The woman who was allegedly abducted while jogging from her suburban Atlanta neighborhood has fessed up. It was a hoax. Why the deception?
"The wedding of Ms. Wilbanks and Mr. Mason had been described as the social event of the year in Duluth, a suburb of some 22,000 people a half hour northeast of Atlanta. There were about 600 people on the guest list, and the wedding party included 14 bridesmaids and 14 groomsmen. A friend of Ms. Wilbanks said there had been eight wedding showers."
I can wager a guess. Have you seen the pictures of this woman? Her skin is stretched as tight as a drum and her eyes are parked in that wide-open freaked out gaze. Her stats, as listed by her friends, have her at something like 5' 11" and 128 lbs. She is a classic overacheiver people pleaser. She couldn't even pretend to be abducted without it becoming CNN's top story.
With eight showers and an entourage of 28, this just sounds like an event where someone was bound to go postal anyway.
Fetch this poor gal a Paxil and some perspective. Also for anyone who encouraged her to have such a monstrosity of indulgence, decadence and wastefulness of a wedding.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
When fandom gets out of control
It leads to this.
How many completely devoted Star Wars fans does it take to screw in a lightsaber?
I'm of several minds, none of which predominates. I think:
A) If George Lucas can't take care of his franchise, so much the better that other people are taking care of it for him.
B) The title "Star Wars: Revelations" is a fanwank too far because the Matrix sequels sucked.
C) What kind of world do we live in where people can have a $20,000 hobby? Why not?
D) Corollary to C: If Lucas has made Star Wars a public property for non-commercial, non-profit uses, is it possible to set up a non-profit that does nothing but churn out Star Wars movie-lets? Could there be a future for a n-p Star Trek franchise? Where eventually the people who make these things can be given a fair wage and the money from sales go into either some sort of cause or towards the creation of more Star Wars-based fan movies?
E) Will there ever be a Star Wars with crisp dialogue? I'll give Revelations its props that it is as good as if not better than the two most recent SW films on those terms. Corollary: Why can't Lucas, with all that money, come up with a script better than that drawn up by community theater types?
How many completely devoted Star Wars fans does it take to screw in a lightsaber?
I'm of several minds, none of which predominates. I think:
A) If George Lucas can't take care of his franchise, so much the better that other people are taking care of it for him.
B) The title "Star Wars: Revelations" is a fanwank too far because the Matrix sequels sucked.
C) What kind of world do we live in where people can have a $20,000 hobby? Why not?
D) Corollary to C: If Lucas has made Star Wars a public property for non-commercial, non-profit uses, is it possible to set up a non-profit that does nothing but churn out Star Wars movie-lets? Could there be a future for a n-p Star Trek franchise? Where eventually the people who make these things can be given a fair wage and the money from sales go into either some sort of cause or towards the creation of more Star Wars-based fan movies?
E) Will there ever be a Star Wars with crisp dialogue? I'll give Revelations its props that it is as good as if not better than the two most recent SW films on those terms. Corollary: Why can't Lucas, with all that money, come up with a script better than that drawn up by community theater types?
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Annoyance blogging
Annoyance #1: 24. It's exciting, but it's very much on my nerves with the torture thing and now President Prissypants. All the right-wing stereotypes come to life, and whatnot.
Annoyance #2: The government. I want mypyramidtracker.gov to be like a wiki site where people can enter their own foods or corporate style foods (like the vitamin water I had for lunch) for the food database.
Annoyance #3: I'm light on stories next week. I'm going to have to scramble and I do believe that might include going to an Olalla Community Club meeting on a night I'd rather do aerobics.
Annoyance #4: The hiccups. Why? What's the point?
Annoyance #5: That "Desperate Housewives" clip show was a total waste of my time.
Annoyance #6: I was too lazy to walk across the room to turn it off.
Annoyance #7: Why can't people get drunk at work anymore?
Annoyance #2: The government. I want mypyramidtracker.gov to be like a wiki site where people can enter their own foods or corporate style foods (like the vitamin water I had for lunch) for the food database.
Annoyance #3: I'm light on stories next week. I'm going to have to scramble and I do believe that might include going to an Olalla Community Club meeting on a night I'd rather do aerobics.
Annoyance #4: The hiccups. Why? What's the point?
Annoyance #5: That "Desperate Housewives" clip show was a total waste of my time.
Annoyance #6: I was too lazy to walk across the room to turn it off.
Annoyance #7: Why can't people get drunk at work anymore?
Monday, April 25, 2005
Worthy movie blogging
Saw my first bollywood film — full-length, that is. It was "I Have Found It," and boy did it take a while! It was 2 1/2 hours long! I'd heard about the crazy length of Bollywood before, but I guess I had to find it out for myself.
Anyway, it's a re-casting of "Sense and Sensibility" ala Tamil village/Indian royalty. With some crazy song and dance numbers. Seriously, the chick who played Meenu, the Marian character. (Aishwarya Rai, BTW, majorly bigtime Bollywood actress who is entrancingly good-looking. I mean ridiculously beautiful, people. But also kind of weird looking at the same time. Which is, I guess, what makes her looks entracing.) There's a scene where she dances in a field with some guys wearing elephant masks and no, it doesn't make a lot of sense. The Edward character does a song and dance number that appears to take part in Egypt (?) and about 200 years ago. It was disconcerting to see Indian computer programming brought into the mix. It was a really lovely watching experience, even the much-expected "rain" scene that, I have read, is what passes for hot stuff in super-puritanical India. I want to do Indian dancing in a sparkly turquoise sari with a troupe of elephant-masked backup dancers in a field.
Also interesting, the actors are very upfront about not doing their own singing, which is accomplished by vocalists with one name. It's mostly classical Indian stuff with lots of shifty changes and tonal slides with clear, beautiful tones. If I could sing like that, I'd do it all the time. And then I'd get fired.
Anyway, it's a re-casting of "Sense and Sensibility" ala Tamil village/Indian royalty. With some crazy song and dance numbers. Seriously, the chick who played Meenu, the Marian character. (Aishwarya Rai, BTW, majorly bigtime Bollywood actress who is entrancingly good-looking. I mean ridiculously beautiful, people. But also kind of weird looking at the same time. Which is, I guess, what makes her looks entracing.) There's a scene where she dances in a field with some guys wearing elephant masks and no, it doesn't make a lot of sense. The Edward character does a song and dance number that appears to take part in Egypt (?) and about 200 years ago. It was disconcerting to see Indian computer programming brought into the mix. It was a really lovely watching experience, even the much-expected "rain" scene that, I have read, is what passes for hot stuff in super-puritanical India. I want to do Indian dancing in a sparkly turquoise sari with a troupe of elephant-masked backup dancers in a field.
Also interesting, the actors are very upfront about not doing their own singing, which is accomplished by vocalists with one name. It's mostly classical Indian stuff with lots of shifty changes and tonal slides with clear, beautiful tones. If I could sing like that, I'd do it all the time. And then I'd get fired.
Men's Health, back off!
I'm not sure why they are so concerned about my having "fun in the bedroom" but they've sent me three spams in short oder about it recently. I mean, I'm glad they are concerned and all, but it's a little ridiculous.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Gripes with mypyramid
Okay, WALKING TO OUTHOUSE is patently weird, and the physical exercise thing resolved itself the next day, but I have new gripes.
First, you should be able to modify several days at a time. Instead, you pretty much have to enter your information every single day. I suppose it would be the end-of-day routine that only an extremely uptight person could do. Also, in spite of all the food possibilities, there is no way to find full-fat sour cream, which is what I like to use in my chicken salad. I enter reduced fat sour cream, but I know that's a bunch of bunkum and wish the government would not help me perpetrate this fraud against myself.
Also, type in "french bread" (but w/o quotes) and you don't get a choice for plain old french bread. You have to type in bread and scroll down to french, italian bread.
Also, I am currently exceeding the recommended amount of carbs, fats and protein grams I'm supposed to be eating but still under the calorie recommendations (though I am not by any standard done eating today).
I am so tired of posting about this. I'm going out to play at the park.
First, you should be able to modify several days at a time. Instead, you pretty much have to enter your information every single day. I suppose it would be the end-of-day routine that only an extremely uptight person could do. Also, in spite of all the food possibilities, there is no way to find full-fat sour cream, which is what I like to use in my chicken salad. I enter reduced fat sour cream, but I know that's a bunch of bunkum and wish the government would not help me perpetrate this fraud against myself.
Also, type in "french bread" (but w/o quotes) and you don't get a choice for plain old french bread. You have to type in bread and scroll down to french, italian bread.
Also, I am currently exceeding the recommended amount of carbs, fats and protein grams I'm supposed to be eating but still under the calorie recommendations (though I am not by any standard done eating today).
I am so tired of posting about this. I'm going out to play at the park.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
When science speaks, conservatives blame liberals
I know, I know. Science. It's impartial. The studies are double-blind (well, the one the NYT's John Tierney and David Brooks have lauded in their latest columns). And for years, science has dictated that those who are not overweight live longest and healthiest.
Of course, as everyone in the whole western world knows by now, a little pudge is good for you. You would expect that the Journal of the American Medical Association's article about a study that showed that people who are a tad overweight (not obese!) tend to outlive not only thier teensy-waisted friends but their "normal"-weight friends would set off some cheering from the flabby pundit class. But you probably wouldn't expect it to blame "liberals" for being down on fat.
To quote Tierney:
"We could denounce the dangerous role models provided by the zero-body-fat actresses on 'Desperate Housewives,' or go to Vogue's offices for an intervention with its social X-ray of an editor, Anna Wintour."
and
"The activists fighting the evil junk-food industry always had a streak of neo-puritanism in them. They cited scientific research to justify their battle against fatty foods, but then campaigned hysterically against Olestra, the calorie-free fat substitute."
and
"The supposedly deadly consequences of fat provided the scientific rationale for the last politically correct form of prejudice."
There's a stab at blue-state entertainment culture, a stab at consumer activists and a stab at how certain people want to be politically correct but just have to lord it over people who don't measure up.
Hello? Have you not heard of Michael Moore? Did you not know about Clinton's pre-heart surgery diet? Would you call Andrea Dworkin, rest her soul, supermodel material?
As for David Brooks, who is really beneath contempt anyway, check this out:
"Mother Nature - unlike Ivy League admissions committees - doesn't like suck-ups."
"[Mother Nature] doesn't like those health-conscious rice cake addicts you see at Manhattan restaurants ordering a skinned olive for lunch and sitting there looking trim and fit in their tapered blouses while their buns of steel leave permanent dents in the upholstery."
"I like to be reminded that the universe is basically crooked. This is what the zero-tolerance brigades and all the better living gurus never quite get."
Oh, for the love of Pete, you live in NYC, don't you know the latest diet food there is low-carb, the exact opposite food from the disco-era rice cake? And why point out Manhattan? There are health freaks in Houston, Texas, the fattest city in the U.S., and, hence, probably the planet.
Yes, the people who told you to work out and eat your veggies were total jerk commies who wanted you not only to suffer but to feel bad about yourself. God knows there isn't an unsympathetic jerk like a health care worker (that was said with sarcasm), or that those people who don't want you to put potentially dangerous chemicals in your body only want to strip you of the joy of consumption.
No people, go to the mall and enjoy your freedom. Hit Applebee's and skip the salad for fries. Feel good about yourself at all cost. The people who want you to be responsible for your health are vicious pitbulls who want you to pay attention to what is bothersome about your weight and your consumption and the environment your food is produced in. And if you read Eric Schlosser, you will be darn sure that you might not feel so good about your ignorance.
It's science, dudes. It is what it is and the scientific and medical communities have been working with what they had, which, as you should have noticed by now, changes every ten years in a revolutionary fashion.
And would someone tell me why it is that conservatives love to point out how liberals are both controlling the populace by making them feel inferior and inhibited while simultaneously complaining how liberals are controlling the media with programming that encourages us to engage in violent and sexual behaviors, and have shackled us to an educational system that makes kids into egomaniacs because they have been imbued with self-esteem from the git-go? I thought the blue states were all about decadence and pampering?
You can't have it both ways.
Of course, as everyone in the whole western world knows by now, a little pudge is good for you. You would expect that the Journal of the American Medical Association's article about a study that showed that people who are a tad overweight (not obese!) tend to outlive not only thier teensy-waisted friends but their "normal"-weight friends would set off some cheering from the flabby pundit class. But you probably wouldn't expect it to blame "liberals" for being down on fat.
To quote Tierney:
"We could denounce the dangerous role models provided by the zero-body-fat actresses on 'Desperate Housewives,' or go to Vogue's offices for an intervention with its social X-ray of an editor, Anna Wintour."
and
"The activists fighting the evil junk-food industry always had a streak of neo-puritanism in them. They cited scientific research to justify their battle against fatty foods, but then campaigned hysterically against Olestra, the calorie-free fat substitute."
and
"The supposedly deadly consequences of fat provided the scientific rationale for the last politically correct form of prejudice."
There's a stab at blue-state entertainment culture, a stab at consumer activists and a stab at how certain people want to be politically correct but just have to lord it over people who don't measure up.
Hello? Have you not heard of Michael Moore? Did you not know about Clinton's pre-heart surgery diet? Would you call Andrea Dworkin, rest her soul, supermodel material?
As for David Brooks, who is really beneath contempt anyway, check this out:
"Mother Nature - unlike Ivy League admissions committees - doesn't like suck-ups."
"[Mother Nature] doesn't like those health-conscious rice cake addicts you see at Manhattan restaurants ordering a skinned olive for lunch and sitting there looking trim and fit in their tapered blouses while their buns of steel leave permanent dents in the upholstery."
"I like to be reminded that the universe is basically crooked. This is what the zero-tolerance brigades and all the better living gurus never quite get."
Oh, for the love of Pete, you live in NYC, don't you know the latest diet food there is low-carb, the exact opposite food from the disco-era rice cake? And why point out Manhattan? There are health freaks in Houston, Texas, the fattest city in the U.S., and, hence, probably the planet.
Yes, the people who told you to work out and eat your veggies were total jerk commies who wanted you not only to suffer but to feel bad about yourself. God knows there isn't an unsympathetic jerk like a health care worker (that was said with sarcasm), or that those people who don't want you to put potentially dangerous chemicals in your body only want to strip you of the joy of consumption.
No people, go to the mall and enjoy your freedom. Hit Applebee's and skip the salad for fries. Feel good about yourself at all cost. The people who want you to be responsible for your health are vicious pitbulls who want you to pay attention to what is bothersome about your weight and your consumption and the environment your food is produced in. And if you read Eric Schlosser, you will be darn sure that you might not feel so good about your ignorance.
It's science, dudes. It is what it is and the scientific and medical communities have been working with what they had, which, as you should have noticed by now, changes every ten years in a revolutionary fashion.
And would someone tell me why it is that conservatives love to point out how liberals are both controlling the populace by making them feel inferior and inhibited while simultaneously complaining how liberals are controlling the media with programming that encourages us to engage in violent and sexual behaviors, and have shackled us to an educational system that makes kids into egomaniacs because they have been imbued with self-esteem from the git-go? I thought the blue states were all about decadence and pampering?
You can't have it both ways.
Physical activity
Is a pain to input. There are too many options. I mean, who's going to check "WALKING TO AND FROM AN OUTHOUSE" (no kidding) especially from their home internet connection? Having to notate every waking minute of walking is ridiculous. I mean, does my flight of stairs really make a difference? And now I appear to be incapable of going back from the "standard" method of diary entry to one that compensates for all this muckety muck. People, do not go for the "standard" option. It demands accounting for 1,440 minutes (that's all 12 hours) of your day.
ETA: since I couldn't get out of that option I contacted the help line. Let's see if they're any more responsive than that stupid Rasputina, who have never written me back about their major BET exposure.
ETA: since I couldn't get out of that option I contacted the help line. Let's see if they're any more responsive than that stupid Rasputina, who have never written me back about their major BET exposure.
my pyramid has won me over!
Skeptic no more! What a tool for the anal retentive! Try it if you haven't yet — mypyramidtracker.gov.
Mypyramidtracker.com is a USDA boondoggle — I mean, tool — that lets people take stock of what they eat. It's basically an online food diary with all the calorie and nutrient calculations done for you.
To start, you have to create a login account, and if you're worried the feds are checking up on you to see what all you've been consuming, you might want to get a hold of yourself and realize none of this information has your name attached to it.
Then you input your height and weight and start entering all the stuff you've eaten. Today I have had: Frosted miniwheats in milk (definitely added to my frequent foods list) with strawberries, half a chicken sandwich with lettuce and tomato and "spread," which I guess is Euphamism for fake mayo, though there is not an option for chicken sandwich sans Miracle Whip nor one for chicken sandwich with mayo nor a "Dijionaisse" option, which is, coincidentally, what was on my little panini sandwich half. Also tea with evaporated milk, Snapple diet peach iced tea (I didn't realize it was aspartame in there until I read the label; I think my Splenda intake has softened me up for other fakey fake sweeteners), green pea salad (scroll down for approximate heavenly recipe) and I inputted in the tomatoes and lettuce seperately because the pyramid knows that most people don't put that slice of lettuce on their sandwich, do they?
Then you save and analyze your foods and there are a couple of different permutations to do this, which warms my heart, because Quicken has shown me the graphs n' charts light. I will list them in ascending order of preference. Option A is nutrient intake. Your calories and estimated vitamin, fatty acid and other micro and macronutrients pop up on the screen and you see how you're doing. Got a lot of calcium today? Yay! Got a lot of saturated fat today? Eek! Then there is the same list byt with recommendations and here, mis amigas, is where things get interesting. The RDAs aren't equitable, for we are expected to get above and beyond those numbers in Niacin, Riboflavin, B-Vitamins and Calcium. So you can really check up on what's going on.
Then there is the DG option, for Dietary Guideline. You get "emoticons" that let you see how you're doing nutrient wise. This is a little disturbing because I noticed my grains and fat and cholesterol emoticons were all smiley, but I haven't had near the meat or dairy intake they are pushing on me. That is an intake I know will shoot the cholesterol and saturated fat through the roof. Beans are an option, but, alas, I have no beans and they make me, er, intolerable to be around. However, it's a pretty good snapshot all considered. But it is the final option that has perhaps the best and most useful snapshot. The final option is the comparison with the USDA's recommendations, where you are shown bars representing how many fruits, veggies and other food types you are supposed to eat next to bars representing the portions you have actually eaten.
My "bars" look okay, but I can tell that tonight, for dinner, I should probably have some sort of stir fry or salad with meat and veggies, and, for dessert, some strawberries and grapes with sweetened, low-fat ricotta cheese. How healthy does that sound?
Also on mypyramid is a physical activity calculator. The standard option sounds fairly arduous for the input — you MUST input 1440 minutes per day of activities ranging from sleeping and showering to working to cooking to kickboxing. The other one sounds like a cop-out. However, there is a benefit to be gained over the long haul and that is a computerized graph of your level of physical activity and — this is the part that gets my heart all a-flutter — a *trend line.* Yes! A trend line! I can't wait to work out and watch the trend!
Mypyramidtracker.com is a USDA boondoggle — I mean, tool — that lets people take stock of what they eat. It's basically an online food diary with all the calorie and nutrient calculations done for you.
To start, you have to create a login account, and if you're worried the feds are checking up on you to see what all you've been consuming, you might want to get a hold of yourself and realize none of this information has your name attached to it.
Then you input your height and weight and start entering all the stuff you've eaten. Today I have had: Frosted miniwheats in milk (definitely added to my frequent foods list) with strawberries, half a chicken sandwich with lettuce and tomato and "spread," which I guess is Euphamism for fake mayo, though there is not an option for chicken sandwich sans Miracle Whip nor one for chicken sandwich with mayo nor a "Dijionaisse" option, which is, coincidentally, what was on my little panini sandwich half. Also tea with evaporated milk, Snapple diet peach iced tea (I didn't realize it was aspartame in there until I read the label; I think my Splenda intake has softened me up for other fakey fake sweeteners), green pea salad (scroll down for approximate heavenly recipe) and I inputted in the tomatoes and lettuce seperately because the pyramid knows that most people don't put that slice of lettuce on their sandwich, do they?
Then you save and analyze your foods and there are a couple of different permutations to do this, which warms my heart, because Quicken has shown me the graphs n' charts light. I will list them in ascending order of preference. Option A is nutrient intake. Your calories and estimated vitamin, fatty acid and other micro and macronutrients pop up on the screen and you see how you're doing. Got a lot of calcium today? Yay! Got a lot of saturated fat today? Eek! Then there is the same list byt with recommendations and here, mis amigas, is where things get interesting. The RDAs aren't equitable, for we are expected to get above and beyond those numbers in Niacin, Riboflavin, B-Vitamins and Calcium. So you can really check up on what's going on.
Then there is the DG option, for Dietary Guideline. You get "emoticons" that let you see how you're doing nutrient wise. This is a little disturbing because I noticed my grains and fat and cholesterol emoticons were all smiley, but I haven't had near the meat or dairy intake they are pushing on me. That is an intake I know will shoot the cholesterol and saturated fat through the roof. Beans are an option, but, alas, I have no beans and they make me, er, intolerable to be around. However, it's a pretty good snapshot all considered. But it is the final option that has perhaps the best and most useful snapshot. The final option is the comparison with the USDA's recommendations, where you are shown bars representing how many fruits, veggies and other food types you are supposed to eat next to bars representing the portions you have actually eaten.
My "bars" look okay, but I can tell that tonight, for dinner, I should probably have some sort of stir fry or salad with meat and veggies, and, for dessert, some strawberries and grapes with sweetened, low-fat ricotta cheese. How healthy does that sound?
Also on mypyramid is a physical activity calculator. The standard option sounds fairly arduous for the input — you MUST input 1440 minutes per day of activities ranging from sleeping and showering to working to cooking to kickboxing. The other one sounds like a cop-out. However, there is a benefit to be gained over the long haul and that is a computerized graph of your level of physical activity and — this is the part that gets my heart all a-flutter — a *trend line.* Yes! A trend line! I can't wait to work out and watch the trend!
Friday, April 22, 2005
Dios Mio
Oh my God. If you want to see gruesome footage from Iraq, tune in to Univision's "Primer Impacto." They refused to show what they said was "too intense" for TV, but they were showing some blood-soaked rooms.
Also they showed the finger Anna Ayala allegedly did not find in the Wendy's Chili. Dude, as a former Waffle House worker, I have to implore you; never get the chili. Of course, it appears that was part of her disgusting plan.
Wow. San Jose's police chief, Tom Davis, was just reeling off some Spanish. Muy bien, amigo!
Also they showed the finger Anna Ayala allegedly did not find in the Wendy's Chili. Dude, as a former Waffle House worker, I have to implore you; never get the chili. Of course, it appears that was part of her disgusting plan.
Wow. San Jose's police chief, Tom Davis, was just reeling off some Spanish. Muy bien, amigo!
Tacoma weirdos blogging
Tacoma weirdo I saw today (but don't live in the same building with):
Teenage male, about 15 or 16, black, with a HUGE afro — I mean enormous — sitting on a *low rider bike* with an extended front wheel (not one of those itty bitty wheeled bikes that all the jokers have been riding the past couple years) bobbing his head (and his hair followed in delayed time) to the loud bass of a passing car while waiting to cross the street.
Tacoma weirdos may become a regular feature. Just the other day I was getting milk across the street and this drunk hippie chick and her drunk friend were hanging out with the first girl's cute, but I think a little indignant at being with drunk people, Boston Terrier. Well, she let me pet him. He was so soft and cute and snorty.
Teenage male, about 15 or 16, black, with a HUGE afro — I mean enormous — sitting on a *low rider bike* with an extended front wheel (not one of those itty bitty wheeled bikes that all the jokers have been riding the past couple years) bobbing his head (and his hair followed in delayed time) to the loud bass of a passing car while waiting to cross the street.
Tacoma weirdos may become a regular feature. Just the other day I was getting milk across the street and this drunk hippie chick and her drunk friend were hanging out with the first girl's cute, but I think a little indignant at being with drunk people, Boston Terrier. Well, she let me pet him. He was so soft and cute and snorty.
Excellent food blogging
I had a tasty treat today: Metropolitan Market's Green Pea Salad. They print their ingredients (though not amounts) on their labels so, for those of you in far off Ozarkia, do yourself a favor and mix this up:
Bunch O' Peas
Some Mayo
Some chopped-up water chestnuts
Some chopped-up red onion (not too much! Be gentle!)
Some sour cream
splish of milk (not so much as a splash)
fresh dill
fresh-ground black pepper (go easy!)
Salt, if needed, to season
The dressing should be a little runny.
It was really good. A dedicated Green Pea Salad junkie who was in for his fix encouraged me to go for it. So did the deli chef behind the counter. It was peer pressure.
Speaking of food, I had an interesting lunch today: Bread and water. The prison diet, for sure.
I'd bought some french bread rolls and had to eat them. And I didn't have any appropriate stuffing for them. And I drink water at work, so I had this really flaky bread and water and it was weird. But then, I went to prison yesterday so maybe I'm feeling the whole incarceration thing.
I met some interesting murderers there. Also (!) one of the barista bandits. I never thought I would talk to a monikkered criminal, but I did! It's not something I particularly wanted to do — I mean, out here it could mean The Green River Killer and that is a major puke-out.
Bunch O' Peas
Some Mayo
Some chopped-up water chestnuts
Some chopped-up red onion (not too much! Be gentle!)
Some sour cream
splish of milk (not so much as a splash)
fresh dill
fresh-ground black pepper (go easy!)
Salt, if needed, to season
The dressing should be a little runny.
It was really good. A dedicated Green Pea Salad junkie who was in for his fix encouraged me to go for it. So did the deli chef behind the counter. It was peer pressure.
Speaking of food, I had an interesting lunch today: Bread and water. The prison diet, for sure.
I'd bought some french bread rolls and had to eat them. And I didn't have any appropriate stuffing for them. And I drink water at work, so I had this really flaky bread and water and it was weird. But then, I went to prison yesterday so maybe I'm feeling the whole incarceration thing.
I met some interesting murderers there. Also (!) one of the barista bandits. I never thought I would talk to a monikkered criminal, but I did! It's not something I particularly wanted to do — I mean, out here it could mean The Green River Killer and that is a major puke-out.
My personal pyramid
What Xanadu! I punched in my vital statistics (31, F, 30-60 minutes of exercise a day beyond my normal routine) and got absolutely nothing. So I changed them to 31, F, *less than* 30 minutes a day of exercise and POOF! There's my PDF, encouraging me to eat 1,800 calories a day (note: there was no height or weight to enter, which seems a bit of an oversight since a 5'4" 150-pound woman, which is average for the U.S., is in no way going to have the same calorie needs as a 4'8" woman of 120 pounds or a 5'11" woman of 175 pounds).
Maybe I will check this thing out for a week or so. It's hilarious. Here's what I should be eating:
6 oz daily of grains, 3 of those oz whole grains (got that covered with the miniwheats, but I think the government would like me to go non-frosted. Bleh.)
2 1/2 cups veggies per day, with a weekly mix of dark green and orange veggies, dry beans and peas (these are also covered under protein) and some starchy veggies. Like potatoes and turnips, I guess.
1 1/2 cups fruit each day. Keywords are "variety" and "go easy on the fruit juice."
3 cups of milk, all low- and fat- free if possible.
5 oz protein, fish and beans and nuts and seeds are all given a thumbs-up.
I am given a calorie allowance of 195 for sugars and an injunction against more than 5 teaspoons of oil per day. Five measly teaspoons? How does that begin to cover all the salad I'm supposed to be eating? How am I supposed to eat collards without the appropriate dollop of bacon fat? While I'm at it, what's an ounce, anyway?
There is also a daily tracker you can print out to see how well you are following your target eating goals. It's very Richard Simmons FoodMover. (Quick aside: Simmons' website is more gay than his infomercials. Sample exchange: "Q. What's included Richard? A. Oh my, everything but the kitchen sink (I tried, but I didn't want it to clash with your already gorgeous kitchen decor)." Sample new program: "Hoot Camp." Sample graphics: Simmons sitting in the crook of a crescent moon with his arms outspread in a purple tank, purple striped shorts and white sneaker ensemble in a picture taken by a camera slathered with vaseline and retouched with a serious unsharp mask. Sample creepiness: "Throughout the years, Richard still gets his greatest satisfaction from reaching out and literally touching his students." Sample overstating of the case: A fitness center for out-of-shape people in the 70s is described in the same language as a rape crisis center might have been at the same time — a "safe haven." Or try this on for size: "Still fighting the fitness battles with humor and enthusiasm, Simmons vows to never give up and vows that he will continue his crusade until it's time for him to teach classes at the Pearly Gates." And this is all from three pages and two minutes, folks.)
Anyway, the pyramid looks a little boring and scientific and, at the same time, completely ridiculous. It tries too hard to be nice to the corporations that make us fat with their factory farming, and when's the last time anyone ate in imperial measurements in this country? How manageable is this diet? When I have the time and energy to actually go pyramid, I'll tell you.
Maybe I will check this thing out for a week or so. It's hilarious. Here's what I should be eating:
6 oz daily of grains, 3 of those oz whole grains (got that covered with the miniwheats, but I think the government would like me to go non-frosted. Bleh.)
2 1/2 cups veggies per day, with a weekly mix of dark green and orange veggies, dry beans and peas (these are also covered under protein) and some starchy veggies. Like potatoes and turnips, I guess.
1 1/2 cups fruit each day. Keywords are "variety" and "go easy on the fruit juice."
3 cups of milk, all low- and fat- free if possible.
5 oz protein, fish and beans and nuts and seeds are all given a thumbs-up.
I am given a calorie allowance of 195 for sugars and an injunction against more than 5 teaspoons of oil per day. Five measly teaspoons? How does that begin to cover all the salad I'm supposed to be eating? How am I supposed to eat collards without the appropriate dollop of bacon fat? While I'm at it, what's an ounce, anyway?
There is also a daily tracker you can print out to see how well you are following your target eating goals. It's very Richard Simmons FoodMover. (Quick aside: Simmons' website is more gay than his infomercials. Sample exchange: "Q. What's included Richard? A. Oh my, everything but the kitchen sink (I tried, but I didn't want it to clash with your already gorgeous kitchen decor)." Sample new program: "Hoot Camp." Sample graphics: Simmons sitting in the crook of a crescent moon with his arms outspread in a purple tank, purple striped shorts and white sneaker ensemble in a picture taken by a camera slathered with vaseline and retouched with a serious unsharp mask. Sample creepiness: "Throughout the years, Richard still gets his greatest satisfaction from reaching out and literally touching his students." Sample overstating of the case: A fitness center for out-of-shape people in the 70s is described in the same language as a rape crisis center might have been at the same time — a "safe haven." Or try this on for size: "Still fighting the fitness battles with humor and enthusiasm, Simmons vows to never give up and vows that he will continue his crusade until it's time for him to teach classes at the Pearly Gates." And this is all from three pages and two minutes, folks.)
Anyway, the pyramid looks a little boring and scientific and, at the same time, completely ridiculous. It tries too hard to be nice to the corporations that make us fat with their factory farming, and when's the last time anyone ate in imperial measurements in this country? How manageable is this diet? When I have the time and energy to actually go pyramid, I'll tell you.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Newsweek, you are up!
This week NW plays its cover coyly. The title? "Your Family & Your Health." The cover has a photo credit, but if this is not an actual family, which I seriously doubt, shouldn't there be an acknowledgement? I mean, take about some beautiful white people with stunning skin and bone structure that are too perfect. It's deceptive. Most people are ugly. Especially once they've had kids. I'm sorry, I'm saying it. The personal upkeep energy just isn't there. The exercise is not accomplished. The stress is there. Other stuff happens. The "models of fitness" family is normal looking, for Pete's sake. I mean, they're only models of fitness. Dude, they are called sleeves. Look into them. Lady, I have had crummy hair, too. Go to Ryan at Impressions in Renton. She will HOOK YOU UP.
So, NW, please, don't pretend that hunky "dad" on the cover is not as queer as a three dollar bill.
Mark Whitaker, irritating man, replaces his mug with a statuette NW won as the result of some magazine contest. He lauds the political coverage of NW. He's so proud. He uses the word "encore," which is ill-advised. Then, for people who are too retarded to understand the "original intent" of CW, which is not short for the lovely and talented Callie White but the stunted and weird-phrase using Conventional Wisdom, NW will run that intent "under the box." And the phrase isn't too different from what used to be on the actual box — something like "a snapshot of the conventional wisdom" gleaned from their booty.
More necropopia inside. Ew. I can't wait till the pope-mania is over. Sadly, it seems the cardinals are looking for older popes so they won't be around too long. So get used to the popeasms.
And with that, the Tragic Last Sentences:
"It haunts us."
"And that's a fear that no private lunch in a justice's chambers will easily quiet."
"The possibilities for mistaken identity are many, but the room for error is very, very narrow."
"But for China's leaders, there's one thing even more compelling than economics: fear of losing control."
"Clearly, somebody should have — or at least done a Google search."
"That's a goal to aspire to."
"How many people in your life can you say that about?"
"Some can eliminate them altogether — giving parents and their quirky kids something to cheer about."
"You may soon be celebrating your child's successes."
"But teens and families can get through it — as long as they stick together."
"It's time to start your family quest for fitness — and to take your kids along for the ride." (Wait — if you are taking your family quest doesn't that by definition include the babes?)
"In today's Web-centric health-care environment, seniors and society can no longer take that risk."
Also, not a TLS, but an interesting interrogative (that means the writer is saying it) from the cheesy Q&A feature:
"Pretend I'm a shallow gay man."
Oh, Lord spare me. George Will's going off about baseball again. Somebody stop him.
So, NW, please, don't pretend that hunky "dad" on the cover is not as queer as a three dollar bill.
Mark Whitaker, irritating man, replaces his mug with a statuette NW won as the result of some magazine contest. He lauds the political coverage of NW. He's so proud. He uses the word "encore," which is ill-advised. Then, for people who are too retarded to understand the "original intent" of CW, which is not short for the lovely and talented Callie White but the stunted and weird-phrase using Conventional Wisdom, NW will run that intent "under the box." And the phrase isn't too different from what used to be on the actual box — something like "a snapshot of the conventional wisdom" gleaned from their booty.
More necropopia inside. Ew. I can't wait till the pope-mania is over. Sadly, it seems the cardinals are looking for older popes so they won't be around too long. So get used to the popeasms.
And with that, the Tragic Last Sentences:
"It haunts us."
"And that's a fear that no private lunch in a justice's chambers will easily quiet."
"The possibilities for mistaken identity are many, but the room for error is very, very narrow."
"But for China's leaders, there's one thing even more compelling than economics: fear of losing control."
"Clearly, somebody should have — or at least done a Google search."
"That's a goal to aspire to."
"How many people in your life can you say that about?"
"Some can eliminate them altogether — giving parents and their quirky kids something to cheer about."
"You may soon be celebrating your child's successes."
"But teens and families can get through it — as long as they stick together."
"It's time to start your family quest for fitness — and to take your kids along for the ride." (Wait — if you are taking your family quest doesn't that by definition include the babes?)
"In today's Web-centric health-care environment, seniors and society can no longer take that risk."
Also, not a TLS, but an interesting interrogative (that means the writer is saying it) from the cheesy Q&A feature:
"Pretend I'm a shallow gay man."
Oh, Lord spare me. George Will's going off about baseball again. Somebody stop him.
Church lightboard blogging
St. Patrick's, the Catholic Church I drive by on the way to work and home every day, has one of those cheesy lightboards. Even though St. Patrick's is a big ole classy looking church in every other way.
Anyway, the most memorable of the lightboard sayings, to date, has been "Don't look down on anyone unless you are helping them up." Wrap your mind around that one.
This week it's: "Beauty is God's Handwriting." Except all caps and no punctuation, because that's what lightboards are like.
If you think about it, ugliness is the result of God's authoring skills, too.
Anyway, the most memorable of the lightboard sayings, to date, has been "Don't look down on anyone unless you are helping them up." Wrap your mind around that one.
This week it's: "Beauty is God's Handwriting." Except all caps and no punctuation, because that's what lightboards are like.
If you think about it, ugliness is the result of God's authoring skills, too.
David Brooks: Why do I bother reading him?
I've given up on Thomas Friedman because he's a pie-eyed knucklehead most times, especially about the exact part of the world he's supposed to be such an expert on. So why do I continue to read Brooks (not all the time; if the headline seems like it's going to be a screed against rich blue-coast liberals I tune it out)?
Here's his stunning retardation of the day:
When Blackmun wrote the Roe decision, it took the abortion issue out of the legislatures and put it into the courts. If it had remained in the legislatures, we would have seen a series of state-by-state compromises reflecting the views of the centrist majority that's always existed on this issue. These legislative compromises wouldn't have pleased everyone, but would have been regarded as legitimate.
Let's recast this.
When Warren wrote the Brown decision, it took the school segregation issue out of the legislatures and put it into the courts. If it had remained in the legislatures, we would have seen a series of state-by-state compromises reflecting the views of the centrist majority that's always existed on this issue. These legislative compromises wouldn't have pleased everyone, but would have been regarded as legitimate.
Yes, the kinds of segregation that would still exist today in the South would be legitimate because they would have been codified in law. That doesn't make them right.
The Supreme Court exists to interpret the Constitution. That's why people who disagree go before it, for a little clarification. Unfortunately for one of those parties and the people that support it, what the court decides holds the entire country to its findings. Some decisions just can't be made at the local level, and I'm not exactly sure why Brooks would have it be that way.
I don't like this meme that judicial "activism" is bad. And I don't like that someone who is supposed to be a banner thinker for this country's flagship paper is legitimizing this meme. But beyond my personal likes and dislikes, again it shows that there is no alternative to the box in op-editorializing. You're either in it or not, with em or agin em.
Here's his stunning retardation of the day:
When Blackmun wrote the Roe decision, it took the abortion issue out of the legislatures and put it into the courts. If it had remained in the legislatures, we would have seen a series of state-by-state compromises reflecting the views of the centrist majority that's always existed on this issue. These legislative compromises wouldn't have pleased everyone, but would have been regarded as legitimate.
Let's recast this.
When Warren wrote the Brown decision, it took the school segregation issue out of the legislatures and put it into the courts. If it had remained in the legislatures, we would have seen a series of state-by-state compromises reflecting the views of the centrist majority that's always existed on this issue. These legislative compromises wouldn't have pleased everyone, but would have been regarded as legitimate.
Yes, the kinds of segregation that would still exist today in the South would be legitimate because they would have been codified in law. That doesn't make them right.
The Supreme Court exists to interpret the Constitution. That's why people who disagree go before it, for a little clarification. Unfortunately for one of those parties and the people that support it, what the court decides holds the entire country to its findings. Some decisions just can't be made at the local level, and I'm not exactly sure why Brooks would have it be that way.
I don't like this meme that judicial "activism" is bad. And I don't like that someone who is supposed to be a banner thinker for this country's flagship paper is legitimizing this meme. But beyond my personal likes and dislikes, again it shows that there is no alternative to the box in op-editorializing. You're either in it or not, with em or agin em.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Oh, that's easy to understand.
Got a load of the new USDA Food Pyramid. Yeah, that's simple and easy to understand.
I don't get the guy going up the stairs. It represents exercise or acheivement of a goal, which is apparently eating nothing?
Couldn't the government have asked an actual graphic designer worth some salt (but not too much sodium, har har) to design this bad boy? This is the worst in design by committee I've seen in a long time.
The punchline is they redesigned it to make it easier for people to understand. As far as I can tell, if you don't understand the other Food Pyramid, with the big slab for carbs, another slab for fruits and veggies, another slab for meat and dairy and legumes and a little tippy top of refined sugar and butter, what is the matter with you? Each slab had how many of servings of each you were supposed to eat (with additional materials on what constitutes a serving). It was kindergarten compared to this thing. And really, the new pyramid, in trying to take into account that everyone has different needs, is really more of a pointer, or link, if you will, to a website that will break down your recommendations for food and exercise. So it's pretty explicit, if you're willing to do the legwork. Not that that makes it any better.
The ironic thing is that the recommendations have not changed significantly with the exception of adding exercise. Hasn't the government already been pimping exercise for ages? What about the president's fitness council? What kind of idiot do you have to be to not know that you should be getting exercise and eating a lot of veggies?
I was going to try to follow the old pyramid as a lark for a while (I didn't because it would cut into my Frosted Miniwheat habit). But this new pyramid is too ridiculous, and I'm protesting it on the grounds that it is bad design and ugly.
In other news, a recent health study purports to show that being chubby (but not whale-like) is better for your health than being what is considered a "healthy" weight or skinny. I've never been underweight, but I've been everything from thin to chunked out. It is a lot easier to move, hike, lift weights, do kickboxing and aerobics when I'm on the thin side. Also, fewer headaches and illnesses. I'm not sure why.
If the American people find the old pyramid hard to read, it is because they don't want to read it. They don't want to exercise or eat the kinds of foods they have to make for themselves. If they can't read the new pyramid, it's because it is the old pyramid but uglier. Also, it basically expects you to go to a website for your personal interpretation of the pyramid.
Actually, I want to go get my personal recs now. I'll come back and tell you how feasible they are.
I don't get the guy going up the stairs. It represents exercise or acheivement of a goal, which is apparently eating nothing?
Couldn't the government have asked an actual graphic designer worth some salt (but not too much sodium, har har) to design this bad boy? This is the worst in design by committee I've seen in a long time.
The punchline is they redesigned it to make it easier for people to understand. As far as I can tell, if you don't understand the other Food Pyramid, with the big slab for carbs, another slab for fruits and veggies, another slab for meat and dairy and legumes and a little tippy top of refined sugar and butter, what is the matter with you? Each slab had how many of servings of each you were supposed to eat (with additional materials on what constitutes a serving). It was kindergarten compared to this thing. And really, the new pyramid, in trying to take into account that everyone has different needs, is really more of a pointer, or link, if you will, to a website that will break down your recommendations for food and exercise. So it's pretty explicit, if you're willing to do the legwork. Not that that makes it any better.
The ironic thing is that the recommendations have not changed significantly with the exception of adding exercise. Hasn't the government already been pimping exercise for ages? What about the president's fitness council? What kind of idiot do you have to be to not know that you should be getting exercise and eating a lot of veggies?
I was going to try to follow the old pyramid as a lark for a while (I didn't because it would cut into my Frosted Miniwheat habit). But this new pyramid is too ridiculous, and I'm protesting it on the grounds that it is bad design and ugly.
In other news, a recent health study purports to show that being chubby (but not whale-like) is better for your health than being what is considered a "healthy" weight or skinny. I've never been underweight, but I've been everything from thin to chunked out. It is a lot easier to move, hike, lift weights, do kickboxing and aerobics when I'm on the thin side. Also, fewer headaches and illnesses. I'm not sure why.
If the American people find the old pyramid hard to read, it is because they don't want to read it. They don't want to exercise or eat the kinds of foods they have to make for themselves. If they can't read the new pyramid, it's because it is the old pyramid but uglier. Also, it basically expects you to go to a website for your personal interpretation of the pyramid.
Actually, I want to go get my personal recs now. I'll come back and tell you how feasible they are.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Not NW
Well, Time is certainly getting some trouble this week! From Eric Alterman to Howie Kurtz's readers.
And to think all that started it was Anne Coulter's big honkin' feet. And her irrational reaction to their being on the cover.
At the risk of sounding flippant, girl, if you weren't so dead set on showing off your gams you would have realized any camera on the face of the earth would make you look a certain way. Bigfooted, if you will. Get over yourself. Embrace your big feet. Stop being such a whiny, angry cow. Go away.
And to think all that started it was Anne Coulter's big honkin' feet. And her irrational reaction to their being on the cover.
At the risk of sounding flippant, girl, if you weren't so dead set on showing off your gams you would have realized any camera on the face of the earth would make you look a certain way. Bigfooted, if you will. Get over yourself. Embrace your big feet. Stop being such a whiny, angry cow. Go away.
I knew it
From the Weekly Standard:
"Take heart. The tarnish is real, according to Edward Jay Epstein. In lucid detail he explains how theaters cut costs by employing just one projectionist to run several screens, with the frequent result that neglected machines jam, allowing the projection lamp to burn a hole in the film. 'To prevent such costly mishaps,' Epstein writes, 'multiplexes frequently have their projectionists slightly expand the gap between the gate that supports the film and the lamp. As a result . . . films are often shown slightly out of focus.' Likewise, theater owners are loath to change projection bulbs, which cost $1,000 apiece. So even the sunniest sequences look like nuclear winter."
I've been miffed at blurry, dim screens for years. It's one of the reasons I'm more of a home watcher of movies, and selective about where I go to see films. And really, in these days of monster-sized televisions, home surround sound and whatnot (none of which I have, BTW, I like my 13-inch TV just fine) it's really unconscionable that movie theaters would degrade their product. I suspect it is part of the reason that the home entertainment boom has hit the movie theater business pretty hard. Well, that and cheaper technology.
"Take heart. The tarnish is real, according to Edward Jay Epstein. In lucid detail he explains how theaters cut costs by employing just one projectionist to run several screens, with the frequent result that neglected machines jam, allowing the projection lamp to burn a hole in the film. 'To prevent such costly mishaps,' Epstein writes, 'multiplexes frequently have their projectionists slightly expand the gap between the gate that supports the film and the lamp. As a result . . . films are often shown slightly out of focus.' Likewise, theater owners are loath to change projection bulbs, which cost $1,000 apiece. So even the sunniest sequences look like nuclear winter."
I've been miffed at blurry, dim screens for years. It's one of the reasons I'm more of a home watcher of movies, and selective about where I go to see films. And really, in these days of monster-sized televisions, home surround sound and whatnot (none of which I have, BTW, I like my 13-inch TV just fine) it's really unconscionable that movie theaters would degrade their product. I suspect it is part of the reason that the home entertainment boom has hit the movie theater business pretty hard. Well, that and cheaper technology.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Necroporn Week
Eeeewww. I did not need a big ole picture of a dead guy on the front of Newsweek. Gross. Much less the promise of there being more big pictures on the inside. Please, people, there are breakfasts to eat.
I'm starting to love how Mark Whittaker pimps the news. Well, not. But here's an example: "the church is confronted with new realities that will make age-old battles between reformers and conservatives more heated than ever." "(These folks) now must calculate how to keep the once dominant Sunnis from fueling an insurgency that could drive the country into civil war." It's like a promo for an upcoming Dynasty or a movie. All it needs is this guy to read it.
I still don't understand what they're trying to say in the "Blog Watch." And why can't they come up with blogs a little less common than Powerline or Atrios? Why don't they notice when I hate them?
There are a lot of pope funeral pics. Overkill? Maybe it was fairly slow, news-wise, in other respects. I hope it was, because I don't think the kissy picture of the Bushes is either a good picture or a good image for them. Making out while the pope is funeralized. Ew. And I hate to say it, but neither of them have lips, so it's like these two skinny skin extensions are coming out of Laura's mouth to latch onto GW's. I once broke up with a guy in part because he kissed like this and he had lips so there was no excuse. There were other reasons, but sometimes the camel's back doesn't need that straw.
"It seems fitting that Roosevelt, so elusive in life, remains enigmatic even in death."
"Those kinds of antics are controversial in Japan; promoters are betting he'll feel right at home in Vegas." (get it? Vegas, betting, betting, Vegas? So clever!)
"Clearly, his taste buds weren't permanently damaged."
"Let's tag this scheme 'promising.'"
"As the servant to all these servants, the next Bishop of Rome, whoever he is, will have to find enough room in his heart to embrace all factions, and somehow align those conflicting desires with the wishes of God."
"...the church's highest leader will command the loyalty of millions of Chinese Catholics — whether they worship openly in officially sanctioned cathedrals, or huddle by candlelight in the underground." (I love it when they describe a scenario they haven't witnessed nor gone out of their way to witness although it likely takes place)
"If Iraq's new government can find a way to earn his confidence, thousands of American soldiers will be more than ready to pack their bags."
"In these democratic times, the future of the Palestinian territories is in the hands of the voters, and they're getting impatient."
"And the one man who may know best so far isn't talking, except to those he invites to his restaurant for lunch."
"He didn't sound like he was spoiling for a fight — only like he expected to be the last man standing."
"Schwartzenegger vowed to push ahead with his reforms, but he's discovered that in politics, things rarely go according to script."
"For that, regulators may need more time in the gym."
Not a last sentence, but a strange declaration during a Mariah Carey interview by Lorraine Ali: "But there is one recurring theme that becomes a sort of buzzkill: cheating men. I'm never going to trust one again after listening to this CD!" Whuh?
"Welcome home, Mr. Washington."
"Knowing all that he knew, how else could he have written at all?"
"But after all these years of soap opera, public indifference could be a real blessing."
Wow. NW, you delivered. A whole paper bag full of pretentious dog crap. With a dead man's picture on the front. Gag.
I'm starting to love how Mark Whittaker pimps the news. Well, not. But here's an example: "the church is confronted with new realities that will make age-old battles between reformers and conservatives more heated than ever." "(These folks) now must calculate how to keep the once dominant Sunnis from fueling an insurgency that could drive the country into civil war." It's like a promo for an upcoming Dynasty or a movie. All it needs is this guy to read it.
I still don't understand what they're trying to say in the "Blog Watch." And why can't they come up with blogs a little less common than Powerline or Atrios? Why don't they notice when I hate them?
There are a lot of pope funeral pics. Overkill? Maybe it was fairly slow, news-wise, in other respects. I hope it was, because I don't think the kissy picture of the Bushes is either a good picture or a good image for them. Making out while the pope is funeralized. Ew. And I hate to say it, but neither of them have lips, so it's like these two skinny skin extensions are coming out of Laura's mouth to latch onto GW's. I once broke up with a guy in part because he kissed like this and he had lips so there was no excuse. There were other reasons, but sometimes the camel's back doesn't need that straw.
"It seems fitting that Roosevelt, so elusive in life, remains enigmatic even in death."
"Those kinds of antics are controversial in Japan; promoters are betting he'll feel right at home in Vegas." (get it? Vegas, betting, betting, Vegas? So clever!)
"Clearly, his taste buds weren't permanently damaged."
"Let's tag this scheme 'promising.'"
"As the servant to all these servants, the next Bishop of Rome, whoever he is, will have to find enough room in his heart to embrace all factions, and somehow align those conflicting desires with the wishes of God."
"...the church's highest leader will command the loyalty of millions of Chinese Catholics — whether they worship openly in officially sanctioned cathedrals, or huddle by candlelight in the underground." (I love it when they describe a scenario they haven't witnessed nor gone out of their way to witness although it likely takes place)
"If Iraq's new government can find a way to earn his confidence, thousands of American soldiers will be more than ready to pack their bags."
"In these democratic times, the future of the Palestinian territories is in the hands of the voters, and they're getting impatient."
"And the one man who may know best so far isn't talking, except to those he invites to his restaurant for lunch."
"He didn't sound like he was spoiling for a fight — only like he expected to be the last man standing."
"Schwartzenegger vowed to push ahead with his reforms, but he's discovered that in politics, things rarely go according to script."
"For that, regulators may need more time in the gym."
Not a last sentence, but a strange declaration during a Mariah Carey interview by Lorraine Ali: "But there is one recurring theme that becomes a sort of buzzkill: cheating men. I'm never going to trust one again after listening to this CD!" Whuh?
"Welcome home, Mr. Washington."
"Knowing all that he knew, how else could he have written at all?"
"But after all these years of soap opera, public indifference could be a real blessing."
Wow. NW, you delivered. A whole paper bag full of pretentious dog crap. With a dead man's picture on the front. Gag.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Young Hoochies
Look at the hoochie seventh graders at my mom's school's dance.
One of them is my cousin, who isn't really a hoochie, but has a shirt that verges on hoochie.
Just looking at these photos I can smell the overactive hormones (pee-yew!) and the insecurity is palpable. I see the arrogant cool guys, I see the girls that just want to fit in. Every weird feeling I had in junior high reemerged looking at these. Of course, in the late 80s, nobody looked as hoochie as that group of girls in front of the table.
I also noticed the girls dancing in flip-flops. I tell on these girls when they show up at the Y and try to use the cardio machines with filp-flops on. It's not a smart thing to do. These girls tend to wear pants with "JUICY" across the butt and coiffed hair. They are insecure, too. Otherwise they'd be okay with exercising on their own.
My little cousin Maddie is captured at the very end, with her mother, who is in a well-meaning purple hippy shirt and is also a teacher at the school. And, apparently, a chaperone. With my mom. Ten bucks says uncle Phil, Maddie's dad, was there too. How embarrassing.
It'll get better, baby.
One of them is my cousin, who isn't really a hoochie, but has a shirt that verges on hoochie.
Just looking at these photos I can smell the overactive hormones (pee-yew!) and the insecurity is palpable. I see the arrogant cool guys, I see the girls that just want to fit in. Every weird feeling I had in junior high reemerged looking at these. Of course, in the late 80s, nobody looked as hoochie as that group of girls in front of the table.
I also noticed the girls dancing in flip-flops. I tell on these girls when they show up at the Y and try to use the cardio machines with filp-flops on. It's not a smart thing to do. These girls tend to wear pants with "JUICY" across the butt and coiffed hair. They are insecure, too. Otherwise they'd be okay with exercising on their own.
My little cousin Maddie is captured at the very end, with her mother, who is in a well-meaning purple hippy shirt and is also a teacher at the school. And, apparently, a chaperone. With my mom. Ten bucks says uncle Phil, Maddie's dad, was there too. How embarrassing.
It'll get better, baby.
Saturday, April 16, 2005
In case you were wondering
This is the article from the NYT that will have people in a lather for seven or so days.
I trusted a dog
It was a mistake.
Last night I made something approaching the platonic ideal of banana bread. I used up three black bananas I'd had sitting around, a stick of butter, a mix of brown and white sugar and some sour cream and walnuts I'd bought to spice it up a little. Also, of course, eggs, flour, baking soda, sea salt and some apple pie spice.
It was a big honking loaf with a slightly crispy top from all the fat in it. The inside was moist and dense. The two pieces I ate were fantastic.
But, alas, I trusted a dog. I didn't realize I was trusting it at the time; the bread was on top of the kitchen counter, and I had not seen Walker go for stuff on the kitchen counter before. But even that dimwitted critter knew a perfect opportunity.
Walker, if you could speak English I'd ask you why you ate almost an entire loaf of banana bread, leaving naught but a corner, when you are a dog who is not supposed to like carbs. Don't you get enough from eating your four cups of dog food, my scraps and whatever is in the cat's bowl when you come in? Don't act like you don't eat the cat food, either. I see you do it.
People, this was some excellent banana bread. But I trusted a dog not to eat it. Now, I'm trusting he didn't get ill and throw up and crap all over another story of this house. He's locked outside until I'm ready to let him come back in again.
But there won't be banana bread for him to wolf down. I don't have any more walnuts or black bananas.
Last night I made something approaching the platonic ideal of banana bread. I used up three black bananas I'd had sitting around, a stick of butter, a mix of brown and white sugar and some sour cream and walnuts I'd bought to spice it up a little. Also, of course, eggs, flour, baking soda, sea salt and some apple pie spice.
It was a big honking loaf with a slightly crispy top from all the fat in it. The inside was moist and dense. The two pieces I ate were fantastic.
But, alas, I trusted a dog. I didn't realize I was trusting it at the time; the bread was on top of the kitchen counter, and I had not seen Walker go for stuff on the kitchen counter before. But even that dimwitted critter knew a perfect opportunity.
Walker, if you could speak English I'd ask you why you ate almost an entire loaf of banana bread, leaving naught but a corner, when you are a dog who is not supposed to like carbs. Don't you get enough from eating your four cups of dog food, my scraps and whatever is in the cat's bowl when you come in? Don't act like you don't eat the cat food, either. I see you do it.
People, this was some excellent banana bread. But I trusted a dog not to eat it. Now, I'm trusting he didn't get ill and throw up and crap all over another story of this house. He's locked outside until I'm ready to let him come back in again.
But there won't be banana bread for him to wolf down. I don't have any more walnuts or black bananas.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
I'm late on this story
But it still blows my mind.
Sunday the NYT had a story about Man Dates, which aren't what you think. And that's kind of the problem. Turns out two men can't go out for a dinner and conversation without feeling weird about it. Meeting buddies at the bar isn't a man date, going to a restaurant with linens and a wine list is. Going to the movies might be a man date if you're watching something foreign or without Vin Diesel in it. Going to a game is not a man date.
Anyway, the article basically says, and I don't want to say "blames women" but that's kind of where the tone takes it, that since women's liberation — since we are seen as men's equals, allegedly — we become men's relational equals. Whereas men at the turn of the century had to seek companionship from other men, since their marriages were not those of equals, it was cool to seek advice and consolation from men out on the town. People weren't as cognizant of homosexuality then, either, was another part of the equation.
Now, that kind of makes sense, but Jeez, dudes. Where is it written in our culture that you can't get a grip and be secure in yourselves? Wasn't the "men's movement" supposed to change all this? You still have all the power, get over yourselves and make some friends.
What is the matter with this society that women make $.64 to a man's dollar and men can't have friends without posing like macho ding dongs? Why can't we share the economic and emotional wealth?
Sunday the NYT had a story about Man Dates, which aren't what you think. And that's kind of the problem. Turns out two men can't go out for a dinner and conversation without feeling weird about it. Meeting buddies at the bar isn't a man date, going to a restaurant with linens and a wine list is. Going to the movies might be a man date if you're watching something foreign or without Vin Diesel in it. Going to a game is not a man date.
Anyway, the article basically says, and I don't want to say "blames women" but that's kind of where the tone takes it, that since women's liberation — since we are seen as men's equals, allegedly — we become men's relational equals. Whereas men at the turn of the century had to seek companionship from other men, since their marriages were not those of equals, it was cool to seek advice and consolation from men out on the town. People weren't as cognizant of homosexuality then, either, was another part of the equation.
Now, that kind of makes sense, but Jeez, dudes. Where is it written in our culture that you can't get a grip and be secure in yourselves? Wasn't the "men's movement" supposed to change all this? You still have all the power, get over yourselves and make some friends.
What is the matter with this society that women make $.64 to a man's dollar and men can't have friends without posing like macho ding dongs? Why can't we share the economic and emotional wealth?
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Britney, you dip
Thanks for announcing you're pregnant while John Bolton is undergoing confirmation hearings. He's a really really crummy nominee, but since Amorica will likely be more interested in dissecting whether you are ready to be a mom (and really, hitching your wagon to Kevin Federline does raise some red flags; your "people" had an issue with that nice guy back home why?) and what sort of Satan spawn will emerge from her Camel-tarred, Red Bull-soaked womb (rivalling possibly only the love child that might have erupted from the union of the genetic specimens that are Flava Flav and Brigitte Nielsen) instead of what message are we sending by putting Bolton in the ambassadorship to a body he thinks shouldn't exist? I mean, it would be one thing if it were a country like Luxembourg or Belize, but the U.N.?
Whack. O.
Well, I'm about to take a shower and, mark my words, wash the ninja right out of my hair. It will be very short bus tomorrow, I just know.
Whack. O.
Well, I'm about to take a shower and, mark my words, wash the ninja right out of my hair. It will be very short bus tomorrow, I just know.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Anyone else excited about
NBC's "Revelations"? No?
Me neither.
Anyone else wonder how NBC, in its ferocious bid to get those rabid fundie, rapture-lovin' right wingers, screwed up the name of that particular Bible book? It's "Revelation" singular, poop-headed Hollywood elitists.
Also, Revelation? Not the most comprehensible book in the Bible. Kind of like Ginsburg, but with authority and a lot more righteous anger.
Me neither.
Anyone else wonder how NBC, in its ferocious bid to get those rabid fundie, rapture-lovin' right wingers, screwed up the name of that particular Bible book? It's "Revelation" singular, poop-headed Hollywood elitists.
Also, Revelation? Not the most comprehensible book in the Bible. Kind of like Ginsburg, but with authority and a lot more righteous anger.
On driving too long
Well, I nearly ran out of gas today and had to plug $37.75 worth of petrol into the Camry on my credit card, which is only for emergencies (though this was one) and knucklehead that I am, I left the cash and id and debit card at Lance and Sheri's.
Anyway, one of the results of all the driving (to Renton, where Ryan cut my hair, or, as all the rapper hos are calling it, "hurr") is I discovered the inadequate rating system I have plugged into my iPod. Basically, I have a lot of unrated music that I would like to listen to and the "Forgotten Faves" list (ala cousin Stephen) was chockablock with depressing grunge. I mean, I love the Nirvana, but geez, you can't always drive to that stuff.
So I swapped out to a mix I made up myself (but I'm sure is not original, well, except for the name): the Frances the Badger list, which is named after a character in kids' books who, among other quirks of personality, likes to eat so that everything comes out even. In the playlist, any song that hasn't been played 10 times has a chance to play catch-up.
I have the Frances even eating pathology, probably because I loved these books as a kid, and have a slight bit of the same pathology when it comes to my iPod playcounts. I want all the songs to come out even, although I know that some songs are better than other, some songs have more importance to more frequently-used workout playlists.
Anyway, "Beat It" came on, and I thought it would be hard to appreciate and I was right. I kept wondering, if, in 1983, someone had been able to show Jacko a picture of himself circa 2003, if perhaps he wasn't so far gone as to not be appalled. And maybe would realize the depth at which he needed some help. And would have gotten help.
But once I got over that, because part of Jacko's pathology seems to be his wealth and its ability to insulate him and his frequent usage of retreat makes it highly unlikely that, at the height of his fame, he would seek help, I started to appreciate the song a little. Dude has serious phrasing ability. And his pronunciation is fascinating, and I don't mean the word "cheeuwdrin," I mean listen to the way he says "bad" and "fair." It's damn near perfect.
Anyway, "Beat It." It sucks to only be able to enjoy it as a piece of pop history.
Anyway, one of the results of all the driving (to Renton, where Ryan cut my hair, or, as all the rapper hos are calling it, "hurr") is I discovered the inadequate rating system I have plugged into my iPod. Basically, I have a lot of unrated music that I would like to listen to and the "Forgotten Faves" list (ala cousin Stephen) was chockablock with depressing grunge. I mean, I love the Nirvana, but geez, you can't always drive to that stuff.
So I swapped out to a mix I made up myself (but I'm sure is not original, well, except for the name): the Frances the Badger list, which is named after a character in kids' books who, among other quirks of personality, likes to eat so that everything comes out even. In the playlist, any song that hasn't been played 10 times has a chance to play catch-up.
I have the Frances even eating pathology, probably because I loved these books as a kid, and have a slight bit of the same pathology when it comes to my iPod playcounts. I want all the songs to come out even, although I know that some songs are better than other, some songs have more importance to more frequently-used workout playlists.
Anyway, "Beat It" came on, and I thought it would be hard to appreciate and I was right. I kept wondering, if, in 1983, someone had been able to show Jacko a picture of himself circa 2003, if perhaps he wasn't so far gone as to not be appalled. And maybe would realize the depth at which he needed some help. And would have gotten help.
But once I got over that, because part of Jacko's pathology seems to be his wealth and its ability to insulate him and his frequent usage of retreat makes it highly unlikely that, at the height of his fame, he would seek help, I started to appreciate the song a little. Dude has serious phrasing ability. And his pronunciation is fascinating, and I don't mean the word "cheeuwdrin," I mean listen to the way he says "bad" and "fair." It's damn near perfect.
Anyway, "Beat It." It sucks to only be able to enjoy it as a piece of pop history.
Callie, now in Ninja Assassin flavor!
Ryan, my hairdresser, is so awesome. She gave me the bitchin'est cut today — then put it through the flat iron. My new Bettie Page bangs and layered hair makes me look like a ninja assassin. I would post a pic but I have neither a digital camera nor the ability to use Flickr properly.
But trust me, with this ironed-out do, I look like I could be a ninja.
But trust me, with this ironed-out do, I look like I could be a ninja.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Thai soup blogging
I'm at Lance and Sheri's and I'm taking advantage of their well-appointed kitchen to try out a new recipe that could never have been assembled in the mere hour (and very few dirty dishes, with very little messy cleanup) that it took here. It's a thai tomato fish stew, but I have gone and changed the ingredients.
Here's my soup:
1/2 onion, chopped
1 tablespoon oil
Fry onion in oil in a BIG soup pot until tender. Add:
2 celery stalks, diced fine
2 leeks, chopped, whites and pales only
Enjoy rocking the heavy, beautifully sharp blade back and forth on the veggies. Maybe say, "How you like my Julia Child style, bitches?" in a high-pitched voice. Mix and cook down 2-3 minutes. Add:
3 red peppers, chopped (I didn't bother chopping fine)
1/2 tub sliced mushrooms
1 small head broccoli, chopped fine
Mix and cook. Realise you have:
1 eggplant, cut in big pieces that probably won't go in your mouth too easily until they cook down
That you really love in curries so throw it in. Cook until you realize that eggplant isn't getting any smaller, so you add:
1 big can diced tomatoes in juice
Realize it may not have been quite enough, but this is a stew and it's from Thailand, where there are how many tomatoes in the diet? Shrug and open:
2 cans of coconut milk, full-fat
Realize this stuff is serious. It is like icing in a can. It tastes like coconut icing in a can because you poke your finger around the lid and go all Gollum on the coconut saturated fat madness. Dump them into the soup pot. Realize the fatty sweet goodness isn't coming out of the can. Think briefly about forgetting the stew and eating the contents of the can whole. Feel like a glutton for thinking that. Take the spoon that has been stirring the soup and dig it into the coconut milk cans to get tomato bits on it so it won't taste good or be appetizing anymore. Realize the coconut milk isn't all coming out. Use the super-handy pot filler over Lance and Sheri's stove to try to rinse some of the coconut milk out of the can. Realize it is all fat and isn't going anywhere. Shrug and use your finger ostensibly to empty out the last remnants of sweet, beach-y coconut milk but really cram it in your mouth like there's no tomorrow.
Mix the soup.
Now, chop up:
1 1/2 pound boneless chicken, or white fish like perch or halibut, if you prefer.
Brown it on Lance and Sheri's grill in a little peanut oil. Hey, where did that peanut oil go? Oh, there's a grease drainer. How nice for the health nuts among us. The chicken will brown up nicely anyway. Reach for a spatula with a greasy, salmonella-laden hand to flip, stir and move the browned chicken to the soup pot. Squeeze in:
The juice of one lemon.
Add:
1 teaspoon Red Curry paste. Maybe a little bit more.
2 tablespoons fish sauce. Maybe a little bit more.
Wash the greasy, chickeny cutting board. Write in your blog as you contemplate the doneness of the soup and the tragedy of the lack of space in Lance and Sheri's fridge. Wish you had planned better, but realize that eggplant really needed to be used. Also those three red peppers. What is the deal with the failure rate on peppers? It's like they will go bad and soft if you look at them funny!
Think about chopping up:
a buttload of cilantro for garnish
And hope the soup comes out good.
Check on soup. Notice that it smells marvelous -- like the curries at Thai Hut. Think maybe your next dish will be a coconut milk based curry. Notice that those eggplants aren't getting any smaller, and if this thing turns out to be worthy of a second go, the eggplant will have to be sliced smaller.
Other possible variations include using the following veggies:
asparagus
kale
spinach
yellow peppers
But as it stands, it's pretty darn good. Maybe next time an extra can of coconut milk and a little stock or broth. But, in all, this was a fairly sucessful (and spicy) soup. Next time maybe I'll roast the eggplant ahead of time, too.
Here's my soup:
1/2 onion, chopped
1 tablespoon oil
Fry onion in oil in a BIG soup pot until tender. Add:
2 celery stalks, diced fine
2 leeks, chopped, whites and pales only
Enjoy rocking the heavy, beautifully sharp blade back and forth on the veggies. Maybe say, "How you like my Julia Child style, bitches?" in a high-pitched voice. Mix and cook down 2-3 minutes. Add:
3 red peppers, chopped (I didn't bother chopping fine)
1/2 tub sliced mushrooms
1 small head broccoli, chopped fine
Mix and cook. Realise you have:
1 eggplant, cut in big pieces that probably won't go in your mouth too easily until they cook down
That you really love in curries so throw it in. Cook until you realize that eggplant isn't getting any smaller, so you add:
1 big can diced tomatoes in juice
Realize it may not have been quite enough, but this is a stew and it's from Thailand, where there are how many tomatoes in the diet? Shrug and open:
2 cans of coconut milk, full-fat
Realize this stuff is serious. It is like icing in a can. It tastes like coconut icing in a can because you poke your finger around the lid and go all Gollum on the coconut saturated fat madness. Dump them into the soup pot. Realize the fatty sweet goodness isn't coming out of the can. Think briefly about forgetting the stew and eating the contents of the can whole. Feel like a glutton for thinking that. Take the spoon that has been stirring the soup and dig it into the coconut milk cans to get tomato bits on it so it won't taste good or be appetizing anymore. Realize the coconut milk isn't all coming out. Use the super-handy pot filler over Lance and Sheri's stove to try to rinse some of the coconut milk out of the can. Realize it is all fat and isn't going anywhere. Shrug and use your finger ostensibly to empty out the last remnants of sweet, beach-y coconut milk but really cram it in your mouth like there's no tomorrow.
Mix the soup.
Now, chop up:
1 1/2 pound boneless chicken, or white fish like perch or halibut, if you prefer.
Brown it on Lance and Sheri's grill in a little peanut oil. Hey, where did that peanut oil go? Oh, there's a grease drainer. How nice for the health nuts among us. The chicken will brown up nicely anyway. Reach for a spatula with a greasy, salmonella-laden hand to flip, stir and move the browned chicken to the soup pot. Squeeze in:
The juice of one lemon.
Add:
1 teaspoon Red Curry paste. Maybe a little bit more.
2 tablespoons fish sauce. Maybe a little bit more.
Wash the greasy, chickeny cutting board. Write in your blog as you contemplate the doneness of the soup and the tragedy of the lack of space in Lance and Sheri's fridge. Wish you had planned better, but realize that eggplant really needed to be used. Also those three red peppers. What is the deal with the failure rate on peppers? It's like they will go bad and soft if you look at them funny!
Think about chopping up:
a buttload of cilantro for garnish
And hope the soup comes out good.
Check on soup. Notice that it smells marvelous -- like the curries at Thai Hut. Think maybe your next dish will be a coconut milk based curry. Notice that those eggplants aren't getting any smaller, and if this thing turns out to be worthy of a second go, the eggplant will have to be sliced smaller.
Other possible variations include using the following veggies:
asparagus
kale
spinach
yellow peppers
But as it stands, it's pretty darn good. Maybe next time an extra can of coconut milk and a little stock or broth. But, in all, this was a fairly sucessful (and spicy) soup. Next time maybe I'll roast the eggplant ahead of time, too.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Newsweek, the weakest news
It's the Pope on the cover. Whaddya know, three white dudes on the cover in a row — Jesus, Jack "Straight From the Gut" Welch and Karol Wojtyla, whose last name really demands a pronunciation key.
So right off the bat Mary Matalin irritates me. NW, ever the astute questioner, needles her with this zinger: "Would you publish a book critical of the administration?"
How does Matalin respond?
"I'm a conservative first." Oh, so that means yes in my book.
"Paul O'Neill — God love him — he just didn't get it. Some of the stuff in that book did not happen. ... I think he made stuff up." And so on. Yes, NW publishes her spew.
I have no idea what keeps Matalin and hubby James Carville together. I think delusion plays a part in it. Also they are fairly similar, except for being at opposite ends of the political spectrum. I wonder what their married life is like? How do they argue about the toilet seat, or the last dregs of orange juice?
Mark Whittaker didn't irk me today so much as bored me with a paean to the Pope. Like there isn't more of that inside.
Periscope is boring. Like no one can believe that punks don't like military recruitment. I guess after Joey Ramone there is something of a need to reaffirm good old anarchist punk values.
The simple-minded Christians of the world turned out to praise NW for its "scholarship" on how Jesus became the Christ. The article was trite and silly. It was a ploy for money. I'm sure Jesus is really happy about circulation jumps when he is on the cover.
Embarrassing self-discovery of this issue: Pope as a young man — kinda hot!
Tragic last sentences:
"Purcell will have to work fast to remain head of this household."
"For financial firms, arm's length deals just got shorter."
"Then they sang the Magnificat, the words Mary said after Gabriel told her she was to bear the Christ child: 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior' — a fitting benediction for a pope whose spirit so long rejoiced in prayer and expectation."
"Even a remarkable papacy like his is inevitably incomplete; for believers, after all, perfection is attainable obly with God, not among men."
"'The greatest show on earth' might just want to slow things down a little."
"And the battles he prepared us for certainly do not end with him."
"He is now where he always wanted to be."
(I know, there are a lot of sidebars about the Pope)
"At present, the Qaeda leader seems to be doing just fine where he is."
"If the high-tech economy once again goes from hot to overheated, let's hope that this time cooler heads prevail."
"But no matter how outrageous his quips may be, they won't be half as entertaining as Google's larger quest to remake search — and business — by its own rules."
"Didn't you promise yourself that, if the bubble came back, *this* time you'd remember to sell at the top?"
"Just like all those prices."
And there you go, NW is blogged. It was not really worthy this week; it was kind of boring and bland. But that's what a major world figure's death will do.
Again, young Wojtyla — kinda hot. I know.
So right off the bat Mary Matalin irritates me. NW, ever the astute questioner, needles her with this zinger: "Would you publish a book critical of the administration?"
How does Matalin respond?
"I'm a conservative first." Oh, so that means yes in my book.
"Paul O'Neill — God love him — he just didn't get it. Some of the stuff in that book did not happen. ... I think he made stuff up." And so on. Yes, NW publishes her spew.
I have no idea what keeps Matalin and hubby James Carville together. I think delusion plays a part in it. Also they are fairly similar, except for being at opposite ends of the political spectrum. I wonder what their married life is like? How do they argue about the toilet seat, or the last dregs of orange juice?
Mark Whittaker didn't irk me today so much as bored me with a paean to the Pope. Like there isn't more of that inside.
Periscope is boring. Like no one can believe that punks don't like military recruitment. I guess after Joey Ramone there is something of a need to reaffirm good old anarchist punk values.
The simple-minded Christians of the world turned out to praise NW for its "scholarship" on how Jesus became the Christ. The article was trite and silly. It was a ploy for money. I'm sure Jesus is really happy about circulation jumps when he is on the cover.
Embarrassing self-discovery of this issue: Pope as a young man — kinda hot!
Tragic last sentences:
"Purcell will have to work fast to remain head of this household."
"For financial firms, arm's length deals just got shorter."
"Then they sang the Magnificat, the words Mary said after Gabriel told her she was to bear the Christ child: 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior' — a fitting benediction for a pope whose spirit so long rejoiced in prayer and expectation."
"Even a remarkable papacy like his is inevitably incomplete; for believers, after all, perfection is attainable obly with God, not among men."
"'The greatest show on earth' might just want to slow things down a little."
"And the battles he prepared us for certainly do not end with him."
"He is now where he always wanted to be."
(I know, there are a lot of sidebars about the Pope)
"At present, the Qaeda leader seems to be doing just fine where he is."
"If the high-tech economy once again goes from hot to overheated, let's hope that this time cooler heads prevail."
"But no matter how outrageous his quips may be, they won't be half as entertaining as Google's larger quest to remake search — and business — by its own rules."
"Didn't you promise yourself that, if the bubble came back, *this* time you'd remember to sell at the top?"
"Just like all those prices."
And there you go, NW is blogged. It was not really worthy this week; it was kind of boring and bland. But that's what a major world figure's death will do.
Again, young Wojtyla — kinda hot. I know.
Clean apartment blogging
Well, it's about there. I got the living room in good shape and all the dishes washed (I have since piled a few up. They wouldn't be bad except one is full of raisin bran and it's all eeww-riffic). The kitchen floor has been swept (what is with my hair? It looks like a wookie has been shedding or something!) and the bathroom sink wiped out (ditto).
Denise and Mark were both sick and led Tuff E Nuff class. They are bonkers. Makes me feel like a tool for blowing off classes for relatively flimsy excuses. The flimsiest excuse of all is that I will actually get around to cleaning if I blow off class and don't I feel funny today?
Luckily I didn't skip today, unless you count skipping around the Y's gym.
Denise and Mark were both sick and led Tuff E Nuff class. They are bonkers. Makes me feel like a tool for blowing off classes for relatively flimsy excuses. The flimsiest excuse of all is that I will actually get around to cleaning if I blow off class and don't I feel funny today?
Luckily I didn't skip today, unless you count skipping around the Y's gym.
Nutty neighbor blogging
I got out of the shower this morning and, through the thin door to the hallway, heard my independent living neighbor talking to the elevator. I looked out the peephole and didn't see or hear anyone else, so I'm assuming this might be an OCD ritual or something.
Anyhow, she was telling the elevator "that is your prerogative. You have to choose who you are going to be. You can't be anybody but yourself. That is your prerogative. That is your prerogative. You are who you are going to be. She can't make you be someone you are not. That is your prerogative."
She said all this in a slow, deliberate tone with that slight muffled curliness you get in the speech pattern of the developmentally delayed; like she's talking from the bottom of her larynx and it's forced air. This, coincidentally, is how she sings.
If I ever live surrounded by yuppies and the completely stable I will never be so entertained.
Anyhow, she was telling the elevator "that is your prerogative. You have to choose who you are going to be. You can't be anybody but yourself. That is your prerogative. That is your prerogative. You are who you are going to be. She can't make you be someone you are not. That is your prerogative."
She said all this in a slow, deliberate tone with that slight muffled curliness you get in the speech pattern of the developmentally delayed; like she's talking from the bottom of her larynx and it's forced air. This, coincidentally, is how she sings.
If I ever live surrounded by yuppies and the completely stable I will never be so entertained.
Crazy bout TV
I love TV. Love. It. Especially on Wednesday nights, when "Lost" is on and proving that the promise of TV can be fulfilled.
Last night Boone died. Not the most entrancing character or anything, but it was pretty effective considering he went from being somewhat spoiled and irritating to an acolyte of the island's resident white-dog-fighting-black-dog-which-one-is-he-feeding Iron John dude to a guy who could die with a little grace and dignity. But his death, and the feeling of caring for this character, wasn't the real reason I would say the promise of TV was fulfilled. No, that would go to minor non-English-speaking character Jin, hithertofore portrayed as kind of a messed up Korean mafia type with issues about women. Something about the way he was so happy that Claire was having her baby.
Then, of course, it's "Alias" time and it's always nice to see that Jennifer Garner is up for putting on a St. Pauli Girl outfit. Just when you thought pointless, sexist dressing up was relegated to "Charlie's Angels" and "America's Next Top Model." Somehow, whenever there is male hot-cha-cha dressing up to do, it seems more often than not to go to the show's geek character. Still, the show redeemed itself when Jack, the father of the girl spy, basically exposed himself to a nuclear core to save her life but didn't tell anybody. That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done on that show. Heck, on just about any show except "Star Blazers," where Nova kind of does the same thing with the Space DNA machine to save planet Earth and it nearly kills her.
Sadly, I fell asleep during the Daily Show. Something about getting up extra early to watch a splay saddle get locked into place on top of a bridge anchorage, I think. So I'm in boots and jeans and polarfleece and I get a call that sends me to a press conference in Tacoma. It was me and a couple of TV people and I looked way out of place. I cover the beats, I cover the beats.
Soon I'll blog the NW. It's sitting there, with the Pope on it all nice and big on the front. Man, I hope when I die a controversial person with a history of making costly mistakes about Central American politics, sex in a time of AIDS and homosexuality that I'll get the same kind of fawning treatment the Pope and Reagan did.
Last night Boone died. Not the most entrancing character or anything, but it was pretty effective considering he went from being somewhat spoiled and irritating to an acolyte of the island's resident white-dog-fighting-black-dog-which-one-is-he-feeding Iron John dude to a guy who could die with a little grace and dignity. But his death, and the feeling of caring for this character, wasn't the real reason I would say the promise of TV was fulfilled. No, that would go to minor non-English-speaking character Jin, hithertofore portrayed as kind of a messed up Korean mafia type with issues about women. Something about the way he was so happy that Claire was having her baby.
Then, of course, it's "Alias" time and it's always nice to see that Jennifer Garner is up for putting on a St. Pauli Girl outfit. Just when you thought pointless, sexist dressing up was relegated to "Charlie's Angels" and "America's Next Top Model." Somehow, whenever there is male hot-cha-cha dressing up to do, it seems more often than not to go to the show's geek character. Still, the show redeemed itself when Jack, the father of the girl spy, basically exposed himself to a nuclear core to save her life but didn't tell anybody. That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done on that show. Heck, on just about any show except "Star Blazers," where Nova kind of does the same thing with the Space DNA machine to save planet Earth and it nearly kills her.
Sadly, I fell asleep during the Daily Show. Something about getting up extra early to watch a splay saddle get locked into place on top of a bridge anchorage, I think. So I'm in boots and jeans and polarfleece and I get a call that sends me to a press conference in Tacoma. It was me and a couple of TV people and I looked way out of place. I cover the beats, I cover the beats.
Soon I'll blog the NW. It's sitting there, with the Pope on it all nice and big on the front. Man, I hope when I die a controversial person with a history of making costly mistakes about Central American politics, sex in a time of AIDS and homosexuality that I'll get the same kind of fawning treatment the Pope and Reagan did.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Weird ad blogging
I always get these ads for $160K mortgage for less than $785/month! (What is that, $784?) They look weird. There is one with a long deer in the woods and the states are listed across its bloated, elongated body. There's one with a cha-cha-ing cactus with a serape with all the states on it (I dunno, some kind of state-based different rate. Like in Kansas you pay $783 and in Iowa you pay $782 and in New Hampshire you pay $784.99). There's one with a pig in the mud and one with a pig that is not in the mud. Riddle me that.
Perhaps the grossest is one of a gingerbread man that appears to be, ahem, doing something massively unhygenic in the glass of milk in which he has planted himself/been dunked.
Will internet ads ever get any better? When the cream of the crop is Adobe telling you where to shockwave move your sprockets, you know this will be a growth industry.
Perhaps the grossest is one of a gingerbread man that appears to be, ahem, doing something massively unhygenic in the glass of milk in which he has planted himself/been dunked.
Will internet ads ever get any better? When the cream of the crop is Adobe telling you where to shockwave move your sprockets, you know this will be a growth industry.
Oh who was I kidding
It's so hard to clean. I'd rather talk about the last book I read to completion — "Blowing My Cover," by Lindsay Moran.
Moran is a former CIA operative (don't call them agents) who apparently couldn't hack it, and it's not hard to see why. The job of spying seems insanely isolating because there's always an ulterior motive with agents. Although the training sounded pretty cool. I think I'd actually like to go through the POW situation and learn to drive spy-style. It sounds like it can really teach a person a lot about themselves.
Tragically, it also sounds like the CIA is picking people who can't hack it. People who are cold in their ability to relate to other people. People who can't hike their way out of a paper bag. People who don't do well in artificial situations that are supposed to test their ability to control their fear, their temper and their judgment.
Now this is going to come back to my spy pal Hugh. We had lunch together today and, because I'm nosy and he is so passionate about "the great game," the conversation turned naturally to contemporary politics and humint gathering and ideology driving foreign policy.
Before we left Thai Hut, he asked a random woman if he knew her from somewhere. He didn't. They had a short conversation about Portland, where she was from, and one time he was staying in Ocean Shores and ran into the anchor from KIRO.
"Did you see what I just did," Hugh said as we left the restaurant. "That was espionage."
Hugh is not your average bear. What he used to do for the CIA he now does for the Lions Club. Recruit, recruit, recruit. Make buddies, utilize information. Except Hugh means every bit of it because he is on the side of the angels, and I don't just mean in his mind. He is extraordinarily driven and there is not a selfish bone in his body. He has an idea about how he wants his community to be, and that is the community he works to create. It's amazing. He is truly a one in a million.
Well, here's where the CIA/Lions Club metaphor gets important in my mind. The game has changed for both organizations. One of the reasons Hugh was a good spy — and I get the feeling he was one of the most exceptional agents to come out of the company, working in a time when he was surrounded by exceptional agents — was because the game wasn't just a game. It was a driving passion. Who could possibly be passionate about Soviet-era Russia?
Well, today, the CIA isn't looking at Stalinism as the enemy. There is real passion, though, I would wager, a misguided, scary one, behind its current foe, Islamic fundamentalist terrorism.
The Lions Club is one that Hugh said he believes he has recruited more than 50 members for — that's members that stay at least a year and a day — since 1983. His ability to recruit has dropped like crazy. No one wants to be a part of that organization from my parents' organization. There are structural issues I can point to, like the fact that they work all the time, and there are aesthetic issues like they don't get their kicks from fraternal organizations with pins and minutes.
I'm forgetting what my point was in the connection. But there was one. And I think it had to do with a certain amount of "what does one do to make the organization function effectively?" for both organizations. They are just flat out dinosaurs. The game has changed on both of them because people don't have the same idea about community that they did even 22 years ago. Even among Islamic fundamentalists who are envisioning a return of the caliphate, they are not ignorant of the sort of means they expect to take — they use the internet, they make cross-ethnic bonds with similar ideologues. The organizations are now about the stability of the organizations more than they are about their mission. Sorry, Hugh, but even if the Lions do give all their money to programs, that's a method of charity, not the organization itself.
I guess the hope-bringing kicker to this story is that as Hugh and I were pulling back up at work he said he had no idea what the terms of the new "game" were for the CIA.
"Aw hell, I could figure it out," he said. "I can play any damn game they throw at me."
Moran is a former CIA operative (don't call them agents) who apparently couldn't hack it, and it's not hard to see why. The job of spying seems insanely isolating because there's always an ulterior motive with agents. Although the training sounded pretty cool. I think I'd actually like to go through the POW situation and learn to drive spy-style. It sounds like it can really teach a person a lot about themselves.
Tragically, it also sounds like the CIA is picking people who can't hack it. People who are cold in their ability to relate to other people. People who can't hike their way out of a paper bag. People who don't do well in artificial situations that are supposed to test their ability to control their fear, their temper and their judgment.
Now this is going to come back to my spy pal Hugh. We had lunch together today and, because I'm nosy and he is so passionate about "the great game," the conversation turned naturally to contemporary politics and humint gathering and ideology driving foreign policy.
Before we left Thai Hut, he asked a random woman if he knew her from somewhere. He didn't. They had a short conversation about Portland, where she was from, and one time he was staying in Ocean Shores and ran into the anchor from KIRO.
"Did you see what I just did," Hugh said as we left the restaurant. "That was espionage."
Hugh is not your average bear. What he used to do for the CIA he now does for the Lions Club. Recruit, recruit, recruit. Make buddies, utilize information. Except Hugh means every bit of it because he is on the side of the angels, and I don't just mean in his mind. He is extraordinarily driven and there is not a selfish bone in his body. He has an idea about how he wants his community to be, and that is the community he works to create. It's amazing. He is truly a one in a million.
Well, here's where the CIA/Lions Club metaphor gets important in my mind. The game has changed for both organizations. One of the reasons Hugh was a good spy — and I get the feeling he was one of the most exceptional agents to come out of the company, working in a time when he was surrounded by exceptional agents — was because the game wasn't just a game. It was a driving passion. Who could possibly be passionate about Soviet-era Russia?
Well, today, the CIA isn't looking at Stalinism as the enemy. There is real passion, though, I would wager, a misguided, scary one, behind its current foe, Islamic fundamentalist terrorism.
The Lions Club is one that Hugh said he believes he has recruited more than 50 members for — that's members that stay at least a year and a day — since 1983. His ability to recruit has dropped like crazy. No one wants to be a part of that organization from my parents' organization. There are structural issues I can point to, like the fact that they work all the time, and there are aesthetic issues like they don't get their kicks from fraternal organizations with pins and minutes.
I'm forgetting what my point was in the connection. But there was one. And I think it had to do with a certain amount of "what does one do to make the organization function effectively?" for both organizations. They are just flat out dinosaurs. The game has changed on both of them because people don't have the same idea about community that they did even 22 years ago. Even among Islamic fundamentalists who are envisioning a return of the caliphate, they are not ignorant of the sort of means they expect to take — they use the internet, they make cross-ethnic bonds with similar ideologues. The organizations are now about the stability of the organizations more than they are about their mission. Sorry, Hugh, but even if the Lions do give all their money to programs, that's a method of charity, not the organization itself.
I guess the hope-bringing kicker to this story is that as Hugh and I were pulling back up at work he said he had no idea what the terms of the new "game" were for the CIA.
"Aw hell, I could figure it out," he said. "I can play any damn game they throw at me."
Filthy apartment blogging
The shame! The shame!
But if I keep the lights low it isn't so noticeable that it's horrific.
Starting Friday I'll be at Lance and Sheri's place. It is a veritable pleasure dome of playthings. There is a hot tub, a high tech washer/dryer, dishwasher, digital cable, the extended LOTR DVDs, wifi, a dog and an enormous bathtub.
So long as I clean house now, I won't have to do much in the way of that over the next week.
Hence, to the kitchen.
But if I keep the lights low it isn't so noticeable that it's horrific.
Starting Friday I'll be at Lance and Sheri's place. It is a veritable pleasure dome of playthings. There is a hot tub, a high tech washer/dryer, dishwasher, digital cable, the extended LOTR DVDs, wifi, a dog and an enormous bathtub.
So long as I clean house now, I won't have to do much in the way of that over the next week.
Hence, to the kitchen.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Poynter conference blogging
Got back from Poynter in Seattle Center. It's nice to be paid to park there, but I wish the weather had been a little nicer — and I'd remembered to wear a jacket. I stayed at Beth and Chris' and Beth gave me a lap blanket thing she'd woven for my belated b-day and I wore it the second day. It's brown, orange and red and yellow. It's really cute, but it's also way homemade. Basically, I blended in with all the other sartorially-challenged freelancers and small-town middle aged journos.
It's amazing how tacky journos can be. Honestly, Clinton and Stacey could spend a lifetime rehabbing us. I'm including myself because maybe I am needing to take a step back in front of a full length mirror before I get more specific in the complaints I would normally lodge against my colleagues (well, let me say there was a chick in big silver shoes with rave pants that had been bell-bottomed with pink zebra stripe material, more than a few crocheted oversweaters and some seriously high-waisted pants). At least I was warm. It was cold in those rooms.
The presenters were eh. I have no idea what anyone could tell me that I would be like, "dude, you blew my mind!" Maybe there are things that would come naturally out of discussion in grad school (erp) but these 1 1/2 hour things aren't always that illuminating. On the other hand, maybe I'd have to go through entire semesters about the "telling detail."
This wasn't the National Writers Workshop's finest conference; on the other hand, I learned that the LA Times has a position called a "parachuter." There are two of them. One is the straight reporter, the other is the color reporter. They are dispatched within 45 minutes of any crisis anywhere. I want to be the color parachutist. Also that there are positions in papers where people work on projects for a couple of months and that's also pretty appealing. How do I get on track to do that? I feel so completely estranged from that world of competant, professional, expansive journalism. It doesn't help that the people that tend to go to these conferences appear to have been sent there as a consolation prize for working in the scullery of journalism — it's all teensy small-town papers, students and freelancer types with no ambition. Is this who I am? I could seriously stab myself thinking I am one of that unmotivated, crappy-question-asking crowd. And I'm including a certain Seattle Times columnist who asked some stupid questions that presumed newspaper narratives cannot use tension or suspense. Great assumption.
It's amazing how simultaneously open and closed some people are to wing stretching advice. Or else they just want to hear the same thing over and over again and feel threatened if it isn't about the "telling detail."
On the other hand, Erik Larson's presentation about the telling detail, the only one to mention it in the title yet not the only one that used it as an advice crutch, was pretty entertaining. If you haven't read "Devil in the White City," I recommend it. The fin de siecle serial killer story (non-fic!) never gets old. It was, I think, good for me to see someone who gets so obsessed with his work. I can't imagine falling in love with an event, as he did with the first World's Fair, though I can imagine hanging out in reference libraries.
Also, I think I like Don Fry. He seems like a sensible Joe. His advice is pretty basic, but it was well-rehearsed and he has a good attitude. I'd like to get the advanced level advice session from him some time.
Also tried a new pizza place, Stellar, in the industrial area near B&C's house. Very good pizza. Nice beer. Crazy awesome atmosphere. Retro fifties via the eighties with the pomo twist. We (B&C and I) talked about writing and how Beth has a life that I'm going to mine for details. Actually, her dad's life. It's all this kookiness that you just can't make up. His most revent wedding, for one, was some sort of spirit dance cum Renaissance Faire gone horribly, horribly awry. Currently, his wife is going to buy a Kiwanis hall that is the site of monthly "Cuddle Parties." If you Google this, you will giggle and want to barf simultaneously. Which may be why there was a sign posted on the wall especially for the cuddle party that read "no joking" when Beth's stepmother went to look at the hall and it was set up for the anonymous "safe" touching event that was to follow. My skin just crawled.
And I thought Hannidate was creepy.
It's amazing how tacky journos can be. Honestly, Clinton and Stacey could spend a lifetime rehabbing us. I'm including myself because maybe I am needing to take a step back in front of a full length mirror before I get more specific in the complaints I would normally lodge against my colleagues (well, let me say there was a chick in big silver shoes with rave pants that had been bell-bottomed with pink zebra stripe material, more than a few crocheted oversweaters and some seriously high-waisted pants). At least I was warm. It was cold in those rooms.
The presenters were eh. I have no idea what anyone could tell me that I would be like, "dude, you blew my mind!" Maybe there are things that would come naturally out of discussion in grad school (erp) but these 1 1/2 hour things aren't always that illuminating. On the other hand, maybe I'd have to go through entire semesters about the "telling detail."
This wasn't the National Writers Workshop's finest conference; on the other hand, I learned that the LA Times has a position called a "parachuter." There are two of them. One is the straight reporter, the other is the color reporter. They are dispatched within 45 minutes of any crisis anywhere. I want to be the color parachutist. Also that there are positions in papers where people work on projects for a couple of months and that's also pretty appealing. How do I get on track to do that? I feel so completely estranged from that world of competant, professional, expansive journalism. It doesn't help that the people that tend to go to these conferences appear to have been sent there as a consolation prize for working in the scullery of journalism — it's all teensy small-town papers, students and freelancer types with no ambition. Is this who I am? I could seriously stab myself thinking I am one of that unmotivated, crappy-question-asking crowd. And I'm including a certain Seattle Times columnist who asked some stupid questions that presumed newspaper narratives cannot use tension or suspense. Great assumption.
It's amazing how simultaneously open and closed some people are to wing stretching advice. Or else they just want to hear the same thing over and over again and feel threatened if it isn't about the "telling detail."
On the other hand, Erik Larson's presentation about the telling detail, the only one to mention it in the title yet not the only one that used it as an advice crutch, was pretty entertaining. If you haven't read "Devil in the White City," I recommend it. The fin de siecle serial killer story (non-fic!) never gets old. It was, I think, good for me to see someone who gets so obsessed with his work. I can't imagine falling in love with an event, as he did with the first World's Fair, though I can imagine hanging out in reference libraries.
Also, I think I like Don Fry. He seems like a sensible Joe. His advice is pretty basic, but it was well-rehearsed and he has a good attitude. I'd like to get the advanced level advice session from him some time.
Also tried a new pizza place, Stellar, in the industrial area near B&C's house. Very good pizza. Nice beer. Crazy awesome atmosphere. Retro fifties via the eighties with the pomo twist. We (B&C and I) talked about writing and how Beth has a life that I'm going to mine for details. Actually, her dad's life. It's all this kookiness that you just can't make up. His most revent wedding, for one, was some sort of spirit dance cum Renaissance Faire gone horribly, horribly awry. Currently, his wife is going to buy a Kiwanis hall that is the site of monthly "Cuddle Parties." If you Google this, you will giggle and want to barf simultaneously. Which may be why there was a sign posted on the wall especially for the cuddle party that read "no joking" when Beth's stepmother went to look at the hall and it was set up for the anonymous "safe" touching event that was to follow. My skin just crawled.
And I thought Hannidate was creepy.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Laughing at Vertigo blogging
There are people who would kill to do what I did yesterday; they're a lot nerdier than I am. I got to go on the pier top of the Gig Harbor-side tower of the in-progress new Tacoma Narrows Bridge. I believe in practice it is being called the third bridge because the first one, Galloping Gertie, went down a scarce number of months after it was put up in 1940 and the second Tacoma Narrows Bridge, no matter how reliable it has been in the ensuing 65 years, will never replace the first, dead bridge in the memories of local residents. What is it, a red-headed stepchild, people? It's a bridge, it serves a function (crossing the Narrows) and it's done it longer than its predecessor. Motion to let it be the Narrows Bridge.
Anyway, going on the bridge requires an escort and a lack of fear of heights, because I had to go on the catwalk under the bridge. Let me tell ya, the sides of the cliffs are pretty steep, and in the space of a few paces, I was way above the sea. This didn't bother me. Lee, the freelance photographer, he was bothered. He's an EMT and a small plane pilot and this was worrisome to him.
To be fair, Lee later told me he associates the bridge with death. As an EMT, he has not only responded to accidents on the bridge, but to jumpers. He said he's seen more than one person go over and the second after they've made that final action, he has seen the recognition in their eyes that they have made an awful, terrible mistake. Which I do not in the least doubt.
You have to understand just how tall this bridge is. I know that the towers are a little over 500 feet tall, so the middle strut is somewhere below 250 feet (I'm guessing 210 — you'll see why below). That's the height of a 20 story building (give or take). There are birds beneath you. You don't just see the white caps, you see the tidal motion of the Narrows (which, even when it's neither going in or out much, is a pretty extreme pull). You can see little bitty boats hauling big sledges of timber. It's way the heck up there. And all that is between you and it on the catwalk is
Also under the bridge, you really get a sense of how crazy long it is. It just keeps on stretching and stretching. There are so many green steel crossbeams anchoring it, it's nuts. It's almost half a mile, but when you're driving you don't know that.
So I had to walk out over the water for about a sixth of a mile. Then I had to go down 21 flights of stairs to the pontoons that connect the stairs to the new piertop. Going down is pretty easy.
Now, as high up as I had been, I was talking to one of the tower crane operators. For his job, not only does he have to sit way up in the air (about 500 feet now, and there will soon be another "jump" to 610) but in order to get there he has to ride an elevator to the "birdcages," which are enclosed, protective structures in which the concrete crew does its magic, then get out onto a bridge that spans from tower leg to tower leg and climb up the tower crane's ladders to get to his "office." If you think that takes gumption, he also has to haul up the tower crane bits that get fitted into the tower when workers are making the "jumps." That's kind of hard to imagine, so picture this: You're building a Lego tower and you want to make it taller, so instead of adding on to the top, you add on in the middle. You basically have to break it in half. That's what happens when the crane gets a "jump."
Dude sees everything. He is so high up.
Which leads me to my next point. The PR lady at the construction company and the engineer in charge of the superstructure (so far, I am understanding that to mean the cables) have led me to believe that I will have the opportunity to survey the cable-spinning work up close and personal. That means I will be able to go up on what they are calling the catwalk.
This will not be a catwalk like the one across the bridge. This will not be flat. It will rise from ground level to the middle of the top of the towers. This will not be a metal grate. It will be a metal mesh, and, as the PR lady from the department of transportation has mentioned, will have boards across it. I asked her if that meant Indiana-Jones-style bridge and she said possibly. I asked if people have to clip in with a harness and a caribbeaner. Apparently not. But how Indiana Jones can this catwalk be if it goes 500 feet into the air?
So I'm really jazzed about making this climb. I look at this not only as a future adventure, but also as a way to get back at a childhood memory of tragedy.
The year, 1982 or 3. I forget. It was a hot summer day and the family was going to Sesame Place, the Pennsylvania theme park based on the revolutionary children's television program that introduced me to Cookie Monster.
At the time, Sesame Place was pretty tame. I don't recall that they even had a rollercoaster to speak of. This was a place for kids that were still learning their numbers. From The Count! The rides were not intense.
However, there was this one thing, a huge net that went up in levels over the rest of the park. There was a net tube that went between two poles way up over the tall rides.
I never made it that far. I got about 20 feet off the ground and freaked out and started crying. I was pretty young, and I yelled at my dad, who, in his typical style, didn't appear to notice that he was climbing on past me. He tried to chipper me into keeping on going, but it wasn't going to happen. I wanted to turn around, but there was this tide of people coming up the net. I mean, you might have thought they were big rats or something. Big rats that would run me over without a second thought. I might have gotten a "get out of the way" comment. At the time, I just thought that's how people were; now, I'm hoping there's a little more compassion for the scared 8-year-olds of the world. Dad helped me to the side, where I clung to a post, and, because the human rats would have overrun him, too, he had to finish the net obstacle course before he could find the poor overworked teenaged boys that had to carry me down.
Anyway, going up on the catwalk might mitigate something that happened to me more than 20 years ago. Or not. I'm pretty sure it will be cool. But I'd better not invest too much or it won't happen.
Anyway, going on the bridge requires an escort and a lack of fear of heights, because I had to go on the catwalk under the bridge. Let me tell ya, the sides of the cliffs are pretty steep, and in the space of a few paces, I was way above the sea. This didn't bother me. Lee, the freelance photographer, he was bothered. He's an EMT and a small plane pilot and this was worrisome to him.
To be fair, Lee later told me he associates the bridge with death. As an EMT, he has not only responded to accidents on the bridge, but to jumpers. He said he's seen more than one person go over and the second after they've made that final action, he has seen the recognition in their eyes that they have made an awful, terrible mistake. Which I do not in the least doubt.
You have to understand just how tall this bridge is. I know that the towers are a little over 500 feet tall, so the middle strut is somewhere below 250 feet (I'm guessing 210 — you'll see why below). That's the height of a 20 story building (give or take). There are birds beneath you. You don't just see the white caps, you see the tidal motion of the Narrows (which, even when it's neither going in or out much, is a pretty extreme pull). You can see little bitty boats hauling big sledges of timber. It's way the heck up there. And all that is between you and it on the catwalk is
Also under the bridge, you really get a sense of how crazy long it is. It just keeps on stretching and stretching. There are so many green steel crossbeams anchoring it, it's nuts. It's almost half a mile, but when you're driving you don't know that.
So I had to walk out over the water for about a sixth of a mile. Then I had to go down 21 flights of stairs to the pontoons that connect the stairs to the new piertop. Going down is pretty easy.
Now, as high up as I had been, I was talking to one of the tower crane operators. For his job, not only does he have to sit way up in the air (about 500 feet now, and there will soon be another "jump" to 610) but in order to get there he has to ride an elevator to the "birdcages," which are enclosed, protective structures in which the concrete crew does its magic, then get out onto a bridge that spans from tower leg to tower leg and climb up the tower crane's ladders to get to his "office." If you think that takes gumption, he also has to haul up the tower crane bits that get fitted into the tower when workers are making the "jumps." That's kind of hard to imagine, so picture this: You're building a Lego tower and you want to make it taller, so instead of adding on to the top, you add on in the middle. You basically have to break it in half. That's what happens when the crane gets a "jump."
Dude sees everything. He is so high up.
Which leads me to my next point. The PR lady at the construction company and the engineer in charge of the superstructure (so far, I am understanding that to mean the cables) have led me to believe that I will have the opportunity to survey the cable-spinning work up close and personal. That means I will be able to go up on what they are calling the catwalk.
This will not be a catwalk like the one across the bridge. This will not be flat. It will rise from ground level to the middle of the top of the towers. This will not be a metal grate. It will be a metal mesh, and, as the PR lady from the department of transportation has mentioned, will have boards across it. I asked her if that meant Indiana-Jones-style bridge and she said possibly. I asked if people have to clip in with a harness and a caribbeaner. Apparently not. But how Indiana Jones can this catwalk be if it goes 500 feet into the air?
So I'm really jazzed about making this climb. I look at this not only as a future adventure, but also as a way to get back at a childhood memory of tragedy.
The year, 1982 or 3. I forget. It was a hot summer day and the family was going to Sesame Place, the Pennsylvania theme park based on the revolutionary children's television program that introduced me to Cookie Monster.
At the time, Sesame Place was pretty tame. I don't recall that they even had a rollercoaster to speak of. This was a place for kids that were still learning their numbers. From The Count! The rides were not intense.
However, there was this one thing, a huge net that went up in levels over the rest of the park. There was a net tube that went between two poles way up over the tall rides.
I never made it that far. I got about 20 feet off the ground and freaked out and started crying. I was pretty young, and I yelled at my dad, who, in his typical style, didn't appear to notice that he was climbing on past me. He tried to chipper me into keeping on going, but it wasn't going to happen. I wanted to turn around, but there was this tide of people coming up the net. I mean, you might have thought they were big rats or something. Big rats that would run me over without a second thought. I might have gotten a "get out of the way" comment. At the time, I just thought that's how people were; now, I'm hoping there's a little more compassion for the scared 8-year-olds of the world. Dad helped me to the side, where I clung to a post, and, because the human rats would have overrun him, too, he had to finish the net obstacle course before he could find the poor overworked teenaged boys that had to carry me down.
Anyway, going up on the catwalk might mitigate something that happened to me more than 20 years ago. Or not. I'm pretty sure it will be cool. But I'd better not invest too much or it won't happen.
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