۪t travel
already restricted? Aren't there tons of checkpoints? What is the point
of restricting travel even more if it̢۪s not going to solve the
security issues? I have to think that Ariel Sharon would probably agree
with me. I don̢۪t think this wall is about making Israel more secure.
I think it̢۪s about cutting the Palestinians off even further than
they already are, and that is a monstrous mistake. The story of Israel
is a testimony to what a group of people can do when they put their
minds to it. A persecuted people start their own state in their
historic homeland and not only survive, they succeed against what even
the most optimistic of bookies would call overwhelming odds. But
somewhere along that historical line of righteousness the tide turned.
I don̢۪t know if it was Sabra and Shatila, if it was the Israeli
occupation of southern Lebanon, or if it was the fact they retaliated
at rock throwing with bullets. I would assume that it̢۪s a combination
of all those, but it̢۪s hard to put a finger on it. At some time,
though, they got a little big for their britches and I don̢۪t know if
it rings true to who they are as a country. They̢۪re brave, and this
wall is anything but. It̢۪s a bullying tactic. I say, yes, Israel has
a right to exist, but it does not have a right to make things worse
than they already are. The Exodus
romanticism of that country doesn̢۪t cut it for me anymore. It has
occurred to me recently that the Israelis and the Palestinians are so
battle hardened, so ready to jump at the opportunity to fight, that
they will pick a fight if one̢۪s not presently going on. Survival has
taken on a new meaning for both parties that I don't know that we in
the west can possibly ever understand. Even though the Intifada̢۪s
still going like gangbusters, this is what Sharon is doing. He̢۪s
picking a fight with this wall that will result in even more suicide
bombings, more support from other Muslims---whether national or just
financial---for Palestinian extracurricular activities, and ultimately,
more slain Israelis. Tell me how this wall is going to make Israel more
secure in the long run because I̢۪m just not getting it.
Only rarely has the US Government threatened to cut off financial
support for Israel, and if memory serves, I don̢۪t think it̢۪s ever
actually happened. I̢۪m fairly certain, however, this President is
different. He̢۪ll snag Israel̢۪s ATM card quicker than you can spit.
And good for him. That wall is not about making peace. It̢۪s about
making war and it̢۪s time for it to go. --Well, that will teach me to
have a big ol lead in and not follow through. You have to pay to get
premium content from The Economist. I apologize. Suffice it to say, if
you pick it up at the newsstand or chuck out the coin for the online
content, you̢۪ll find a wonderful editorial about Steven Horkulak̢۪s
lawsuit against Cantor Fitzgerald in which he scored a whopping ₤
912,000 for being cussed at; a fantastic article about how the late
Senator Wellstone̢۪s supporters are setting up politician training
camps; and a funny and introspective commentary about European vs.
American vacation times. Ah, well. Go here and drool.

--Ah, a blackout on the east coast. How fun.

Anyone want to start making bets on how many blackout babies there will be nine months from now?

--You were waiting for it, weren̢۪t you? The chuckle of the day:

I won̢۪t be watching, but if you̢۪re up for some buffoonery, this is the guy to give it you. Enjoy.

----Oh, and almost forgot. Vodkaboy has written an insightful screed about soft fascism. Way to coin a phrase there and worth checking out.

I'm off. Laundry calls.

Posted by: Kathy at 05:11 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1548 words, total size 10 kb.

Ok, I̢۪m breaking my one blog a day rule. Man, people like this just chap my ass. If you don̢۪t want your kids watching CSI perhaps it would behoove you to turn the effing set off.
Or would that just be too much to ask? I̢۪m sure it probably is,
because everything in this world has to have a impossible-to-open
safety cap on it lest the children be harmed. And God only
knows, kids are SO much more important than adults these days. {Insert
Whitney Houston bleating on about how she believes the children are our
future}
Gag.
I love kids. I don̢۪t have any of my own yet, but that will change one
of these days. I am an aunt to twenty-two nieces and nephews and one
great niece. I hang out with kids. I play with them. I enjoy their
company. It̢۪s the parents that drive me nuts.
I̢۪ve noticed a phenomenon over and over again. Perhaps you̢۪ve
noticed it yourself. When a friend becomes preggers, they will suddenly
act as if they̢۪re the only woman over millions of year̢۪s worth of
humanity to carry a baby to term and then give birth. There are a few
rare instances of sanity out there, like my sisters and my friend ML,
but for the most part, these women are out of whack with reality. The
world revolves around them for nine months and then, low and behold,
the attention switches to the kid. But not really. If you know any
women like this, you̢۪ll know that the way they boost themselves and
make themselves feel better is by providing the absolute best they can possibly can for their child.
Nothing can be too good for their children. They must have the best of
everything from preschools with waiting lists to expensive Baby Gap
crap. And they̢۪re shielded from scrutiny because who, in their right
mind, wouldn̢۪t want the best for a child? If you dare to suggest
differently, you̢۪re suddenly an infidel, storming the vaunted bastion
of motherhood, so don̢۪t be surprised when the boiling oil comes
raining down. I can grasp the concept that life changes when you have a
child. Your world does tilt on its axis. It̢۪s like getting a dog,
wrought overlarge and accessorized by Gymboree. I can understand that
you have a life to feed, clothe, shelter and educate, and that you want
the best for them. It̢۪s completely understandable that you̢۪d follow
that instinct, but isn̢۪t it a wee bit much to ask that everyone else
be expected to raise your child as well and then object when your
standards aren̢۪t being followed? Now, I̢۪m sure someone was just
inflamed by me comparing a child to a dog, but when I was a kid, you
were seen and not heard. Nowadays, it takes a monstrous effort to not
see and hear children. If you haven̢۪t taken the time to notice, dogs
these days are the only ones allowed to just run around the yard and
goof off. Kids can̢۪t do that anymore.
This it takes a village crap drives me insane. It does take a
village to raise a child, but the modern concept of loving and
nurturing our beloved youth that Hillary put forth is not the same that
I grew up with and I̢۪m fairly sure it̢۪s producing a generation of
spoiled brats. Kids are more aware of power paradigms than adults are
and it never ceases to surprise me how many parents forget this.
Everyone̢۪s taller than you when you̢۪re a kid, so when you finally
realize that height doesn̢۪t really have much to do with who̢۪s in
charge, you̢۪ll take advantage of the situation. It̢۪s completely
human behavior. Don̢۪t be surprised that junior picked up on it before
you did. After all, kids are exceedingly bright these days. Don̢۪t
give them some lengthy explanation about why they
can̢۪t tear apart the coffee shop, or race madly around everyone
else̢۪s tables, pick them up and leave. They don̢۪t understand what
the hell you’re talking about anyway becauseâ€Â¦ahemâ€Â¦they’re TWO. If you’re the boss, act like it. That means, dare I suggest it, parenting.
If junior decides to stage a full blown temper tantrum in the middle of
the mall, to teach him that behavior is not acceptable, you leave the
mall. You do not buy junior a treat to shut him up. You don̢۪t have to
be a child psychologist to realize that, ahem, you̢۪re rewarding them
for bad behavior, so, duh, they̢۪ll do it again the next time they
want a sweet. As you might have guessed, there are a lot of these
children in Cake Eater land. In my childhood, if you were out of line
while playing over at a friend̢۪s house, your friend̢۪s mom or dad
felt it was ok to correct you. I̢۪ll never forget the day Mrs. McGill
washed my
mouth out with soap. I̢۪d heard of that dreaded treatment from the
McGill kids and, stupidly, thought I was immune from punishment in
their house. Nope. I sure as hell learned not to say “Jesus” in a
non-respectful manner and my mother completely approved of the action
because she trusted Mrs. McGill. Can you even imagine someone doing
that nowadays? And I̢۪m only in my early thirties, folks. This
wasn̢۪t that long ago. Not that I̢۪m saying other people should be
washing a playmate̢۪s mouth out with soap, but I think you get what
I̢۪m driving at. The line has been drawn in the sandbox. Criticism of
a child, in whatever form, is bad. The Village concept that is so
popular today seems to say, to me at least, water everything down---across the board---because—GASP---we must protect the children. They’re so innocent, precious and vulnerable. The adult world cannot come anywhere near my precious child. We must ensure their innocence lasts as long as it can. They must have a childhood while it is still possible.
Crikeys. You̢۪d think the world was going to end if the kid ends up
playing doctor with their friend down the street. Not that that would
happen anymore, either.
Oh, and the concept also seems to recommend a yearly trip to
Disneyland/World to keep the economies of Anaheim and Orlando going.
Homage must be paid to Mickey, after all. He̢۪s our God. I will swear,
right now, on a stack of Bibles, that when the husband and I do have
kids, I̢۪m never buying one damn Disney product. Michael Eisner will
get none of our money. And our resolve is strong! Now, I̢۪m sure
someone out there is getting ready to write me a really nasty email.
Fine. Go ahead. I̢۪m an adult. I can take it.
I will repeat that I don̢۪t hate kids. I love them. It̢۪s the parents
with the screws that are loose. Did you look at that list of “family
friendly” entertainment? How on earth did “8 Simple Rules for
Dating My Teenage Daughter,” get on the list? That show is basically
one big homage to slickly dressed girls trying to get around their
overprotective fathers. This
show is family friendly? Explain this one to me, because I̢۪m just not
getting it. How, precisely does a show that promotes excellent human
characteristics of lying and sneaking around get to be family friendly?
Bare midriffs are family friendly nowadays? When I was a teenager, if I
dressed the way those girls do on that show, my very overprotective
father would have shoved me in a closet, locked the door and lost the
key until I̢۪d come to my senses. Virtue, however, seems as if it̢۪s
become such a rare commodity these days that it must be celebrated
wherever it is found. Even on an inane television sitcom. It used to be
the norm that it was expected. Not so anymore, and it̢۪s the Parents
Television Council̢۪s job to celebrate the loss by saying this show is
family friendly. Is it just me, or are they celebrating what fifteen
years ago were after-school specials? I̢۪m not even going to touch the
“Star Search” commendation. It’ll just inflame me further.
The rest of the list is watered down garbage. You couldn̢۪t pay me to
watch those shows. They blow. As far as the “worst” shows were
concerned, yeah, some of those shows really do suck. “Fastlane” is
garbage, not because you have Tiffani-Amber Thiessen̢۪s heaving bosoms
in view as much as is possible without giving the cameraman a sore
neck, but because it̢۪s stupid. CSI, however, is not stupid. It̢۪s an
intelligent show that challenges your mind. What̢۪s so wrong with
that? So what if it focuses on adult topics? It̢۪s meant to be watched by adults.
If you happen to have a junior, well, make sure you know what they̢۪re
watching. Then turn the set off if you don̢۪t like what they̢۪re
watching and make them read a book. If it takes a village to raise a
child, perhaps it might behoove parents out there to realize that
it̢۪s our
village as well. You know who I̢۪m referring to: those pesky adults
who haven̢۪t produced a playmate for yours yet. I don̢۪t want your
child dictating what I can or cannot watch on television. Ok, rant off!

Posted by: Kathy at 04:59 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1550 words, total size 10 kb.

A correction from last week that I keep forgetting to post. I was
typing too quickly to remember that the next meeting of the Doha round
of GATT Talks will be held in Cancun, Mexico in coming weeks, not in
Doha, Qatar. Doha is the round of talks, Cancun is where the meeting
will take place. I'm an eedjit. I apologize for the error. And a stupid
error it is at that.
Also, according to the rules of the Economist's competition, they have
sole copyright over the work the husband and I just submitted, hence
cannot publish it here without being sued. Hey...it's five o'clock in
Nova Scotia, I think it's time for a glass of wine. And a happy weekend
to all.

Posted by: Kathy at 04:01 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 133 words, total size 1 kb.

--Oh me, oh myâ€Â¦what a day. Jackhammers blaring outside, the noise
floating inside, and my mind wishing it, and the rest of me, were on a
beach in Fiji right about now because I might have killed my laptop. I
just made the mother of all boo-boos when it comes to computing, that
is the keeping of cold beverages near the computer. My fingers slipped
while I was taking a drink and about half of a liter bottle of water
dumped all over the keyboard, which is inconveniently placed right over
all the components in a tidy little arrangement of form and
transportability. {insert massive, wrinkle etching, cringe here}
Fortunately, the husband was all over it. I mopped up my desk, while he
started pulling components apart and spraying that canned air stuff on
them to assist the drying out process. Fortunately, or not, you be the
judge, the thing performed a hard shut down, and after we thought we
had everything, with hopeful faces, we booted it up. Hurrah! It went.
For just enough time to get to the XP welcome screen, then it crashed
again. Then it wouldn̢۪t boot up at all. My laptop has now been
completely disassembled, and is currently lying on the dining room
table, looking much like a patient on an operating table, who̢۪s about
to get five different new organs and is just waiting for them to show
up in their beer coolers. The husband is sure if we just give it some
time to dry out, it should be fine. I hope he̢۪s right. Currently,
I̢۪m on his computer, aptly named Gandalf, (mine is called wee
bastardâ€Â¦I leave it to you to guess why). But he has an actual, normal,
keyboard. It̢۪s all curved and stuff, and I̢۪m making typos left and
right because it̢۪s so different from mine (which is flat), so have
patience with me and more importantly, keep thy fingers crossed.

-- Chuckle for the Day:

So, the Soviet Union̢۪s joining the EU, eh? Finally. Some sense of order to that beastly body. I can barely wait.

-- Amen!
Methinks it̢۪s more because the ratings sucked last year, rather than
any grand conspiracy on the media̢۪s part, but I can see her point.
Everyone̢۪s grief was still too raw last year for 24 hour news
coverage of the anniversary. I, for one, couldn̢۪t bear to watch
anything on television. We had a news blackout in our house, and on the
whole, I think that was a good thing. This year, however, would be as
good a time as any to at least have some
straight news footage shot that day, that is, without the mewling,
sappy, music they always choose to run in the background. I̢۪m like
Rachel. I don̢۪t want cleverly edited montages: I want the hard stuff.
We have to remember, and a montage isn̢۪t going to give us the whole
story.
-- Hitch is such a good little atheist

Who else would have had the uniqueness of thought to actually attempt a completely agnostic analysis of the Ten Commandments?

Meeee-owww!

Posted by: Kathy at 03:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 524 words, total size 3 kb.

--Overheard at the pool on Saturday afternoon:

“My GPA goes back up to a three point six after this summer class, dude, so there really haven’t been any ramifications for two full years of slacking.”

Ah, youth.

--Phew. Joe Biden has decided not to run for president. I̢۪m sure John Kerry is just so relieved. I know I am.

--Chuckle for the day
When you̢۪re working for that worthless political science degree your
professors teach you about the political spectrum, from far right to
far left, with all of the lovely shades of the rainbow in between. For
me, it̢۪s not a straight line that denotes the spectrum, but a circle.
I̢۪ve always thought that the far right and the far left were too
close for comfort. Seems as if I was right. God help us when Jerry
Falwell gets wind of this. Then again, Jerry Falwell would probably be
in the hotel room that was raided. Steer clear of Hanoi, Jerry. The
commies are ready for ya.
--I don̢۪t subscribe to a daily paper as it̢۪s a waste of money. I
get my news from the web like most thinking people from Monday through
Saturday, but Sunday is a different matter entirely. The husband and I
receive the Sunday Minneapolis Star Tribune (or Strib, as the locals
refer to it) because of the comics. And that̢۪s it. No five pound,
national edition of the Sunday NY Times graces our doorstep on dewy,
mist filled Sunday mornings while the squirrels race across the yard
and the birds chirp in the background. The husband and I do not laugh
over the Living Arts section over croissants and coffee, or delve into
the serious ramifications of Krugman̢۪s column in the Op-Ed section.
Instead, we drink coffee, eat cereal and the husband gets first crack
at the comics because, after all, he̢۪s the one who pays for the paper
and as such is his due. I usually read the USA Weekend sectional or
peruse the Marshall Fields circular. When he̢۪s done, I read the
comics while he goes to watch Fox News Sunday and yell at Juan
Williams. I know. It̢۪s incredibly lame for two thirty-somethings who
don̢۪t have kids and actually have time to read two or three papers on
Sunday not to subscribe. Don̢۪t shoot me for failing to live up to
your ideal of yuppiedom. In reality, however, most of it is crossover.
The Strib uses the NY Times wire service for most of their stories, so
why bother getting a subscription to the NY Times? If there̢۪s
something interesting I hear about in the Magazine section, I can log
on. That said, I used to read the Sunday Times every week. Religiously.
As a result, I generally whiled most Sundays away on the sofa, trying
to cram all that content into twenty four hours. Now, I actually want
to get out of the house on occasion so I find it best to limit the
content and most of the time I don̢۪t miss it. Yesterday, however, was
one of the times I did. It̢۪s a slow news summer for the Strib and the
Variety section seems to be bearing the brunt. Eight pages. Total. With
one really pathetic front page article about metrosexuals
(yeah, I know...you have to register. If I can suck it up and give them
my address, so can you). If you haven̢۪t heard of this term, think
straight guy who everyone thinks is gay and you̢۪ve got the gist.
I suppose this is where we̢۪re at in this day and age. Everyone̢۪s
got to anthropomorphize everything. Notice it, study it as if it̢۪s as
important as the mating rituals of rhinos (which isn̢۪t very important
unless you̢۪re trekking across the African veld and happen to come
across two rhinos going at it), then stick a big ol̢۪ fat label on it
and move on to the next social phenomenon. That̢۪s fine and dandy. The
study of people in the twenty-first century has turned into a full time
job for some people and it has to be nice work if you can get it. Just
stop filling column inches with it, would you? Publish it in some
obscure journal that sits on a shelf in a college library gathering
dust. Then you̢۪d probably be seen as someone important and academic
and could go on one of the cable channels and make some money the next
time a metrosexual shoots up a shopping mall. I can just hear the
commentary now, can̢۪t you? I̢۪m sure he was a pillar of the community. Metrosexuals usually
are. However, we must keep in mind that if Neiman̢۪s was out of size
ten and a half Prada loafers---which for the discriminating metrosexual
are a must have---what other outcome could you have honestly expected?
That the man would have put his name on a waiting list or had the
salesperson call around? Not hardly. Instead of writing about and
labeling these men, I̢۪d honestly rather be surprised when one of them
cops a feel at the bar. At least there̢۪s some enjoyment to be had in
that situation. --I almost forgot about the drag show update. The
preeminent drag show in town is called “La Femme” and is hosted at
the Gay 90̢۪s, seven nights a week, fifty two weeks a year on the
second floor of the club. You have to walk right past a few dancers who
have stuffed their g-strings with socks and strut on
the main bar, but it̢۪s worth the while if you can push yourself past
the gawking state you will undoubtedly find yourself in.
If you̢۪re not from the cities, the Gay 90̢۪s has been around forever
and is one of the biggest and most packed—and fun---clubs in town.
It̢۪s down on Hennepin Avenue, and should provide quite the education
for Wisconsin tourists who will undoubtedly mistakenly wander off the
new light rail line a block away when that stupid thing actually gets
up and running. If you̢۪re from Wisconsin, get off the train at
Nicollet Mall. You̢۪ll be much happier and the steamier side of
downtown Minneapolis won̢۪t dirty your pristine Nike Air̢۪s.
As for the show, some of the ladies were better than others. The
hostess (I was getting kind of looped by this point, but I think she
said her name was Morty. Don̢۪t quote me on that) was hysterical and
she made some good fun of my friend who lost her “La Femme”
virginity that night. I̢۪m bad with names, so I don̢۪t remember any
of their names, but I thank God, there weren̢۪t any Barbra̢۪s or
Liza̢۪s there that evening. Of course we did have Cher, Madonna,
Whitney Houston, Mary Katherine Gallagher (aka the armpit sniffing
“Superstar” dancing to a techno remix of “MickeyӉ€Â¦very
funny), and Stevie Nicks. While all of these ladies were fabulous, the
woman who stole the show was (I think) Deelite. One word says it all:
charisma. She made me want to be a better woman. While it was fun, and
the drinks were good, it was still a self-esteem shattering experience.
Don̢۪t get me wrong. It̢۪s fun to go to a drag show. But if you̢۪re
a heterosexual woman, it just sucks at your soul to be outdone by men.
God love ‘em. They obviously work at lot harder at being female than
I do, and it shows, no doubt, but I just can̢۪t compete with that. I
do have one obvious and serious advantage: my cleavage is real and in a
completely uncharacteristic fashion was on display, too, that evening.
Although, I won̢۪t bother next time I go. Who cares about a straight
woman̢۪s breasts in a gay bar? What was I thinking? The last hour we
were there all I wanted to do was leave, go to a straight bar and enjoy
being ogled by drunk straight
men. Now, this is something I don̢۪t necessarily seek out, but was
nonetheless desperate for, like Robitussin when you̢۪ve got a bad
cold: it tastes nasty, but it cures what ails you. Unfortunately, even
though bar time here is now two a.m., everyone is still on the one a.m.
clock. By 12:30 everyone is ready to go home and that̢۪s what
happened. Sigh. Oh well. I think the husband appreciated me when I got
home. Don̢۪t know for sure. I was too drunk. They do make a stiff gin
and tonic at the 90̢۪s. I highly recommend trying one the next time
you̢۪re in downtown Minneapolis.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:34 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1430 words, total size 9 kb.

--- Hey, the husband was RIGHT! Laptop is dried out and is running just fine. Woohoo!

--- I am the least likely person to be calling anyone on their sheer lack of Tolkein knowledge.

Quite frankly, I̢۪ve never read The Lord of the Rings
trilogy, nor do I have any desire to do so. I liked the two movies so
far, however, not because I̢۪m some addled, Tolkein obsessed nut who
reads the three books over and over and over again, and has since they
first received them as a Christmas gift back in 1975 (my brother knows
who he is), but because they did an admirable job of telling the story.
In other words, I am the anti-Tolkein.
So, far be it from me to call the Star Tribune on their massive error.
But I̢۪ll do it anyway, for my brother and the husband, Tolkein nuts
all, would undoubtedly be annoyed at this whopping error.
“With that in mind -- and in keeping with the fact there are
"nine rings to bind them" -- here are nine things that amused and
annoyed us about "The Two Towers." In the precious words of Gollum . .
.”

{Insert Cate Blanchett̢۪s very nice narrating voice here}

“â€Â¦and some things which should not have been forgotten were lost.”
Namely, the Strib̢۪s assumption they have to fact check even the video
reviews in the Freetime Section. There were twenty rings total.
Nineteen were given out (by whom, I do not know): three went to the
Elves, seven to the Dwarf Lords, and nine to the Race of Men. There was
one more ring created secretly, in the fires of Mount Doom, by the Dark
Lord Sauron, and it controls all the others.

The inscription on the One Ring reads:
One Ring to Rule Them All
One Ring to Find Them
One Ring to Bring Them All
And in the Darkness Bind Them
So, what exactly was going on here? What exactly did Eric Hanson and
Randy Salas think? “Oh, we could only come up with nine cutesy
reasons, in Gollum̢۪s weird English, that we liked The Two Towers, but we like that catchy phrase, we can̢۪t exactly remember it, but it talks about binding them, and we know one group
had nine rings, we just can̢۪t remember who and we don̢۪t really
careâ€Â¦it’s Labor Day weekend, for Chrissakes. We’ve got cabins for the weekend and who cares if we’re wrong, really? Just a bunch of addled Tolkein idiots? They need to lighten up anyway!”
This is like claiming that the only reason Chewbacca hung around with
Han Solo was because he̢۪s really just an adventure junkie Wookiee. I
fear for these writers. They̢۪ve just flamed a bunch of really serious
people and I̢۪m going to make the assumption they just don't know how
egregious their error was.
I̢۪m glad my email inbox isn̢۪t attached to this article. {evil
chuckle}
-- Congratulations Janis!
Now, I don’t really care for “At Seventeen,” or any of her music.
It̢۪s a little too floaty for my tastes, but she̢۪s written some very
insightful articles from the perspective of a
not-so-famous-or-recording-industry-powerhouse-anymore-but-still-working-
singer/songwriter about how internet downloads only help recording
artists who aren̢۪t, say, Metallica. You can find them here. If you still bemoan the loss of Napster, it̢۪s worth checking out.

You can shake your fist at the RIAA with a zealot̢۪s righteousness after reading it.

-- Lileks needs to get out of Jasperwood a little bit more.

“Here’s a company with a great product - high-quality tot
photography - and they screw the pooch right off the bat, telling you
that they own the copyright to your child̢۪s photo. (That̢۪s what
they told my wife when she took Gnat in.) Then they call you every day
until you submit to a survey. Oh: you get a floppy disk with one photo,
and it has a proprietary screen saver on it. A floppy frickin̢۪ disk.
In 2003. Oh, it all looks great from a marketing standpoint - end-user
software! Customer follow-up! But from a customer̢۪s perspective
it̢۪s highly annoying, and it makes me suspicious - for all I know the
screensaver reports back to the home office, and tells them whether
we’ve used it.”

James, James, James, says she with a monstrous sigh. Of course they own the copyright to Gnat̢۪s photos. That̢۪s how they make their money. While they took the photos, that doesn̢۪t mean they make any money off the film itself. This would be why most kid photographers don̢۪t charge a sitting fee anymore
They̢۪ve realized the money̢۪s in the prints for every relative of
every child they can get to sit down with angels wings and a little
tutu on. And Gnat was very cute in those photos. But because they took the pictures, there̢۪s a copyright attached,
so you can̢۪t just take one print, and say, run down to Kinko̢۪s and
run a bunch more off on a color copier. I know this for certain because
that̢۪s what my in-laws tried to do with our wedding photos. Kinkos
said, “No can do. These are copyrighted.”
And that was nine years ago, James. Sigh. I am hesitant to point out
this next bit because it̢۪s a bit bellicose and bound to start
something (please?). All those people who use Macs—the three percent
of the entire computing population---are a wee bit touchy when you tell
them things like, “if you had a PC, James, you could tell
if the disk was sending a report home to mama, because you̢۪d
obviously have installed a firewall on your spankin̢۪ new DSL line and
it would inform you as such. But you̢۪re running on a Mac. You have no
idea because your system is an antiquated piece of crap that doesn̢۪t
work with anything that̢۪s worthwhile unless you̢۪re a graphic
designer. I’m sorry, but I refuse to feel your pain.”
I am, however, with you on the telemarketer thing. Annoying little
buggers, they are, and since I paid for part of my college education by
being one, both perspectives are at my disposal. Believe you me, they
would rather be doing something productive with your time rather than
calling you. I know. I've been there. Ask me about my "Betty Crocker
Quick and Easy Crotcheting" selling experience sometime. And no, I
haven't the foggiest on why Betty Crocker's name was on a crocheting
product. They didn't explain that one to me when they gave me the
script. -- Ok, that̢۪s it kids. Haven̢۪t decided whether I̢۪m
blogging on Monday or not. We̢۪ll see if the holiday weekend thing
catches up with me.
Have a fabulouso Labor Day weekend.
I̢۪m very much looking forward to Tuesday when Sullivan gets his
P̢۪Town lounging butt back to work! YAY! August hasn̢۪t been much fun
without him.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:33 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1145 words, total size 8 kb.

--Ahhh, end of the first full week of blogging and I have baking, the
French and tiredness on my mind. --Recipe of the Day: Red Velvet Cake
I made this a week ago for when my father in law was here (yes, I am a
suckup) because this is one of his favorites. We̢۪re having friends
over tonight for dessert, cigar smoking and perhaps a little drinking
of amber liquid produced by kilt wearers. Since I still have leftovers
of the funky ingredients I needed, I thought I̢۪d just clear the house
out of buttermilk, cake flour, and unsalted butter and make it again.
It̢۪s highly tasty and if you̢۪d like to give it a try, here̢۪s the
recipe.
Cake:
2 ½ Cups sifted cake flour
2 teaspoons cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups sugar
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
2 large eggs
1 cup buttermilk
2 oz. red food coloring
1 teaspoon distilled white vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla
Frosting:
1 (8 oz.) package cream cheese, softened
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
2 cups powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
For the cake: Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease and flour 2, nine
inch cake pans. In a medium bowl, sift together flour, cocoa, baking
soda, baking powder, and salt and set aside. In large bowl, cream
together sugar and butter. Beat in eggs one at a time. Alternately add
flour mixture and buttermilk. Beat in food coloring and vinegar, then
add vanilla. Spread the batter evenly in the pans. Bake 20-30 minutes
or until toothpick inserted into center comes out clean. For the
Frosting: In a large bowl, cream the cream cheese and butter. Beat in
the confectioner̢۪s sugar until fluffy. Beat in vanilla. This recipe
for cake comes out pretty darn dry. I had been warned beforehand to add
1/3 cup of vegetable oil. Well, that didn̢۪t cut it for someone
who̢۪s used to Duncan Hines cake mixes, but it wasn̢۪t too bad.
It̢۪s still highly edible. I̢۪m thinking that adding an extra egg
along with the oil will remedy the problem. As far as the red food
coloring, well, sigh. I don̢۪t really know what to tell you. You̢۪ll
look at the box you have in your cupboard and see that it says four
ouncesâ€Â¦ total.
That does include the blue, the green and the yellow. Two full ounces
of red food coloring is a lot to come up with. I used just one little
container of red and it worked just fine, but the cake was still a wee
bit pink. Also, when it says to sift the dry ingredients, they̢۪re not
kidding. Sift the CAKE flour (don̢۪t use all-purpose or I̢۪ll come
over and beat you with a wooden spoon), the cocoa and the powdered
sugar for the frosting. It makes a tremendous amount of difference and
will save you about five minutes of beating the lumps out of the
batter.
Enjoy. --Who knew the French would put up a hissy fit about this?
Now, I don̢۪t want to get into it about the French. I̢۪m not going to
smack them upside the head because they were prepared to veto the UN
resolution authorizing the invasion of Iraq. They̢۪re a sovereign
nation and that means they̢۪re entitled to act however they want. They
could have done so in a more subtle fashion, I will grant, rather than
pissing off half the population of their supposed greatest ally, but
hey, they have an inferiority complex and that̢۪s understandable. If
you were a citizen of what, only a mere sixty years ago, was one of the
most powerful nations on Earth, you̢۪d be cheesed if you were now
relegated to second class status, too. In March, if you would have
asked me about the French, it would have been a completely different
story, but of course, time has mellowed my views, and I don̢۪t see
that as bad in the overall scheme of things. We simply needed to be
reminded about who they see themselves as a nation. And they̢۪re
different than who we are, so it shouldn̢۪t be so damn surprising that
they don̢۪t agree with us on everything. It̢۪s France,
after all. The French reside in a country that has been the epicenter
of contrariness for a thousand years. What is so surprising about that?
We say potato, they say pomme de terre.
France, I hate to say, is currently en route to hell and the handbasket
is on fire. They̢۪re in serious trouble domestically. Their pensions
are horribly underfunded, their citizens strike at the mere thought of
having to work a few extra years to earn one, they are having a race
and religious meltdown, they̢۪re about the bust the three percent of
GDP national debt ratio that the EU set up as the benchmark for
participation in the Euro, and their CAP Agricultural policy is about
to take a big old hit when they show up in Doha for the next round of
GATT talks. With all of this going on, it̢۪s no small wonder that the
Chirac administration would like to turn the focus of politics outward,
toward an easy target, namely the United States.
But this, as Marie Antoinette would say had she been more
diplomatic, takes the cake. Ugh. Balking at letting up on Libyan
sanctions because the UTA victims didn̢۪t get as much money as the
Lockerbie victims is completely superficial and quite honestly is
beneath them. There̢۪s a massive heatwave going on in France this
week. Reportedly over three thousand people have died because of it. No
small wonder Chirac and de Villepin are looking for distraction.
Bleech. --Ok, enough about that. I haven̢۪t found a chuckle of the day
because, for whatever reason, my homepage isn̢۪t linking up to
stories. It keeps saying “empty” on all of the lines and I’m too
tired to go search one out. Pffft. Sorry to disappoint, alas, however,
it̢۪s not my fault. I̢۪m choosing to blame it on the blackout. Seems
as good an excuse as any.
Why am I tired, you ask? I was up reading Angels and Demons
until six a.m. Goddamn that evil little bugger Dan Brown for writing
intelligent, thought provoking thrillers that you can̢۪t put down.
Since I̢۪m feeling like a victim today it̢۪s his fault I looked up at the clock and it said one-thirty. It̢۪s his fault, I looked up again and it said four twenty-three. It̢۪s his fault the buses started rumbling by before I was done. It̢۪s hisfault the sky was a lovely pearly gray when I went to bed.

{working self up into fit of righteous glory}I should sue, damnit! Get me a good lawyer, would you? The husband was not amused when I crawled into bed.

If you didn̢۪t know, this is the guy who̢۪s been making boatloads of cash with his novel The Da Vinci Code. Angels and Demons is the first Robert Langdon, Harvard symbologist extraordinaire, story and is, I am conflicted to say, much better than The Da Vinci Code.
I don̢۪t know if it was his publisher̢۪s idea or not, but he dumbed
Da Vinci down, and while I loved that book, the difference was
remarkable. Maybe I̢۪ll delve deeper into the subject on Monday, but I
wouldn̢۪t count on it. Run out and buy it. It̢۪s fabulous.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:06 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1246 words, total size 8 kb.

Ok, so I knew I was going to screw this up. Hmmph. Typical for my level
of technological proficiency: I know just enough to get myself into
trouble. Consider yourself forewarned. I had this lovely little
introductory post all typed out and it was relatively witty and fairly
erudite, but it disappeared somewhere between the typing and publishing
stages. I will try it again and hope this works. Don't you hate it when
your writing just disappears into the ether? I am the type of person
who wonders about things like this. When your cursor has jumped and yet
you're obliviously typing away, you look up and see none of the letters
and numbers have translated themselves onto the space you were aiming
for where do those characters go?
Is there a character heaven somewhere, where everytime you get a
Windows error message, a character gets his/her wings? Or, better yet,
will they come back to haunt us and eventually cause the inevitable
downfall of the Internet and all things technological? Hmmmm. The
problem could easily be solved by typing properly and keeping my eyes
on the screen rather than on my fingers, but I wonder. If we ever
experience the systematic destruction of the Internet, you will know it
was me. I just could not be bothered to stop looking at my fingers and
I will apologize in advance for taking down all the porn sites your
life revolves around. So, you see, this is my type of writing. If
you're interested, please come back. If not, it was nice to have you
for the few, brief moments you scanned my blog and I wish you well on
your armchair journeys. Try not to strain anything. For those wondering
about the name of this site, I shall explain. I live in a fairly
well-to-do suburb of the Twin Cities whose residents are called "Cake
Eaters," by the other three million residents of this fair metroplex.
For the record: I am not a cake eater. I just share the same
neighborhood that they do. The reason? I like old houses and
established trees. I do not drive a Mercedes SUV. I use my turn signals
when driving. I do not own a cell phone. I do not spend ungodly amounts
of money on clothes, shoes, the latest technological do-dad. I just
like my neighborhood, even if sometimes the neighbors annoy me with
their rampant consumerism. But, then, they are allowed to live as they
please. And I respect their right to do so, however, it does not
exclude me from poking at them occasionally. That's my right. I live in
a duplex that could be considered "ghetto" by anyone walking by and
comparing it to the neighbors' residences. I pay an extraordinarily
large chunk of change to my slumlord on the first of every month for
the privilege of living here. Unfortunately, however, he does nothing
with it other than to go on safari. He's our version of the "Great
White Hunter" but that would imply he has skill in hunting, which, from
what I hear from the manager of the house, is not the case. Reportedly,
he likes to shoot profligately at animals and then hangs their bullet
hole-ridden hides and heads on the wall. I wonder how much of the rent
I have paid over the past four years has gone toward supporting the
fine, but dying, art of taxidermy. As long as I'm introducing myself, I
suppose I should divulge a few facts. I'm a woman in her early
thirties, a novelist--unpublished as of now (is there any other kind?)/
haus frau who enjoys cooking, drinking wine, reading, and walking
around any of the lovely lakes we have here in the Cities. As my life
is rather boring, you probably won't be reading much about it. I might
include a few bits here and there, but for the most part my ramblings
will focus on things that have piqued my interest and were found worthy
of comment. That might include everything from politics, things I have
read, to movies I have seen or bad TV I have watched. It should be
interesting to see if my comments are worth anything. Thanks for
reading this and I hope you will come back.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:00 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 724 words, total size 4 kb.

--They say there are only two seasons in Minnesota: winter and
construction. And it̢۪s true. The minute the ground is thawed enough
to be dug up and maneuvered, the construction crews are out maneuvering
it, paving it, and praying it doesn̢۪t start snowing before they get
done. We have a lot of Just In Time construction that occurs here
because of our meteorological conditions. Normally, this means you̢۪ll
have freeway delays at the time of year when your car is most likely to
overheat, which gives the phrase “construction delays” a whole new
meaning for the beleaguered drivers of such outdated automobiles. Or a
neighboring street will be affected as they replace the water main.
You̢۪ll be tipped off on this one by the neatly attached, block long,
single PVC pipe, placed next to the curb with a lonely pipe leading up
to each house, which will quickly introduce you to a harassed homeowner
who is about to suffer a whole summers̢۪ worth of quick, weak showers.
Poor bastards. While you may be upset at the detours the work brings
about, it generally doesn̢۪t affect you directly. After all, there are
a lot of streets here. The chance they̢۪ll hit yours is rather small
in the scheme of things. Or so I thought. Cake Eater Crews have been
working on the blocks surrounding ours for a few weeks now. They̢۪ve
ripped up the concrete, gone all the way down to the dirt and are
laying new sewer pipe before they pave the road. Ok, fine. I thought
they might be getting to us, but at the rate they were going, I assumed
a budget crunch would intervene and we̢۪d be left out of it. Not so. A
magnificent Caterpillar asphalt-puller-upper just backed into the alley
behind our house and ripped up four or five inches of asphalt in about
five minutes. Then, when he was done, he backed up again and repeated,
in another straight line, while all the old pavement was rocketed into
a dump truck by means of a twenty foot conveyor belt. And all in the
space of ten minutes. This thing was the same height as my garage and twice as long. Scary.

And undoubtedly, the jackhammers will come out later today because the
alley is curved in one spot. The straight-line puller-upper couldn̢۪t
maneuver it and is resulting in one large slab of unbroken pavement
that needs to be pulled still. Sigh. I̢۪m not looking forward to this.
The noise will be spectacular. There will be all this dust in my mouth
later today and I will wonder what it is because all of the windows are
shut right now due to the heat. Then, as I will run my tongue over my
back teeth, I will realize they won̢۪t have any pointy edges to them
anymore and the question but how am I supposed to chew meat now?
will race through my brain. Yes, that̢۪s right. The dust will be the
remains of my molars because I will have ground them to nothing.
I am especially not looking forward to trying to back my car out of the
garage later today because the suspension on the rear end is on its
last legs. Dropping almost half a foot by just pulling out of the
garage might make the car say “Sorry, bub. This just ain’t happening.”
which will be followed by the back end suspension crashing in a
spectacular fashion that usually results in a fabulous flurry of tow
trucks and the junk yard offering $50 for the whole lot, “but not a penny more.”
I took a picture earlier, but I haven̢۪t quite figured out how to post
pictures on here as of right now. This might be the one instance where
I learn so you all can share my agony.
--Chuckle for the day: It̢۪s bad news when the bride̢۪s a mean drunk.

--It̢۪s always nice to know that even the most jaded of jackasses can be surprised.

Poor Bob. I feel so sorry for him. It must really suck to have your porn kingdom overthrown by young girls and their web cams

Posted by: Kathy at 02:46 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 701 words, total size 5 kb.

I hope the weather is nice wherever you may be. It̢۪s gorgeous here.
It̢۪s eighty degrees and sunny with a pristine blue sky that reassures
you that smog can̢۪t possibly be an option here---or ever again.
It̢۪s the kind of day where if there̢۪s a hole in the ozone layer and
it results in days like this, well, you don̢۪t want it to ever go
away. Global Warming be damned! Ok, that said, the husband just closed
up the house because he̢۪s hot and wants the air conditioner on.
Hmmmph. You just can̢۪t win, I guess.
Not much to ponder on today. Kind of lame, I know, but hell. That̢۪s
just me. Rented and watched two movies yesterday. I thought I̢۪d give
you the scoop on them, because hell, I̢۪ve always wanted to
disseminate my opinions on films to the masses, and now that I have the
option of doing so, I̢۪m going for it. As Vodkapundit
pointed out yesterday, life is short. This is one my things I want to
do before I dieâ€Â¦pfffft. I don’t care how lame it is in reality.
First, we have Bringin̢۪ Down The House with Steve Martin and
Queen Latifah. Not bad in all actuality, but as my film study/homeroom
teacher pointed out in high school, the editing of a film can either
make or break a movie. The editing in this one, wellâ€Â¦it broke it. Not
because the storyline didn̢۪t make sense, but because it wasn̢۪t
strong enough. The deleted scenes were on the DVD, and the reason for
this film̢۪s mediocrity became quite clear after watching them. To put
it simply, they shouldn̢۪t have been deleted. Here you have a film
that focuses on and makes fun of one of the touchiest topics we have
going on today: race. Whoever made this film chickened out. The edgy
scenes that actually said something interesting were deleted, and they
kept in the dumb scenes that played on tired stereotypes. How very
uncourageous. I can imagine it now: those scenes didn̢۪t play well to
the focus groups because they were things that struck a little too
close to home, the group responded badly, and they whacked them out
with a machete quicker than you can spit. I really do hate focus
groups. They suck the life out of everything. But, honestly, who needs
to see Joan Plowright (Lady Olivier to the uninformed) making blatantly
racist comments? Yes, yes, I know there are those
people out there, but somehow, I thought it was beneath her and over
the top. That said, however, the other gray lady of the film, Betty
White, was really quite funny when she came flying out of her house in
her nightgown, a bat in her hands, and said in a conspiratorial tone of
voice, “I thought I heard Negro being spoken out here!” or
screaming, “Mandingo!” when she comes across the Queen and Steve
pretending to have sex.
I̢۪d recommend it if you like safe films that have the ability to be
really funny and transform into comedy classics, but don̢۪t quite get
there. Lots of good jokes, and it really was funny, but it didn̢۪t
push the envelope, which, in this case, could have made it a better
film. In other words, it isn̢۪t Blazing Saddles, and it could have been.

The other movie of the night was Tears of the Sun.
Now, yes, it̢۪s predictable. Yes, it̢۪s another Bruce saves the world
flick, but hell, you̢۪ve gotta have a little fun every now and again.
I give it incredible kudos for actually switching the locale of the
world saving to Africa, with a plot that is relevant to some of the
things you hear on the news everyday with regard to that continent.
Coup d' etat's, child warriors, bloody dictators, tribal ethnic
cleansing. It̢۪s all there, and while some of it was handled with the
typical over the top “we’re here to do a job!” gusto that is so
common to any film centered around a group of American commandos, there
were some rather touching scenes as this uncovered territory became
charted. Rather interesting in all of its contradictions. There was
confusing character motivation, but it wasn̢۪t really a movie about
developing anyone̢۪s character other than Bruce̢۪s. As long as you
keep that in mind, it̢۪s not a bad way to kill a few hours. Keep an
eye out for Eamonn Walker who played Kareem Said on that fabulous train
wreck you can̢۪t turn away from, Oz.
This role was obviously below his terrific acting capabilities, because
it really didn̢۪t give him anything to do, but if it causes him to be
better known to the cats in Hollywood, I̢۪ll forgive him for it. The
man has the ability to scorch the screen. I sincerely hope he gets the
opportunity to do so sometime in the future. All right, kids. That̢۪s
all that̢۪s news here. Have a fantastic weekend. I̢۪m going to a drag
show this weekend, so I should have something interesting report on
Monday.
Keep cool and have a beer. Enjoy the summer while it lasts.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:43 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 860 words, total size 6 kb.

--So, you say you want to James Bond?
Give this a whirl. They̢۪re advertising in The Economist. I̢۪m sorry
I couldn̢۪t print the ad itself, because any job ad that claims it̢۪s
"Possibly, the most demanding job in the world" should really attract some primo candidates.

--Have these nimrods absolutely no idea that they̢۪re going the wrong way with this?
Now, I don̢۪t really care much for James Madison and those lovely
Federalist Papers. But I have to think he̢۪s right on this one. Four
years in office for a congressperson? I don̢۪t think so. This would
have the exact opposite effect Stenholm and Bartlett are hoping for.
There would be more fundraising, not less. There would be more grandstanding, not less. And, most importantly, it would mean more worthless legislation
that doesn̢۪t do a damn thing but take up more space on law library
shelves nationwide. Do we really need yet another Defense of Marriage
act, or more time spent on a flag burning amendment? I don̢۪t think
so. Do we really want Tom DeLay or John Bonior in office for fouryears
at a shot? I̢۪ve said it for years: cut the money out of politics and
no politician will spend more time than absolutely necessary in
Washington. Money is power and as Mr. Kissinger said, power is the
ultimate aphrodisiac. Right now, we have a governmental and party
system in place where the people who bring in the most cash have the
most power on the Hill. They did their bit for the party, hence the
party is doing their bit for them. And this doesn̢۪t even touch on how
much cash the lobbyists put forth. It̢۪s disgusting and it makes me
want to take a shower every time I think about it.
I suppose it̢۪s a testimony to our capitalist inclinations that
campaigning has become a serious, money making, business. Some would
applaud the Adam Smith rightness of it. I don̢۪t, and it̢۪s really
quite simple: if you don̢۪t have money, you don̢۪t have access, and
in a government by the people, of the people and for the people, the
people don̢۪t have a lot to say about the goings-on in Washington. As
far as campaign finance reform is concerned, I would like to propose we
go to England̢۪s system for electing their MP̢۪s. When a general
election is called and parliament is dissolved, MP̢۪s get three weeks to campaign. THREE WEEKS!
Not three years, not three monthsâ€Â¦three weeks. I hope the glory and
wonder of that notion is wrapping itself around you right now, like a
warm blanket on a cold Sunday afternoon. Also, according to the guide Parliament provides to teachers,
each candidate receives ₤5,483 for campaigning in their district,
plus an allowance per each registered voter in their district, which
varies by 2 pence depending upon whether the district is in the city or
country. If an MP̢۪s district is in the city you get 4p. In the
country, they would only receive 6p per voter. Granted, all this is
made possible by the UK government, who funds the election. The
government gives the funds to the candidate, and they only get what the
government can affordâ€Â¦which is ₤5,483. There are no television or
radio ads, as they are strictly verboten in the UK. They can advertise
in newspapers, however, and no doubt it̢۪s a great boon to the
newspaper̢۪s advertising departments. The government also places
strict limits on how much a party can spend in a general election, and
it is in force for one year before a general election. Each party can
only spend ₤19.77 million per election cycle for all the seats it’s
contesting. Now think about that for a minute and compare it to our
elections which run close to half a billion dollars, all told,each election.
Three weeks of campaigning, no television or radio advertising, and
MP̢۪s restricted to a spending a little over $7000 US per election
cycle and the political parties restricted to less than $25 million US.
How good can it possibly get? The frenzy of campaigning restricted to
only three weeks? And the joy of being able to watch television in the
weeks before an election without having to sit through endless campaign
ads? Utopia.
Yes, yes, we have a federal system, not a parliamentary one. The UK has
no First Amendment, either. (It̢۪s true, believe me. The UK can
restrict free speech, no matter how unlikely it sounds) Money and the
ability to spend it to get oneself elected to Parliament is not
considered an act of free speech in the UK, like it is here in the US
and this is precisely the area in McCain/Feingold that is being
contested in the courts currently. Why on earth should we ask the
government to regulate campaign financing when they can̢۪t regulate
anything else effectively? Wouldn̢۪t Congress be in charge of it? They
hold the purse strings, after all. I understand all these concerns.
Believe me, I do. But the system can and should be changed to make sure
our representatives in Congress are responsible only to the voters.
Changing a congressperson̢۪s term to four years will not do this. It
will only allow them to become further entrenched and that̢۪s the last
thing anyone wants. I do so get sick of Tom Delay̢۪s bad combover on
the Sunday morning talk shows, and I̢۪m sure I̢۪m not the only one
out there who thinks this way. The UK̢۪s system might not be for us,
but it has some very good points to it that could be modified easily to
suit the US’s needs. I’m not so naïve not to realize there would
be many pitfalls to such a system, but that can be worked out later. I
always enjoy the five minutes of idealism you̢۪re allowed with any new
thought in the realm of government. Let me enjoy my five minutes before
you start shooting it down.
Question is, who has the balls to suggest such a thing in Congress? One
thing̢۪s for sure, though. It̢۪d give Mitch McConnell a coronary. It
might be worth it just to open up one senate seat in Kentucky.
--Chuckle for the day.
I̢۪m honestly having a hard time seeing why this guy is having such an
issue with getting some. A man whose house is paid for, has a nest egg,
and takes care of his chores? And he wants to get married? Gracious!
What more could a girl want?

Posted by: Kathy at 01:30 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1092 words, total size 7 kb.

So, I lied. I am in on the weekend. Not like it matters. The (-5)
people that are actually reading this thing probably won't notice until
Monday anyway. The husband (pseudo webmaster) and I just updated the
site, and while it is not much nicer (hey, it's free...whaddya want?),
there are now links to sites I like. Peruse them at your will. There is
now also an email link for my devoted public to contact me. I'll check
it whenever I think about it, so don't hold high hopes that I'll email
back anytime soon...or at all. I'm fickle that way.
Rant for the day (for the poor, long suffering husband): HTML SUCKS!
I'm off to the pool to swill cocktails and work on my tan. Enjoy your
Saturday.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:02 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 139 words, total size 1 kb.

-- Chuckle for the day. And here I thought Norway was one of those countries where the gun control was fabulous. Apparently not.

--It̢۪s damn hot.

The State Fair starts this week, and I’m sure that some nimrod will say “well, it’s always hot the week the Fair starts.”
People do that here. The weather is always a leading edge indicator of
whatever momentous social event is in the offing. If there̢۪s a
blizzard in mid-March, well, the boys state hockey tournament must be
happening over in St. Paul. Or is it the boys state basketball
tournament? I can never keep it straight. If there isn̢۪t any snow in
February, the Winter Carnival must be going on. People are actually
having to dig in the dirt to find the moneyed medallion,
dontcha know? The fact it̢۪s August right now couldn̢۪t possibly be
correlated to the heat wave. No. It̢۪s State Fair time. That̢۪s why
it̢۪s hot. The heat wave has been going on for three weeks, by my
count and we haven̢۪t had any rain at all during that time. Lawns are
going brown, flowers are dying, earthworms are kamikaze-ing themselves
onto the scorched sidewalks, looking for any bit of moisture with which
to keep themselves alive. The AC is whirring away nicely in the
background, however, spreading cool air to all. It̢۪s been on since
Friday and I don̢۪t know when it̢۪s going to be turned off, but
hopefully soon. Providence has smiled on us this summer---for once. In
the past we̢۪ve been the ones struggling to keep cool with a single
window air conditioner while our neighbors smirked from behind their
shut, chilled to the touch, windows. But not this year. We̢۪ve got
central air this summer and it̢۪s a lovely, lovely thing
What̢۪s even better is that despite the fact I̢۪m just watering the
lawn every other day for maybe fifteen minutes at a time (I won̢۪t buy
a sprinkler. I just won̢۪t. It̢۪s not my lawn to begin with.),
“my” lawn is surviving in this heat and my obnoxious next door
neighbor̢۪s lawn is completely fried. It is a horrible, sickly yellow,
like a rotted egg yolk, and I am willfully resisting the urge to dance
with a wicked, unrestrained glee upon the dead grass while shouting,
“SO THERE, YOU ASSHOLE!”
Our house is sandwiched in between two houses owned by alpha males. One
is better than the other in that he is retired and is in Scottsdale six
months out of the year. The other one, however, is the bane of my
simple existence and is here twelve months out of the year so there̢۪s
no getting away from him. This man̢۪s life revolves around money: the
making of it, the lavish spending of it and the making of more. He
particularly enjoys making other people who don̢۪t have as much of it
as he does (namely, the husband and I) feel like shit. It̢۪s obvious:
he gets a kick out of it. He is the epitome of a cake eater. Well, why
do you put up with him? you ask. I do try to avoid him, but his wife is
nice and his kids are nice, so I can̢۪t completely alienate them
because of his juvenile behavior. Our space is also very cramped, and
there̢۪s just no room for a Hatfield/McCoy feud. The rocket launchers
would cause me as much trouble as they would him, so what̢۪s the
point? Well, it̢۪s all about how you react to his insults, isn̢۪t
it? you say. Ok, sure. I will admit that I̢۪m not as strong as I would
like to be in this situation, but I̢۪d bet you anything Mother Theresa
would have taken a bat to this guy long ago. If he doesn̢۪t get a rise
out of you one way, he̢۪ll try another, and another and another until
he finally achieves his Nirvana. Then he will be satisfied that all is
well in his world, all is shit in yours and that will be the end of
that until he needs to feel good about himself again. Which will be
sometime in the next week or so. He̢۪s just that persistent. But, his
lawn is making me ridiculously happy. His precious, well-tended, highly
manicured lawn that he mows with a thousand dollar riding mower (in this
neighborhood? Ridiculous) is toast. Dead. Fin. Finito. It ain̢۪t
coming back, either. Last weekend he instructed his son to mow the
lawn, despite the fact it didn̢۪t need to be mowed and in the process
he fried it. Any idiot knows you don̢۪t need to mow when it hasn̢۪t
rained, but obviously the obnoxious neighbor was clueless. I do feel
bad for his kid, however, because he̢۪s the one who̢۪s undoubtedly
bearing the brunt of this disaster, but my pity is in such small supply
it̢۪s practically nonexistent. Daddy was the one who said to mow, the
kid mowed, and it̢۪s Daddy who̢۪s at fault. And his lovely lawn which
he takes so much pride in is dead. Now, if I can just restrain my glee
long enough to keep a straight face when I needle him about it, I̢۪ll
be good. I̢۪m not a good person, I know. But if you had to live next
door to this guy, you̢۪d be happy too. --Memo to Minneapolis Bicycle
Riders:
If you̢۪re going to ride in the street, obey the traffic laws or pay the consequences!I
had a close call on Saturday afternoon and this event has signaled the
end of my patience in dealing with bicyclists. I won̢۪t bore you with
the details, but suffice it to say a bike rider came careering around a
corner, oblivious to the fact he had a stop sign, and, already halfway
through the intersection, I had to slam on the brakes to avoid running
the man over. Fortunately, I succeeded in stopping and while I was
sitting there in the middle of the intersection, shaken and thanking
God I hadn̢۪t hit the man, wondering if I̢۪d
done anything wrong, doubting myself and my actions while at the same
time knowing I had no reason to, I spied in the rearview mirror a lone,
gloved, middle finger waving righteously in the air as he pedaled his
way down Zenith Avenue. All of my sympathetic emotions in that moment
were replaced by a single, overwhelming, blood boiling fury. I have had
it! The next time this happens, I̢۪m gunning the engine of my crappy
car and running the bastard down. Living as close to Lake Harriet,
Calhoun and the Isles as we do, there are a lot of riders in the
neighborhood. These lakes have lovely trails surrounding them, so
it̢۪s no small wonder people would like to enjoy them. Some riders are
skillful and professional in their riding, and they obey the traffic
laws when riding in the street, but the majority of riders in this
neighborhood are not like this and it̢۪s patently obvious. The only
reason most of them are on the street is because someone assumed it
would be a nice, Brady Bunch-like activity to get everyone in the
family on their bikes for a group ride. Maybe they̢۪ll stop at the ice
cream shop on the way home if everyone̢۪s good. It̢۪s not a normal
event for them. The rest of their time they̢۪d be in their Lexus
SUV̢۪s, blowing through traffic like a hot knife through butter whilst
yapping on their cell phones. Most of the time, you wind up gritting
your teeth and bearing it. These people ignore the traffic laws; they
have their kids on training wheels in the middle of busy streets,
making the assumption that since their kid has shiny blonde hair and a
Barbie bike you̢۪ll take pity on them simply because they can̢۪t make
it through an intersection without slowing traffic up. They wave nicely
at you and expect you to give them a break from normal expectations
because it̢۪s a family activity
and who in their right mind, in this day and age of families breaking
up left and right would deny them a little quality tooling around time
despite their slowness? And most of the time, you let it slide, even
though it grates at the soul to do so. What are you going to do? Honk
at a little kid who̢۪s doing their best to deal with their parents̢۪
idiotic expectations? Hardly. But this attitude has bled over into
adult, dilettante riders, who are on their way over to the lakes to
cruise for single, spandexed meat. These are the riders I object to.
They obviously expect the same treatment and are oblivious to the fact
the standards are higher for them. This guy was one of those people. He
had a shiny helmet and a nice mountain bike, but it was obvious by his
flabby waistline he was not a regular rider. What precisely gives these idiots the right to think that
because they̢۪re on a bicycle and in the street the rest of us have to
stop and bend to their whims? When you̢۪re a kid and you get your
first bicycle, your parents tell you flat out that if you̢۪re in the
street, you now have to follow the traffic laws. That means stopping at
stop signs even though there̢۪s a steep hill on the other side and
it̢۪s going to slow your momentum and make it more difficult to make
it up that hill. The hill is of no consequence: you stop at the stop
sign, end of story. This also means staying on the right side of the
road and not riding right down the middle of it. It means signaling
your turns. And it most definitely means yielding. I mean, how
difficult is it for these riders to follow the law? If they were
driving in a car, they̢۪d do it. Better yet, if they were in their car
and another car didn̢۪t follow the laws, there̢۪d be holy hell to
pay. Why is it different when they̢۪re on a bike? Why do these people
think that because they̢۪re riding a bicycle, the laws miraculously
evaporate and they can do whatever they damn well please? Don̢۪t tell
me that bicyclists are preventing the release of more noxious fumes
into the atmosphere. Don̢۪t tell me they̢۪re helping congestion by
riding and not driving. Don̢۪t give me any excuse for them, because
I̢۪m not buying it. I̢۪ve had it. And the next time one of them gives
me the finger for their violation of the traffic laws I̢۪m turning the
car around and gunning for them.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:52 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1782 words, total size 11 kb.

--What a classy guy.
I̢۪m not an obsessive follower of professional tennis, but I̢۪ve
always really liked Pete Sampras, and for this, I like him even better.
If there was ever anyone who could go out on the court at Flushing
Meadows and offer up a humble, fond and grateful farewell, it̢۪s him.
And I thank him for it. It is so very rare in this day and age for a
man to know his own worth and to be happy with that knowledge. Even
when it was obvious that Pete was struggling, you had faith he would
find his way because he knew what he was capable of, and he would not
be satisfied until he̢۪d achieved that aim. But that only really
covers half of what has made him so successful and really made you want
to see him not only thrive, but succeed. It was such a joy to watch him
play. I still think he̢۪s got the best serve I̢۪ve ever seen, and to
see him volleyâ€Â¦wow. He was no leaping gazelle on the court, with
grace and fluidity oozing from every pore. He stumbled, slid, and
sometimes completely wiped out. When he ran to the net, I always
thought he looked rather like a little kid scrambling for a fly ball in
a little league game. But, he wasn̢۪t a sloppy tennis player, either.
When I watched him play, it seemed that he didn̢۪t want to waste his
time with extra motion. If he had a graceful follow through on his
backhand, it was because that was just the best way to hit the ball,
not because it was essential to his game. I don̢۪t think he strived to
be beautiful on the court, but he was nonetheless. And even in the
unlikely even that I rooted for someone else (umm, ok, I did want Pat
Rafter to win that one time in the semis (or was it the quarterfinals?
I can never remember these things) at Wimbledon), well, it was because
I wanted to see if they could beat the best and Pete was the best.
I would not want to be on the receiving end of one of his serves. I̢۪d
cower in the corner, my arms protecting my head, and pray to God that
he̢۪d double fault the entire game and I̢۪d escape. It had to have
really been something to be on the opposite side of the court, waiting
for his serve, with a mixture of fear, awe and sheer hope that you̢۪d
be able to hit the ball back running through your system. I̢۪ve read
many articles and seen many critiques of him on the sports channels and
the sportswriters̢۪ complaints, it seems to me, mainly boil down to
his lack of flash; the solidity of his game; his lack of head trips,
and their bitterness that none of these produces interesting fodder to
fill column inches with shows. They respected his talent, that much was
obvious, but they seemed to begrudge him his choice in lifestyle and
essentially who he was as a human being. Winning his fourth Wimbledon,
which proved he was no slouch, was not as exhilarating an event for the
media as when Agassi finally won the French, and it showed. His triumph
moved off the sports pages rather quickly, whereas Agassi̢۪s comeback
was speculated on incessantly. I know I̢۪m not adding anything new to
the conversation here, but it still surprises me that as good as
Sampras was in his heyday, he still wasn̢۪t paid the attention I
thought was due because he wasn̢۪t flamboyant enough to pique the
sportswriters̢۪ curiosity. He bored them with his greatness. And that
irks me. But then again, he never wanted the attention of the press, so
I shouldn̢۪t be getting my nose out of joint on his behalf. The one
match that has been referred to over and over in the past couple of
days was the one I̢۪m sure he was the least proud to have won: his
defeat of Jim Courier in the quarterfinals of the 1995 Australian Open.
The match is infamous because he wept for the news that his coach had
just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The man broke down in the
midst of the match to the point where Courier gently suggested to him
that perhaps they could finish it the next day, which is an option in
tennis. But he didn̢۪t take the easy out. He pulled himself together
and actually won the match. The media and the public loved him for
that, because it provided great drama. But I̢۪m fairly certain he
thinks it̢۪s nothing to be proud of, that he was just doing his job
and there shouldn̢۪t be glory or celebration in that. I̢۪m sure he
thinks that match was harder than it should have been, that he was the
only one responsible for that fact, and he should have never let it
happen in the first place. He pulled his own chestnuts from the fire
and because of who he is as a human being, I̢۪m sure he doesn̢۪t
think that̢۪s anything too impressive in the scheme of things. This is
complete and utter speculation. I haven̢۪t been trolling the archives
of newspapers and Sports Illustrated looking for press conference
quotes from that tournament to back up my suppositions. It̢۪s just gut
instinct. I, for one, will miss him tremendously. Good luck with your
life, Pete and thank you for being such a classy man, as well as one
tremendously talented tennis player. Oh, and thanks for never tucking
in your shirt, either, says she with a knowing smile. --Here̢۪s your Chuckle of the Day:
Ah, there̢۪s one born every minute, and apparently the majority live
in Germany.
--Sorry for the short blog today, but I have been kindly asked to get
my butt out of the house and up to the pool for the remainder of the
afternoon. The husband has plans, apparently. Hmmmm. Speculation is
running rampant. You see, the reason for the evacuation is that today
is the ninth anniversary of the day he put on a tux, I threw on the
only dress I’ve ever worn with train attached to it, and we said “I
do” in front of our families, friends and a few people I still have
no idea who the hell they were. If I had it to do over again, I̢۪d
take the cash Dad offered to spare him a big wedding for his fourth
daughter and would elope. It̢۪s hard when this day comes around not to
think of all we went through to just get to the altar. But, despite all
the wedding related headaches, and the fact I̢۪ve never felt so
tempted to throttle my mother in my life, these are not the important
things to remember today. It may be our wedding anniversary, but for
me, it signals the start of our marriage. And what a marriage it̢۪s
been! In the immortal words of Keith Jackson, “WHOA, NELLIE!”
It̢۪s been a hectic, frantic, sometimes desperate, highly adventurous,
but always interesting ride, thus far. We should probably face the fact
that our marriage will never be boring, which is good, considering we
both have attention spans the size of your average gnat and need
constant stimulation and God only knows, if it isn̢۪t there, one of us
will provide it. Although, perhaps we might start to tone that part of
our lives down, if you take my meaning, says she with a wide grin on
her face. God gave me a rare gift in you at People̢۪s Bar and Grill
that cold December night back in 1992, and I thank Him every day for
it. You are not an easy man to live with at times, sweet pea, but I
will still love you anyways. And I know, because you̢۪ve told me many
times, that it̢۪s the same for you. If there is any person in the
world I wish I could be perfect for, it̢۪s you. You are my wonder in
life and I am exceedingly grateful for the knowledge.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:47 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1365 words, total size 8 kb.

No blog today. The husband and I are working on an essay for a contest
sponsored by The Economist. Two thousand words on---ahem---"Do We Need
Nature?"
Heheheheheheh. I'm pondering on whether or not to post it here when all
is said and done. Will have to consult with the husband. In the
meantime, sit back, relax and enjoy the last few weeks of summer.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:42 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 74 words, total size 1 kb.