I'm a Bad, Bad Daughter

So, Sunday was my parents' 51st Wedding Anniversary.

And I forgot all about it.

Whooops! My bad.

It's not like we're big on celebrating anniversaries in our family. We have enough birthdays to keep track of that we don't need to be adding busy work to the mix. Neither have Mom and Dad ever been big on celebrating their anniversary with their children. It's their day: not ours. But still, after last year, I should have remembered. Although, maybe I'll get a pass because last year--their 50th---was a big deal and we celebrated accordingly. All eight of us either flew or drove into town, families in tow (and in my case, Mr. H. as the husband was otherwise engaged) and we threw a big ol' party for them. We had a great time and so did they, which was particularly satisfying after listening to them protest for months that they didn't want this shindig. So, perhaps I'll get a pass. I hope so. I have a feeling once Mom reads this, she'll call me and let me know...she always does.

So, anyway, Happy Belated Anniversary Mom and Dad!

Aren't they cute?

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Literature Blegging

I might have mentioned in the past that a good friend of mine is a professional translator. She's one of those disgustingly clever trilingual people and has put those skills of hers to good use. While she's an online friend and I've never had the privilege and pleasure of meeting her in person (she lives in France), she's an astoundingly generous person. Simply because I asked, she enthusiastically translated more than a few bits and bobs from the manuscript into French. She's also answered many questions about French culture and society for me and is an all-around good egg. I love her to pieces and she's asked a favor, and while I would like to help her out, I find myself at something of a disadvantage.

To wit:

A friend who works with a French editor just called me, they are planning a new collection and he was told to find books by North American authors (recent enough to not have been translated yet, and not too famous). The general field is "man in politics and society, with family or sentimental background" and he was told to look for something along the lines of Philip Roth and Jonathan Franzen, with strong viewpoints and a good style.

Now, I generally don't read this sort of stuff. While I do like some literary fiction, more often than not I opt for the popular stuff. Anything that I might read along these lines will be well-known, hence disqualified.

So, I ask you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, if you will please throw some suggestions out there that fit her friend's broad criteria. I don't think I have to point out to you that this is a great opportunity to help out an author whose work you loved, but whose achievements have been heretofore unrecognized. If you're a blogger and have written a post or two about this hypothetical author, attach links to those posts in your comments.

Both my friend and myself thank you in advance for any help you can give us.

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Cartoon Monday II

{if size is your thing, click for larger}

The husband forwarded this to me. In the email he asked: are you sure Andy Rooney doesn't read Mac Hall?

I really don't think so, but it might just be time to pull out the tinfoil hats.

{...}One of the interesting things about all this is that people who live where there's a lot of bad weather, ice and snow, seem to get more done than people who live where it's sunny and warm all day.

Hawaii is a great state for a vacation -- really lovely. But I donÂ’t think people who live in Hawaii do as much work as the people do who live in Alaska, Maine or North Dakota.

Hmmmm.

{Mac Hall can be found here every few days. Bookmark and enjoy.}

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Cartoon Monday I

Heh.

Let me state this clearly so you can get it the first time round:

STARBUCK IS NOT A CHICK!

I don't care if she slurps beer with her feet up on the table, smokes cigars, performs the obligatory fake crotch scratch in an effort to give herself machismo props. I don't care if this is some politically correct ploy to bring more females into the cast. Starbuck is not a chick. Starbuck always has been and always will be...

Got it?

Good.

And herein ends my one and only lecture on this topic.

{For being a party pooper, I extend my most sincere apologies to the very talented Barry T. Smith at inktank.com )

UPDATE: Dirk Agrees With Me!

(Many thanks to Pat for passing that along!)

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A Plea For Help

As I mentioned last week, Little Llama #4 is getting ready to make his grand entrance into the world. (and yes, it's definitely a "he")

Steve-o's in dire straits and needs your help. Mrs. Llamabutcher goes in on Monday to deliver the baby and they're still without a name. Steve's stuck on "Elvis Agamemnon."

Please go over and save the poor kid from this fate.

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Disavowed

Really and truly, claims Noodles, there are nice, non-hackers who live in Hopkins.

Yeah, right, buddy. If that's your story, you stick with it. Mmmmhmmm.

We really do believe it.

Because Hopkins is such a crackden. It's one suburb in here the Cities that's just plain loaded with nefarious types.

Just kidding

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The Shadows on Plato's Cave*

Rob may see the best "Half-Day Attraction in Orlando" when he looks at these pictures. He may remember that he had a very nice and interesting time hanging out with his sister.

That's nice.

All I see, however, are shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.

I am sooooo bad.

*

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Imaginations

The husband, the resident German speaker, translates Arbeit Macht Frei as "Work Will Set You Free." He also says the literal translation would be "Work Makes Free." On the whole, these are fairly harmless words. One conceivably could use this phrase in reference to the myriad metaphysical woes we run through on a daily basis. Find Solace in Your Work has been said to many a person suffering through a personal loss. And it's true: there is solace to be found in work. Freedom, even. You can find freedom from your troubles in work because the work distracts you. These words are harmless. Annoyingly true---like all good cliches inevitably are---yet harmless.

Until the location of this gate loads them with a sense of efficient barbarism that can and should make your skin crawl.

This is an early photograph of the gates of Auschwitz.

Taken into this contex, the innocuous words, work will set you free, should make you wonder about the sadism of words.

Can you even begin to imagine what it was like to see those words? To finally know your fate after so many years of not knowing? So many years of having your rights, as a citizen of a supposed civilized society, be taken from you, one by one, until there were no more rights left. So many years of being treated as a pariah. So many years of wondering what it could possibly come to. Can you begin to imagine the idea that these words were intentionally placed to give hope? To lull Jews into a sense of false security so they wouldn't make life difficult for their murderers?

I wonder how many Jews saw those words and, while not completely free of fear, breathed a very small sigh of relief, not realizing they were simply empty words. How many said, Oh, it's just a work camp. The rumors weren't true after all. It's a question that will never be answered, because those who asked it, mostly, aren't around to answer it.

Today is the 60th Anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz.

We talk a good game about never letting something like this ever happen again. We educate. We make movies. Books are published. Scholars dissect the history of those ages. We remember days like today. Yet, on the whole, we have failed. Genocides are an every day occurance, it seems. From Bosnia to Rwanda to Darfur, genocide is a thing that, unlike smallpox, hasn't been innoculated into eradication. We have yet to figure this one out. We have yet to figure out why people are driven by such hatred and envy to wipe their fellow human beings from the face of the earth for no other sin than being who they are.

I wonder if it doesn't have something to do with our imaginations and our failure to use them.

We, for the most part, refuse to walk a mile in the shoes of the suffering. We see them on the news, we say "how horrible!" then we go right back to doing whatever it was we were working on before we were interrupted. We might write a check to a relief organization. We might call our elected representatives to ask them to do something, but we don't really hold their feet to the fire about it, either. We lack a passion for the sanctity of life---unless it's our lives that are on the line. If it happens on the other side of the world, well, there really wasn't much we could do, was there?

The phrase, "the world closed their eyes" is often thrown about when it comes time for reckoning, but I think that's partially wrong. People not only close their eyes, they also shut down their minds. They don't want to think about this sort of thing. They don't want to be reminded that it could happen to them. They don't want to know about the suffering other than what they hear on the news, nicely segmented into two minute slots, because all sorts of uncomfortable thoughts might arise. They don't want to walk a mile in someone's else's shoes: they don't want to even slip their big toe into the wingtip.

Yet, there is a morbid fascination, isn't there, about genocides and how people suffered. The Holocaust in particular. People want to understand why six million people were slaughtered. Six million is a mind-boggling number, but it's also round and impressive in its largesse. They want to know why it happened, to see if there isn't a lesson to be learned about how to prevent such a thing from ever happening again. They watch the History Channel. They rent Schindler's List and weep when they see the little girl in the red coat obliviously meander her way through the Warsaw ghetto. They know what her fate is. They are moved by this imagery and thanks to accuracy in filmmaking no detail is missed, either. When the film is over, they might wonder about it all, but they don't really have to imagine it, either, because it's all there: all the gory details are aid out in black and white. They can turn off their TV's and go to bed, slightly disturbed by the movie, but knowing they're safe in their world. They might even be thankful that something like that couldn't ever happen to them.

Because absolutely nothing was left to the imagination, these people who sleep soundly after having watched a film like that, have never had to wonder about the possibility of such a thing ever happening to them. They are removed from it. Their hearts might have been engaged for a few hours, but their minds will go back to wondering about when the mortgage payment is due rather quickly.

Imagination is a funny thing. It can produce flights of fancy just as easily as it can nightmares. Yet the one thing that's universal to imagination is that we experience things first hand when we imagine. We wonder what we would do differently. How we would have handled it. Imagination forces the first-person experience upon those who will never have to suffer through the actual event. Yet, thanks to education, the world knows. We've seen. The work done educating the world about the Holocaust, by all rights, should have been enough to prevent a thousand genocides. Yet it hasn't. It is not the fault of the educators, but rather it is ours. We fail them every time a genocide comes along because we shut down our minds. In failing to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, we are just as apathetic as those who knowingly allow a genocide to occur. Our sympathy and erudition do nothing to stop the guys with the guns.

Imagine it. Today of all days. You can take some time to let your mind wander about it. Those who weren't liberated sixty years ago today, but who instead died a nameless death, ask it of you.

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More From The Llama's Sekrit Scrapbook

The caption reads:

Man, this is the BEST BIRTHDAY EVER! 40 doesn't suck quite so badly when you're snuggled up in Patricia "Hottie" Heaton's lap! And look at all the loot she brought for me! Wall to wall presents! Not like anything will compare to the present dear Patricia gave me with her presence, but I'll take what I can get. The interesting thing about this photo, surprisingly, isn't the photo itself. Right after it was taken, she leaned down and, into my fabulous ear, whispered...

Happy 40th Birthday Robbo!

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Techie Wednesday

Here's some interesting stuff for you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers.

Because I love you. And if I don't keep you up on this stuff, well, who will? Because we all know that if you're surfing here, you're probably not surfing here

First up, courtesy of Mr. JVL, here's one interesting view of how our media might evolve. If you've ever wondered what Google's master plan is, well, I think this might give you a clue to their strategy. It certainly gave me one. {Insert warnings about grains of salt, etc. here}

Then we have this lovely little blogging tool from the Enlightened Cynic (aka the husband).

To try and be concise about it, if you're a blogger and you hate linking to NY Times stories because of registration woes or because the permalink will be dead three weeks after the original publication---and then they'll try to charge you for access---know that these guys have found a way to circumvent this noosey-nonsense. In essence, they have hacked the NY Times' RSS feed and have provided their own link generator.

I have a feeling this is a result of hackers/tech savvy bloggers taking umbrage at Arthur Sulzberger, Jr's incredulity over consumers---gasp!---expectation of free content. I don't know about the ethics of all this, but I will say this much: if I can access old NY Times articles at the library on microfiche, well, I don't see why I shouldn't be able to access their old articles online for free.

I don't know how long this link generator will work, but I'd be interested in hearing what people think about the big picture that this move represents. I believe that this is just one more example of the information revolt and how we're moving toward 24/7/365 free content. For any security feature that's introduced, the hackers will generate an answer. The question will be, when will the Times et. al., get this and come to a different way of tackling the problem? This tit for tat bullshit gets a bit annoying.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:02 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Fun Fun Fun

Ummm, remember the snowmen in Calvin and Hobbes?

Let's just say they provided some inspiration for some bored, snowbound people. (scroll down to see the pics)

Sweet.

{Hat tip: Michele}

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The Gods Of Advertising Are Weeping on Mount Madison Avenue

The crack young staff of "The Hatemonger's Quarterly" is on a roll when it comes to dissecting things like grammatical goofs in the Applebee's theme song and The Pottery Barn Rule.

Need a sampling?

Accordingly, dear reader, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” found ourselves deeply distressed by the name of this new military law. We pined to give other American establishments the opportunity to have a clever law named after them. This, surely, would help jump-start the economy just like President Bush’s temporary-cum-permanent tax cuts did.

Without further ado, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” are therefore pleased as petulant pigs to present:

The Official “Hatemonger’s Quarterly” Variations on the “Pottery Barn Rule”:

1. The Pier-1 Imports Rule: “You Sit on It, You Break It, Since It’s Inevitably Made of Wicker.”

2. The Sharper Image Rule: “You Break It, You Pretend You Didn’t, and Then You Blame the Next Guy Who Fiddles with It.”

3. The Body Shop Rule: “You Break It, and Then You Use It for Animal Testing.”

4. The Benetton Rule: “You Break It, and Then You Caterwaul against the Death Penalty.”

5. The Marshalls Rule: “You Break It, You Buy It, But at Least It Was Cheap.”

6. The Brookstone Rule: [See The Sharper Image Rule. ItÂ’s the same.]

7. The Abercrombie & Fitch Rule: “You Break It, You Buy It, and Then You Glory in Homoerotic Kiddie Porn Advertisiing.”

8. The Orange Julius Rule: “You Go Bankrupt.”

Snicker.

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Happiness Isn't A Warm Puppy

It's Michael Moore being shut out in the Oscar nominations.

Yeah, that Best Picture-only business really worked, didn't it, Mike?

Can't wait to read his next letter to all of his devoted fans. Heh.

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Oh, Dear

The best of the Nebraska Boys, Johnny Carson, has died.

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Perez-Reverte Update

At the Bad Hair Blog.

Plus Fausta points me to an aggregator for Spanish blogs that are also in English.

Hot damn!

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C'mon Little Llama #4!

Little Llama #4 is getting ready to make his/her appearance into the world.

In case you're confused, the Llama-ettes are Robbo's girls and I'm dubbing Steve-o's kids as the "Little Llamas" because I don't like the moniker "Llama 4.0" for their latest addition. What's he gonna do? Call the eldest Llama 1.0? I don't think so. Steve's gonna give the poor thing a complex. Daddy, am I obsolete because I'm version 1.0? Was I full of bugs when I was born because I'm version 1.0? Nope. That would be bad.

And, of course, I'm also renaming the kids because I'm on a power trip today.

Anyway...

{...}We were timing contractions last night but it turned out to be a false alarm. I'm at work today but am actually carrying a (turned on) cell phone, so you know things are serious....

Say a Hail Mary that this kid comes forth soon. Seems like this is the second case of false labor Mrs. Llamabutcher has had to endure. While I've never borne a child of my own, well, I have a feeling that the false labor would piss me off to high heaven. My sisters have frequently spouted forth about their feelings when they were due, and while each sister's complaints were different in the specifics, there was one overwhelming theme to their whining: GET THIS KID OUT OF ME!

I can only imagine that Mrs. Llamabutcher feels the same way. Poor thing. I sincerely hope the littlest llama makes their grand entrance soon.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:42 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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My Eyes: Redux

Well, they're somewhat better this morning.

A little less puffy, but there's still no point in putting eyeshadow on.

After reading yesterday's post, Mom (who can't type and refuses to use the comment section because of it) called and told me to throw out my tube o' Great Lash if it was older than ninety days. Ninety days? What the hell! The shelf life on one of those puppies used to be six months! Who comes up with these arbitrary shelf lives? The Greater Mascara Council of America? Does the bacteria in the tube really reach undesirable levels after ninety days or is this just their way of upping mascara sales? After all, mascara is a basic makeup tool that every woman who wears makeup buys---repeatedly. There's a huge market there. If I spend $10 a year on mascara, because I replace my tube after six months, switching the cutoff to ninety days means I would spend $20 a year on the junk. That's bullshit. Hence, I have to think this is a shallow marketing ploy. There's no way in hell I can get my money's worth in NINETY FREAKIN' DAYS! I have trouble letting a tube go after six months because---ahem---there's still stuff in there!

Christ! Don't they realize that six months is exactly when you finally get to the easy stage of mascara application? I hate buying new mascara. A fresh tube provides nothing but challenges, because the first time you pull that brush out, it's just loaded with black goo. If you didn't blot the excess goo with a kleenex, you'd transfer big chunks of it onto your lashes. Which then drop onto your face, like mini oil spills, and you wind up looking like Courtney Love on a really bad day. But the kleenex saves all and by six months, you've rid yourself of enough of the goo in the tube that the brush comes out with a manageable amount. This worked fine for me. I've resigned myself to the fact that half of what I buy winds up on tissues that are instantly thrown in the trash. Yet this wastefulness wasn't good enough to up their sales. Now they want you to get rid of your mascara after three months.

Do you have any idea how much mascara costs these days? Particularly if you're into buying tubes of the Estee Lauder variety? Over twenty bucks a pop. I gave up that habit years ago and stuck with the little pink and green tube, but still...that costs five bucks a shot. And that's only if you don't spring for waterproofing or lash growing or curling junk, which costs more. It's a racket, I tell ya! Where are the Feds! I want a RICO suit filed toute suite! I demand it as a taxpaying citizen of this country!

Grrrr. And of course, I'll pitch the tube just in case but for the love of God, I shouldn't have to! I want mascara regulation by people other than the Greater Mascara Council of America! This is simply not fair.

Mascara and computer related eye strain aside, though, I'm wondering if a big old head cold is settling in and this was just how the body reacted to it. I'm stuffy this morning and given the position of the sinuses, well, it kind of makes sense. I dunno. I'll be trying to stay away from the computer in the meanwhile, just until we figure it out. And the husband is insisting I call the opthlamologist to set up an appointment to have my eyes checked, so that'll be fun. (The headache is freaking him out.)

Anyway, I have laundry to do, so I'm off like a dirty shirt.

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The Blogosphere: Fact Checking Your Ass

The next hot plagiarism story: Alias (yeah, the TV show) plagiarized Kurt Vonnegut with last night's episode.

Drew's got the goods.

To answer your question, Drew, homage becomes plagiarism when the author decides to sue.

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Saturday Night at the Badda Bing

Uh-oh. Reportedly, I have yet to be "made" in an organization I didn't know existed.

Hmmmm. Interesting. Not sure it's for me, though.

I'm not really a joiner. I did all of my "joining" in school. They lure you in with the opportunity to meet people and to have fun, but then, before you know it, you've been drafted to lick envelopes and all you've got for your efforts is the inability to taste anything other than glue.

Do I really need this? Do I really want to be made?

I suppose I could make the effort. They're at least having this thing on this side of town this time around and not over in St. Paul. During the ever popular State Fair, which I loathe. (No one will EVER drag me to that thing as long as I have breath in my body. The Great Minnesota Get Together my fine wide arse.) So I suppose this is my chance to meet other web crawling, political junkie hermits.

Sounds like there's trivia, too. That's always a bonus.

I suppose the thing that could get me out of the house come Saturday is if my wing man a. doesn't desert me this time around and b. offers to buy me a drink.

If Gary coughs up, well, I'm there.

I believe I've told you before that I'm exceedingly cheap.

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Sweeet!

I MUST HAVE one of these.

While this undoubtedly seals the deal that George Lucas really has gone batshit fucking loco, I wonder, though, if that light saber's going to fall off like Mr. Potato Head's nose always did? It's been years since I've played with a Mr. Potato Head. Has the quality improved? Do the pieces finally stick where you want them to? Ultimately, is it really worth it to possess a Darth Spud if all of this parts are going to resemble a leper's appendages, like the Mr. Potato Head of old?

Hmmm.

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