June 11, 2005
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I must admit, Yogi's always been one of my favorites, and what's funny is that I've always thought that he wasn't far off with some of these mistakes. There is great truth to some of them. For instance:
I think Little League is wonderful. It keeps the kids out of the house.
Yes, I know, it should be "it gets the kids out of the house," but, honestly, what frazzled mother could disagree with that?
Make sure to go on over and read. It's a good chuckle-inducer.
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June 10, 2005
Go over and keep on scrolling.
One rule that I would add to this post is that if a man is sick and keeps on whining about it, ignore them. If a man is sick and is quiet, get thy man some medical attention.
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].
DH is the type that "talks himself out of" being sick. . .but when he finally succumbs? EEEEEEW. And he's very bear-like: he just wants to go to his cave and sleep.
But every OTHER man in my life is exactly how you describe. (Including my boy-children.)Well, I was.
While I didn't really get along with my fellow staffers all that well, it was an interesting experience, laying out my own designs, writing the content and, of course, taking the photographs. Because you take a lot of photographs when you're on yearbook. Roll after roll of film. Which you then have to lovingly develop and create prints for. (This was the eighties kids, no digital pics here!) And all so you can capture the essence of a year in the life of the student body. Now yearbooks are great when you're in school. You run around and have everyone and sundry sign them. Soon thereafter, however, they wind up packed away in a box, gathering dust and will only be dragged out when the owner gets wistful for their youth and has cracked open a bottle of Jose Cuervo, to help them remember only the good stuff associated with high school, and to help the bad stuff slide away into the ether.
The funny thing about being on yearbook is that you have extra junk to remember your days in high school: plastic sheet after plastic sheet of negatives. Photos that you took that have wound up in your possession because the yearbook advisor threatened you with death if you left them sitting in the lab. Because she sure as hell didn't want to have anything to do with them. And when you run across these, you hold them up to the light, you laugh and note the ones that made the cut, and then you notice all the photos that didn't make the cut.
Since Steve and Robbo have decided to take us for a trip down memory lane in recent days, I decided I'd share a few not-so-choice photos that have heretofore never seen the light of day. Because, you know, they were my pals in high school. Hence they made it into a lot of photos because they were easy that way.
I remember this one well. Like all good high school kids, they were rock star wannabes. Well, let me clarify: Steve-o was; Robbo had different ideas. Steve dragged him into it with the promise of updating some of Bach's greatest hits. Of course, Steve-o was lying but Robbo was more than a wee bit gullible at that stage so he went along with it. They never really did get around to modernizing The Goldberg Variations, hence Robbo was a wee bit miffed about the whole thing and was always and forever threatening to quit the band. Particularly after Steve-o decided it would be good for their rock and roll props to wear their bridles around school. Robbo was just mortified, but Steve? Well, Steve, of course, thought he was hot shit. Even though they were the most pathetic excuse for a band I've ever seen. I have no idea who the other two kids are---they were younger than us---but I remember that the kid directly to the left of Robbo, well, he was in a lot of other pics---he seemed to always jump into shots, like he was auditioning for a Calvin Klein gig---so my editor told me to can the photo.
Oh, God, poor Robbo. Sigh. I remember this all too clearly. Our senior year the drama department produced Fiddler on the Roof and Robbo, God Love Him, was cast as Tevye. I have two words to describe this HUGE blunder on the part of the drama department: pity casting.
Now, Robbo thought this was a pretty cool deal. He'd been involved in every musical and every play since he was a freshman, but he'd never played a lead, because, well, not to put too fine a point on it, he sucked. And I mean he blew. There's just no getting around how awful he was in actuality. Couldn't sing on key to save his life. But he was a good little trooper, always volunteering to paint sets, help with crewing duties even if he was already in the chorus...there was no job that was too small for Robbo to apply his meticulous attention to it. He loved all of it. So, when senior year rolled around, the musical was chosen, auditions were scheduled and Robbo was as jittery as a junebug---and of course had to make sure all of his friends were up to date on all of his conundrums. Which piece should he choose to audition with? Would it be too much, do you think, to have actual dance moves choreographed beforehand? Should I go down to the costume shop and get a fake beard? I mean, he went on and on and freakin' on until we all began to wonder if he was really lining himself up for membership in the Blogistan High Chapter of Future Homosexuals of America, instead of just auditioning for the school musical.
Well, Robbo, blew the audition. Of course. What's surprising is that he knew it, too. His hopes were completely dashed and he moped around until the cast list was posted outside the door to the school theater. Then what to his wondering eyes should appear? His name on the cast list. He'd bagged Tevye, along with two other guys. He fainted. Right there. Dropped like a stone. You really should have seen it: it was like every bone had been plucked out of his body and he simply fell down for lack of a skeletal system. You see, there had been so many other guys who were also seniors, who had been involved in the theater department (yeah, I know, that's unusual, but Blogistan High? Well, it was an unusual place.) and there simply weren't enough male parts to go around: so they had three Tevye's---one for each night the musical ran. Robbo got the Saturday night performance. Only because the drama teachers thought they could sneak him in.
That, of course, was the night my yearbook advisor scheduled me to go and take pictures of the production. This particular photo was taken before everything went horribly, horribly wrong. I mean, Christopher Guest wouldn't have even had to mock anything if he'd seen this play. He would have actually felt sorry for the cast and crew. Waiting for Guffman had nothing on Blogistan High's Saturday night performance of Fiddler on the Roof. Suffice it to say, this photo, three minutes into Tevye's opening bit of Tradition represents the high point of Robbo's theatrical career. This was before he set himself---and the whole backdrop---on fire with the candle he was carrying for the wedding scene. (Yep. Set himself on fire. I know. Pathetic, eh? He actually had to stop, drop and roll to put himself out.) This was before he almost ripped his hamstring in half during the Russian dancing scene after Tevye's arranged for Tzeitel's betrothal to Lazar Wolf. This was before...well, I think you get the gist. The whole thing was like a performance of Macbeth is always supposed to go: it was cursed from the get go.
Hence this photo never made it into the yearbook. My yearbook advisor had also helped out with the musical and wouldn't allow any photographs of Robbo to be included on the pages we'd allotted. Everyone else got their due, but he was strictly VERBOTEN. I remember him asking me when the yearbook came out why he wasn't included. I lied and told him it was because of space issues. He seemed to accept that answer, but I suppose we're all grown up now and he can take the truth.
Now, while Steve-o might have flirted with Rock-n-Roll Greatness, and Robbo had his love of the theater to keep him warm at night, it should be noted that if you ever really needed to find these dorks, you went to the computer lab. Where invariably you would find them hanging out with Bill.
Since computers were new-fangled doohickeys way back when, and the school was keen to promote that they actually had computers, my editor was all over me to go and take some pictures of the few people who actually hung out in the lab. This meant, one more time, being forced to resort to getting my pals to pose for pictures. I remember the conversation going something like this:
Steve-o: Make sure you're getting my good side. Are you getting my good side?
Kath: You have a good side? Hmmph. Who knew? What the heck do you guys do on these things anyway?
Robbo: Search for interesting things to do, of course!
Bill: Which, knowing you two, includes trying to find pictures of South American farm animals
Steve: You know what I want? I want software that will allow me to chop the heads off pictures and replace them with funnier stuff.
Robbo:: Can you really do that?
Bill: {Slaps Robbo Dismissively} No, you dork, you can't. It hasn't been invented yet.
Kath: Bill stop smacking Robbo. There's no violence allowed in the yearbook. Work with me here.
Steve {Wistful} One day they will invent it. I'm sure. And they'll invent a vast thing called the world wide web, and we'll all have these things called blogs, because we named them after the high school, and we'll be able to post anything we want, about any topic...
Bill: Shut up, bridle boy.
Kathy: Oh, for Chrissakes. Knock it off! Just shut up and let me take the damn picture. I need to get out of here; I can feel the geek rubbing off on me. I'm going to have to take a shower when I'm done as it is...
Phin: {Chimes in from other side of the lab} Want me to wash your back for you?
Bill, Robbo, Steve and Kathy: NO!
Sadie: Maybe I'll let you wash my back, Phin. If you're a really good fishie... {insert much batting of eyelashes here}
Phin: Ohboyohboyohboy!
Sadie:...IF Gordo will let me.
Gordo: Nope. Mine. ALL mine. Not sharing.
Phin: Awwwwwww...
Bill: Oh, God. Get me out of here and to Dee Cee!
Sadie: Oh, well. {Shrugs and goes back to what she was doing}
{Insert clicking of the shutter here}
Kathy: I'm outta here!
Sadly, this photo never made it into the yearbook. The editor decided they didn't have space for it at the last minute.
Ah, so there's a couple of choice photos and stories of our high school days. I've got more, sitting right here, waiting for me to go through them, so maybe I'll post some more, or maybe they'll just go back into the box for future use. Who knows?
I believe Madame Sadie and Gordo have taken their own trips down memory lane. Make sure you go and check them out.
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June 09, 2005
Just goes to show that what goes around, comes around.
{Snicker}
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- What the hell happened to Steve Miller? I'm a picker. I'm a grinner. I'm a lover and I'm a sinner... What a great song. Rivaled only by Jungle Love
- Lileks was not at the lake today. I looked. So don't be expecting screedy goodness about a trip to the beach in tomorrow's Bleat
- Well water is nasty.
- Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good" came on the radio and Denis Leary came to mind:
I got two words for Don Henley: Joe Fuckin' Walsh
Denis is only rarely wrong about such things.
Whatever happened to Joe? I loved him because he had the most insane facial expressions whenever he played. He was the shit. I knew Don Henley was a poser at age seven. Warm smell of colitas my ass.
- I'm still liking that new Jack radio station. Some I'm sure would like to shoot me, but I can't freakin' afford an mp.3 player, so piss off.
- We have pooper scooper laws in this city for a REASON, people. Pick up your dog's doo so I don't look like I'm playing a game of hopscotch when I'm over there. It's embarrasing enough as it is. Besides, it gets into the WATER SUPPLY! If you live in SW Minneapolis, please learn that your water comes from these lakes. Fecal matter sliding into water is a BAD THING!
- If you happen to be one of the (very) few people I pass, please don't take it personally, speed up and then try and get around me, as if you're proving you're still running with the big dogs. Really, it's quite lame. I can guarantee you that plenty o' people pass me. You're one of millions, hence I take no notice, unless I have to pass you again and your shirt looks vaguely familiar.
- Sometimes it's quite cute when you parents let your little kids ride their bikes, replete with training wheels, around the lake, and on the walking path, no less. I can understand why you wouldn't want them on the bike path: they'd get mowed down by some random rollerblader. But please realize that when they clog up the path because they're too tired to move it along, it gets annoying for the rest of us. I thank you in advance for your kind consideration in not letting your kid do this anymore.
- My ass feels like it's getting smaller. I wonder if it actually is.
And there you have your (not so) regularly scheduled trip into my brain. Now, per usual, get the hell out!
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Would I lie to you?
What I would like to know is this: where are these people when I need to sell them a bridge? Hmmm. Come right on down. Quality architecture for sale, right here at the Cake Eater Lot!
UPDATE: Apparently, I provide inspiration.
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June 08, 2005
{...}The World Trade Center Memorial Cultural Complex will be an imposing edifice wedged in the place where the Twin Towers once stood. It will serve as the primary "gateway" to the underground area where the names of the lost are chiseled into concrete. The organizers of its principal tenant, the International Freedom Center (IFC), have stated that they intend to take us on "a journey through the history of freedom"--but do not be fooled into thinking that their idea of freedom is the same as that of those Marines. To the IFC's organizers, it is not only history's triumphs that illuminate, but also its failures. The public will have come to see 9/11 but will be given a high-tech, multimedia tutorial about man's inhumanity to man, from Native American genocide to the lynchings and cross-burnings of the Jim Crow South, from the Third Reich's Final Solution to the Soviet gulags and beyond. This is a history all should know and learn, but dispensing it over the ashes of Ground Zero is like creating a Museum of Tolerance over the sunken graves of the USS Arizona.The public will be confused at first, and then feel hoodwinked and betrayed. Where, they will ask, do we go to see the September 11 Memorial? The World Trade Center Memorial Foundation will have erected a building whose only connection to September 11 is a strained, intellectual one. While the IFC is getting 300,000 square feet of space to teach us how to think about liberty, the actual Memorial Center on the opposite corner of the site will get a meager 50,000 square feet to exhibit its 9/11 artifacts, all out of sight and underground. Most of the cherished objects which were salvaged from Ground Zero in those first traumatic months will never return to the site. There is simply no room. But the International Freedom Center will have ample space to present us with exhibits about Chinese dissidents and Chilean refugees. These are important subjects, but for somewhere--anywhere--else, not the site of the worst attack on American soil in the history of the republic.{...}
Wait for it.
{...}In fact, the IFC's list of those who are shaping or influencing the content and programming for their Ground Zero exhibit includes a Who's Who of the human rights, Guantanamo-obsessed world:• Michael Posner, executive director at Human Rights First who is leading the worldwide "Stop Torture Now" campaign focused entirely on the U.S. military. He has stated that Mr. Rumsfeld's refusal to resign in the wake of the Abu Ghraib scandal is "irresponsible and dishonorable."
• Anthony Romero, executive director of the ACLU, who is pushing IFC organizers for exhibits that showcase how civil liberties in this country have been curtailed since September 11.
• Eric Foner, radical-left history professor at Columbia University who, even as the bodies were being pulled out of a smoldering Ground Zero, wrote, "I'm not sure which is more frightening: the horror that engulfed New York City or the apocalyptic rhetoric emanating daily from the White House." This is the same man who participated in a "teach-in" at Columbia to protest the Iraq war, during which a colleague exhorted students with, "The only true heroes are those who find ways to defeat the U.S. military," and called for "a million Mogadishus." The IFC website has posted Mr. Foner's statement warning that future discussions should not be "overwhelmed" by the IFC's location at the World Trade Center site itself.
• George Soros, billionaire founder of Open Society Institute, the nonprofit foundation that helps fund Human Rights First and is an early contributor to the IFC. Mr. Soros has stated that the pictures of Abu Ghraib "hit us the same way as the terrorist attack itself."{...}
{my emphasis}
Nice, huh?
{...}But the IFC exhibit is treason to the memory of the nearly 3,000 people who were murdered for the crime of going to work on 9/11/2001. Whatever our nation's faults, whatever injustices have been committed in our names, no matter what someone might ever have suffered at our hands......those are not the stories to tell at the site where the World Trade Center towers once stood. At the site where 3,000 people were burned or crushed or leapt to their deaths. Not at the site where we suffered one of the worst surprise attacks in modern history, and against a civilian target.
We don't memorialize our war dead by including pictures of them picking their noses. We shouldn't remember our losses by blaming its victims - or even their great-great-grandfathers. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier isn't inscribed with, "What a Fuck-Up, Huh?" {...}
.
The victims of 9/11 deserve better, as do those who mourn them still and those who want to remember. It's really quite simple: a memorial is meant to memorialize. Not to teach. Not to educate. Anything that might happen along those lines is pure gravy. Primarily a memorial is meant to remember those who have fallen.
If these people can't even do that without trying to politicize it---or even realize that some people would think that they're politicizing it---well, they've got their heads shoved so far up their bums that they should be able to save their health insurers the cost of a colonoscopy.
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Except when I'm trying to sell children's books, then I'm not a material girl. Because it's all about the children.
Or at least the message I'm trying to sell these children so I can get some of their parents' cold, hard cash.
Because, you know, Versace ain't cheap. And since Donatella gave up the coke, well, she's just not giving out the freebies like she used to.
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I thought that was just a bad acid trip.
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June 07, 2005
Five Things I Miss From My Childhood
1. The Ding Dong Man: Now, I'm sure this sounds obscene to your adultified ears---either that or you have a serious Hostess problem---but the dude we affectionately called "The Ding Dong Man" is, in all reality, a guy who drove an ice cream truck around the neighborhood. That was just our nickname for him. He drove through the neighborhood just about every day, right around three o'clock. Methinks he was pretty crafty, knowing what time all the wee ones would be waking up from their naps. He also cunningly coordinated his timing with what could be considered the Industry Standard for snack time for the older kids in our neck of the woods. Two birds: one stone. Now, Mom was kind of a stickler in this department and only let us indulge in his treats every so often, but there was nothing better than a bomb pop when she would.
2. Happy Hollow: If you look at a map of Omaha you'll see that, near the vast expanse of Memorial Park, there is a street called Happy Hollow. Well, this isn't what I'm referring to, even though it's less than a mile from the old homestead and I used to cross it every day on the way to school. One of the perks of the bank presidency my dad held were a couple of country club memberships, and one of them was to Happy Hollow. Happy Hollow was, at that point in Omaha's development, out in what we mid-city residents considered to be the middle of nowhere. Now, however, most people consider where Happy Hollow resides to be midtown. During the summers, Mom would tell us relatively early in the morning if a trip to the club was on tap for the day. And, if it was, my sister and I were dumped into a state of heightened anticipation. I believe Mom scheduled these trips to west Omaha based on if anything interesting was happening on her "story" that day, but I'll never know unless she fesses up. Her "story" (and, yes, this is what she STILL calls it) is more commonly known as As The World Turns. If, as I suspect, nothing interesting was happening that day, we'd go right after lunch. If something was, well, we'd have to wait until afterwards. I remember the trip out to the club always taking FOREVER. I would finally feel a sense of relief when I could see the Witherspoon mansion. Across the street there was another mansion---I can't remember their name, but I'm sure the Omaha contingent will provide it when they read this---and attached to the mansion was a large field where the owner's horses ran free. Right after that field was a Sinclair station, which still stands at that corner, and that's where we turned left to get to the club. There's now a shopping complex where that field used to be.
We loved the club because the club had one big ass swimming pool and lots of kids. It also had a high dive, which made it infinitely better than Field Club, which was closer to where we lived and was the other club we belonged to, but where there was only a regular height diving board and if you wanted to use it, you were jumping right into the fray because the pool was small. At Happy Hollow, they had the diving area roped off to swimmers. Pure class. Christi and I were pool connosieurs at that point in time and nothing was better, in our humble opinion, than Happy Hollow.
One summer, when my mom was busy planning my brother's wedding and didn't have time to come to the pool with us, she'd drop us off right when the pool opened, we'd swim, we'd have lunch---they had a little grill shack that served the best hamburgers---then we'd swim some more, we'd have a Hostess blueberry or cherry pie for a snack and then we'd swim until our Dad would come to pick us up after work. Sometimes, if we were really lucky, Dad would want to go back to the club after dinner for more swimming. YIPPEEE! It was heaven for an eleven-year old fish like myself. This whole arrangement worked rather well until Dad freaked when he got the grill tab. Yikes, was he ever pissed off.
I still remember our member number: 606Z. Mom and Dad don't belong anymore---the membership went the way of the Dodo when Dad was downsized---but there are times when I'm back in Omaha during the summer and I wonder if they'd boot me out if I went in there and put that code down on the sign-in sheet.
3. Old reruns of decent tee vee shows. When we got cable, we were introduced to the glories of The Carol Burnett Show, The Addams Family, The Munsters and the like. Nothing was funnier than old Carol Burnett episodes. My favorite moments were when they cracked themselves up. Whatever happened to Lyle Waggoner? Does anyone know? I have to think he's who George Hamilton stole the skin cancer-schtick from.
4. Video Games At the 7-11. Tis where I learned how to play Pac Man and Ms. Pac Man. Donkey Kong was included, as was that little bastard Q-Bert, Asteroids and Space Invaders. Frogger ruled, but the ultimate was Pole Position.
5. Riding my bike: It's just not the same thing when you're an adult. The heady sense of freedom just isn't there when you're a grownup and you sling your leg over the chassis. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but it means less.
The rules:
Remove the #1 item from the following list, bump everyone up one place and add your blog's name in the #5 spot. You need to link to actually link to each of the blogs for the link-whorage aspect of this fiendish meme to kick in.
No Government Cheese
Villainous Company
Pirate's Cove
Fistful of Fortnights
Cake Eater Chronicles
Next, select four unsuspecting victims, list and link to them. Get the plank ready.
Who to pick, who to pick? Hmmmmm. Well, of course, I must choose Robbo. Because he's all about the meme, just like moi. RP would probably have some lovely answers (and who, inspired by The Girl Child, hopes your summer tastes like pear. Which is as lovely a sentiment as I've heard lately.) as would Miss Margi, our newest addition to the divesque ladies (and because she always humors me when it comes to these things). Let's see, I need one more. Hmmmm. Who to pick? Hmmmm. Aha. The Blog Child. Because she's a sucker for memes and maybe this will get her mind off the morning sickness.
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I would have to say that the answer to this one is no. It is NEVER ok for this to happen. Others might be more enlightened and are able to keep their emotions in check, and can pull the "yeah, sure, he's a great guy, it just didn't work out with us, so go for it" thing off. I'm sure those people are out there. It's just that, in reality, I've never known this to work out, no matter how 21st Century someone purports to be. I'm very much like Dr. House on this issue: everyone lies. If someone says they're over their ex, just assume they're lying. If someone says that they're mostly over their ex, just assume they're lying. If someone says they're not over their ex, well, just assume they're lying, but that they'll still be jealous if you date their ex.
To explain my thoughts on this one, I have to lay out a bit of my ancient history. You see, I have never been the type of girl who turns guys' heads. They don't walk up to me and start chatting me up. It just doesn't happen. I'm just not that chick. I have brown hair and I wear glasses. Go figure. I am, however, the girl who can chat on all sorts of subjects and will "intrigue" a man once she starts talking to him. I have no idea why this happens, but it's always been this way. Now, this was a very uncomfortable experience when I was coming of age, because my friends would gain a guy, I'd get to know them because the socially acceptable thing to do is to get to know the people your friends date, and then this is when it would get interesting. For some strange reason I always wound up fending off advances from my friends' boyfriends. God, talk about awkward.
One glaring example from my youth: my best friend from high school was dating this goombah. And there's really no other way to describe him: he was a goombah. He was Italian-American; he was born and raised in Nebraska, but for some strange reason thought he should have a Brooklyn accent; he wore gold chains around his neck and---I swear to God---wore a pinky ring, and drove a Bitchin' Camaro. He pretty much fit the "goombah" definition. He was an "ok" guy, and we got along all right, but I was having a hard time understanding why Julie thought the sun rose and set with him. The first time I met him was the first weekend I was home from college after my freshman year. We went to a party, I was introduced, I chatted with him, and before then end of that night he'd grabbed my ass TWICE. When Julie was right next to him, no less. I'd removed his hand both times, and added a painful twist to his finger to make sure he got the message that he shouldn't be trying that on, and shot him nasty looks to back up the message.
Now, I told Julie about this the next day. And, of course, she took it under advisement, but while I thought she was being rational about it, she was simply filing this information away. Not to use against him, but rather to use against me. She broke up with him a few weeks later. This was fine and dandy with me. No hassles. About six months later, I was home from school from Christmas break, and she was dodging me and pretty much not wanting to have anything to do with me. I didn't understand what was going on, she wouldn't stay on the phone long enough with me for me to suss it out, and so, when I got back to school, I sent her a letter, wondering what was up. Well, she sent one back saying we shouldn't be friends anymore. Because I was "always trying to steal her boyfriends away." And she listed out this boyfriend, even though she'd dumped him, as just one of the many examples of my being a bad friend.
I was stunned. Here I'd practically broken the guy's finger---twice---in an effort to be faithful to my friend, I'd told her what he'd done, and who was the one who had to pay the ferryman? Not him, that's for sure. A couple of years later, Julie and reconciled, but it was short lived. Think you can guess why? Her fiancee---yep, that's right, the man she was engaged to be married to---kept sending me these soulful glances across the room when I first met him. I was dating the husband by this point in time, and the boyfriend knew this, but the minute Julie got up to go to the bathroom, well, he started running his finger along my hand, saying how cool I was and that we should get together sometime. Oy.
Of course, I ran the other way. I didn't want to get blamed, again, for the fact she kept picking out losers. This happened many more times, with many more girlfriends and the objects of their affection. I have no idea why it happened. It's not like I went looking to steal their boyfriends away. I just talked to the guys. That's it. I hate homewreckers, yet I constantly got lumped in with their lot. It's something that baffles me to this day. Yet, this is why I've never thought it would be ok, under any circumstances, to even think about having warm and friendly thoughts towards a friend's ex. I just wouldn't do it. It's not worth the hassle, because, in my humble opinion, no matter how much your friend says they're over their ex, there are still going to be little rumblings of jealousy that could, conceivably, ruin your friendship. It's just not worth the trouble.
Now run along and see what Sadie, Silk and Chrissy have to say on the subject. Please also go over and give Kelley at Suburban Blight, one of our fine Divaesque Ladies, a warm welcome and read what she has to say.
For the male perspective, as always The Wiz, Phin, Stiggy have spoken up. As has the I-can't-bring-myself-to-shoot-raccoons-Smallholder at Naked Villainy.
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June 06, 2005
She's four years old.
Sigh.
I've mentioned in the past that her mom, the husband's sister, is a wee bit out there when it comes to the religion business. I love my sister-in-law, but she and her husband have taken a somewhat reactionary point of view when it comes to all things religion. As in no one should read The DaVinci Code because it's full of "historical fallacies." Not that she read the book or anything and knows first hand, but because her pastor said so, so it must be true. She also homeschools their kids. This is fine and it, to a certain extent, works well for their kids, but one of the extracurricular activities the sister-in-law has set up for the niece, to meet and interact with kids her own age, is dance class.
At a "Christian" dance academy. more...
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Posted by: Kathy at
01:10 PM
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June 04, 2005
I don't think I'll ever forget this man.
No one knows who he is. No one knows if they should really be using the word "was" instead of "is" when they write about him. No one has any idea about anything in regards to him.
Yet everyone remembers him.
He was the one who screamed through his actions that you will have to get around me if you want to do this. The world will be watching. Just go ahead and try it on for size and see what happens.
I wonder about him. I know this is hardly new stuff. Half the world has seemingly speculated on what this man was about when he stepped in front of a row of tanks, tightly grasping what looks to be the fruits of his Saturday morning shopping. But I can't really help myself from wondering about him. Who he was. Why he did what he did. What happened to him. What his name is. All of it fascinates me.
I would like to think that this man is the one who gave a massive boulder a good hard shove and started it moving down a hill. Even if his own country didn't benefit from his actions, I think he's the one who led people to say, just like he did, that enough is enough. He showed them they could be brave. He showed them you didn't need to have a party membership or a position of power to make a memorable effect. All you really needed was the will to make that statement. To say, in effect, "no, you're not going to do this because I am here. I will try and stop this. Because I believe your actions to be wrong. I am going to make a stand, right here, right now, because this is what I believe is needed."
I have imagined what led him to step up in front of those tanks. The story that I have concocted for myself is one of a random, sunny, early summer Saturday morning. I believe he was just your average Schmo Joe. I think he was probably married and had a child. Maybe his wife had sent him out to do the usual Saturday morning errands. But maybe he wasn't, and was just a single guy, out taking care of things he couldn't get done on a weekday. Either way, I like to think he lingered over his errands. That he took his time completing them, enjoying the nice weather, before he had to go home and deal with other domestic duties. But head home he did, and on his way, he couldn't have helped but notice that things were different. The air has changed quite noticeably. Things are quiet now, when they haven't been for weeks. Something is afoot and it most likely has to do with those students who have been protesting for weeks now.
The protests, in Schmo Joe's eyes, were probably something he had become accustomed to, as any resident of any large city would have become accustomed to any sort of large, prolonged demonstration. As we all know, it's one thing to watch something on CNN; it's entirely another to live through something. Maybe he had been caught up in the spirit of the demonstrations. Or perhaps he was following the action, but had learned to live with it and wasn't too excited about it. The demonstrations probably meant he took a different path to work, to avoid the traffic. We will never know if he was excited that the students were protesting, that he hoped this might lead to a tangible change in his life, or if he thought the students were simply full of shit and that these protests, in his eyes, were as good an excuse for blowing off studying for final exams as any other. We don't know and we probably never will. We just know that somewhere, somehow, along that path home, he saw those tanks rolling up the ironically titled "Avenue of Eternal Peace" toward Tiananmen Square. We know that he felt he had to do something to stop them. That he felt this was wrong because he was compelled to act against it.
So he stepped in front of the tanks and halted their progress.
I cannot imagine how scary that moment would have been. Tanks are massive things and there are big, scary guns hanging off the turrets. But that big gun on the front end isn't the only gun on a tank, as everyone knows. And they don't have to fire the big gun to kill you, either: there are plenty of the small ones which will do the trick just as well and will be more efficient at it. You can see in the photograph how small he looked in comparison to them. Yet, he didn't let fear stop him. He had to have been afraid that they would roll right over him, not having seen him, or, even worse, that they had seen him and would start shooting. That it would begin--and, to a certain degree, end---with him. Because this was the proverbial "put your money where your mouth is" moment. And not only because the Chinese armored cavalry was staring him down, but with the protestors as well. Remember that this hadn't ever happened before in China. There was no proven level of commitment on the part of these students. Would the demonstrators, those students who had been protesting for weeks on end, actually back him up? Would they turn tail and run? But maybe he didn't doubt their sincerity. Maybe he really thought they had a chance to change things and that this action was just him doing his bit? Maybe the only thought that was racing through his brain was that I have to stand up and stop these things. This is the threat, not the students. I must do what I consider to be right, so here I will stay.
Then the tank tried to get around him. And he moved in concert with it, shifting to stay directly in its path. I remember being stunned when this happened. I remember saying, "Holy Shit!" to no one in particular in the family room of the house I grew up in as I watched. I remember that his body language gave off an air of agitation and annoyance, like he was long-suffering father after a long day of work who'd simply had enough of his kids roughhousing and was going to put an end to it so he could have some peace and quiet. He looked like he was chewing the tank out.
The tank dodged again, and again he dodged with it. Then he did the most breathtaking thing that completely outdid everything else he'd done that day: he climbed up on the tank and started chatting with the driver. After a few long moments, he climbed down, and onlookers pulled him to safety.
This whole incident has stayed with me for sixteen years, and I'm not likely ever to forget it. But there's always one thing above and beyond all the rest that I wonder about: why didn't he drop his shopping bags? Why did he get in front of the row of tanks with them still in his hands, and why did he leave with them still in his hands? One would think that when one is about to risk one's life and limb by stepping out in front of a column of approaching tanks that one would forget all about the everyday path that had brought him to that moment. Oh, fuck the groceries, I've got bigger fish to fry. But he didn't forget about them. I would like to think that he, quite simply, had a life to lead and that the Saturday marketing was just as much a part of that life as was stepping out in front of those tanks. That this is who he was: Schmo Joe, average citizen of Beijing. That may not be the case: he may have been as surprised as everyone else that he still had the bags in his hands when all was said and done. In his haste, he may have completely forgotten about them, which is probably the more likely reason, but still...
For more go and visit Sheila.
Posted by: Kathy at
03:20 PM
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This morning we have the news that the Tokyo premiere of War of the Worlds has been cancelled because "{...}a lack of measures to protect film stars during their appearances before fans and to prevent people from illegally recording the film during its showing.{...}"
In light of this post by the always effervescent Sheila, I'm thinking it wouldn't be out of line to shout, "Liar Liar, pants on fire, hanging from a telephone wire!" at the studio executives.
{...}What is fascinating about that Times piece is that it confirmed for me my own suspicions that all is not well in Cruise's La-La Land. The people working for him, as well as the studios, and the producers, are not "okay" with this new Cruise. He's been forgiven and pampered for years, and now suddenly we all have this "No comment" stuff? This is a terrible sign. (I mean, I'm not comparing this to an actual world-tragedy, please don't misunderstand me. I'm just talking about in the context of show biz shakedowns - this is pretty huge.) Like I said, I am WAY too interested in this. But I think Tom is, as we speak, going overboard with the Scientology thing, and people are not happy about it. The quotes from the guys at Paramount were particularly telling. They didn't like that Tom was going all bat-shit Scientology when he SHOULD be promoting his new film. Cruise seems to think that just showing up means promotion. But damn - his leaping about on Oprah's couch like a gibbering Dianetics-stoned chimp has taken away, definitely taken away, from the building excitement for his new film ... and so now, Paramount feels compelled to cut back on Tom Cruise's appearances. Like ... Tom Cruise is legendary for being unbelievable and tireless about promoting his own films. It's one of the things he's known for. So many actors get burnt out on that stuff really fast, but Tom Cruise has always seen it as part of an actor's job, part of being a collaborator. This has been one of his highly likable and professional qualities. And now? His presence at the junkets is now seen as a liability to the success of the film. People, this is HUGE news.I can only imagine that the Scientologists themselves (the ones in the upper echelons - the really cynical con-artist ones) wish he would just shut up as well. And I can only imagine his agent, his manager - watching this new open "sharing" and wincing about it. Unless they're Scientologists, too. His sharing about this organization has definitely morphed into a different animal, his protests notwithstanding. He has not "always talked about Scientology". No, he has not. Not to this degree. Not to this insane degree.
And now - this is incredible - the studios are having none of this. They are saying "No" to Tom Cruise. They are actually allowing him to have all this bad publicity. Tom Cruise almost NEVER has bad publicity. But now, there are a lot of people making comments anonymously because they fear retribution. Amazing. Tom Cruise is in trouble.{...}
I'm not buying the security excuse for cancelling the Tokyo premiere. Security is security is security: if you've got the coin, you can hire the best, and there is no doubt in my mind that between Tommy Boy, Paramount and the distributor, they can afford the best. Neither am I buying the "we're afraid of internet pirates" excuse either. First off, how stupid would a pirate have to be to try and videotape during a premiere? Second, the Japanese aren't notorious for this sort of thing; the Chinese, however, are. If the premiere was in Bejing or Shanghai or Hong Kong, yeah, I'd say that this is a legitimate excuse. But the premiere was scheduled for Tokyo, not Beijing, not Shanghai and not Hong Kong. Third, recent evidence seems to point to the conclusion that the movie studios are finally using BitTorrent and other P2P file sharing services as a viral marketing tool. A time-stamped copy of Revenge of the Sith makes it to BitTorrent? Before the release? Puh-leeze. That's covert marketing if I've ever seen it. I wouldn't be surprised at all if Paramount didn't release some form of War of the Worlds to a BitTorrent service to try and get the word out on the film. Furthermore, if Paramount and the distributor are really embarrassed about Tommy Boy's recent behavior, if War of the Worlds made it to BitTorrent before the release later this month, well, that would be a big tip-off to me that they're trying to find alternative ways to increase the buzz on this film without having to resort to sending Tom Cruise on press junkets. Sheila's right on the money here.
Interesting stuff. We'll have to see how all of this works out.
Posted by: Kathy at
12:43 PM
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Craig Westover takes issue with her premise and does an excellent job fisking her column.
His summation:
{...}In final analysis, KerstenÂ’s argument is really an inverse liberal argument -- we have the power, our values rule. Even accepting the worst case viewpoint that homosexuals are evil people and gay marriage is an abomination in the eyes of God, the true conservative political argument, if one is not going to exterminate gays and/or take their children, is that it is more beneficial to extend the protections and stability of marriage to gays -- not all at once but in increments -- than it is to marginalize gay families and their children and consequently promote the pathologies that marriage is praised for preventing.Gays -- conservative gays -- do not want to redefine marriage. The want to participate in it. And even if they didnÂ’t, conservatives ought to be encouraging them to do so with the same vigor and for the same reasons we encourage our own children "to settle down and raise a family."
Go read the whole thing. It's well worth your time.
{Hat Tip: Doug}
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10:18 AM
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June 03, 2005
- Damn and blast the Edina Art Fair. If you happen to live in the Cities and are planning on dropping by this weekend, might I offer a few suggestions for how to behave?
1. Parking. Don't park in my extra spot. Sure it's non occupado right now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you park there. I will call the towing company, because they don't charge me a damn thing to tow your car away. They will, however, charge you an arm and a leg for their services. Have fun climbing out of that bit o' bankruptcy. Neither should you block the alleyway, because I don't want to have to listen to my neighbors bitch and moan about it.
2. If someone's crossing the street you, the average car driver who possesses very little patience, perhaps, should allow them to do just that. Particularly if they're in a crosswalk with the little "walk" sign in their favor. Particularly if there's a cop right there, directing traffic. If you are not part of the solution, well, you are definitely, this time around, being part of the problem. Get a clue. Pedestrians have the right of way, not you. And pedestrians who live here all the freakin' time DEFINITELY have the right of way.
3. My lawn is not your garbage can. It's amazing, in this People's Republic of Minnesota, where everyone is supposed to be so societally advanced, how people forget about littering.
4. Don't be an idiot and ask me how to get to the art fair when you can see the white tents from my house. Open your eyes and OBSERVE, m@#erf@#$er!
5. Don't hog the line at Walgreens, asking the clerk stupid questions that patently ignore the rules of capitalism like "Why don't you have free water for the art fair patrons?" It's not called the EDINA Art Fair for nothing, you doof. We're Cake Eaters. Figure it out. Duh. They have the stupid thing to drive traffic into the neighborhood. They're not going to give a damn thing away for free. Figure it out you little, badly aging, tyed-dyed, fanny-pack-wearing, I LOVED the sixties, sad excuse for a hippy love child!
6. And if you regularly use my neigborhood as a traffic shortcut, JUST DON'T DO IT THIS WEEKEND. Please. The traffic is insane enough without you throwing yourselves into the mix. STAY THE HELL AWAY! Hwy. 100 really isn't all that bad. I swear!
And that's just what's bugging me today. There's two more days to go. YAY!
- We have a new radio station in town. 104.1 is now a cool station, instead of being an all-eighties, all-PatBenatar/Loverboy fest. I listened to it today while I was running and I'm in love. How can you not love a station that plays Abba's Waterloo right next to U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday? Good, eclectic stuff.
- I smell and I need to shower. And no, Phin, you can't wash my back for me. Neither will there be any puddin' wrestling.
- I think we're going to have breakfast for supper. Just haven't made my mind up yet.
- Thank God the grocery store is open 24 hours, so I can avoid you art fair nutjobs.
And that's it. I hope you enjoyed this quickie tour through my brain. Now...get the hell out.
Posted by: Kathy at
01:58 PM
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June 02, 2005
Posted by: Kathy at
11:37 AM
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