Nuts!

I'm a huge fan of the almond. It is my go-to, everyday nut. As I sit here eating from a can of grocery-store brand mixed nuts though, I realize that the real star of the variety show is the pecan. So light! So velvety! And what delicious flavor. Some prefer the pistachio, the macadamia, or the cashew, but for my money, the dessert of nuts is the pecan.

On the other hand, peanuts are kinda lame. This nut mix brags that it has "less than 50% peanuts", but that may only be accurate if the true measure is 49.999%. They are like sand on a vast beach: Thousands of particles that obscure access to the pretty shells beneath. Dig as you must with your index finger for that macadamia, and it will sink below the weight of "thousands" of shifting peanuts. (In this analogy, the peanut skins are seaweed). Anyway, peanuts don't taste great alone unless they are candied, and they are most definitely obstructing access to my precious pecans.

Also, I really don't like filberts/Brazil nuts. Why are these even in the mix? They are 3 times as large as the peanut and they are bitter. Why not go with walnuts? If the peanut is any clue, I'd guess that the filbert is simply inexpensive and bulky. (Driftwood, do you suppose?)

The lesson here is that you get what you pay for. There are cans of premium nuts, sans peanuts and filberts. I should just spring for the $3 extra dollars and save myself the minor grief of biting into another lame-o peanut.

Testify

If you have ever gone to, been helped by, or worked with Planned Parenthood, especially in any of the states where funding is being cut to this organization on purely ideological grounds, please tell the world! A group of clever people at What Tami Said and at Shakesville are holding a blog carnival on July 7 to link together as many posts on this topic as they are able in hopes of demonstrating just how many people will be negatively affected by this new scourge of legislation. Please go to the following link for more information:

http://www.whattamisaid.com/2011/06/july-7-what-tami-said-and-shakesville.html

Thanks fanclubbers.

Other Songs Michelle Bachman Can Use

Yesterday, Tom Petty's people sent Michelle Bachman's people a cease and desist order against using his hit song "American Girl" in any of her campaign activities. This is one of those cases where a little bit of forward thinking might have led MB's campaign to the conclusion that this exact thing would happen if they used any song by Tom Petty. Perhaps Heart surprised the GOP when the band told them to quit using "Barracuda" to introduce Sarah Palin, and it is possible that the Reagan campaign, being among the most superficial in modern American history, didn't listen to "Born in the U.S.A." long enough to realize that the song was an anti-war, pro-labour anthem. Nevertheless, one would think that a history of rock stars getting their copyrights in a bunch, as well as Tom Petty's outspoken aversion to human stupidity, would serve as fair warning that this sort of thing would happen. I guess once again, MB is proving that all publicity is good publicity.

Anyway, I thought I'd lend MB a hand and offer her a list of songs she can use instead of "American Girl" at her campaign stumps. To wit:

Do the Herky Jerky

First, watch this video clip:


Now, I ask you:

1. What part of the music is causing them to move that way?
2. Do coeds still eat KFC drum sticks from the bucket?
3. Why won't that girl with all of the hair take this crazed coed murderer thing seriously?
4. Back to the dancing--what is going on there?

Goings On

I expect many of you have come to the WCFC looking for a quick fix over the past week, miserable to learn that I haven't been here myself. I've been spoiling you little junkies, haven't I? Well, I apologize if my little hiatus has caused anyone grief. I just haven't had much to say.

Today is really no different, but because I want you to keep coming back, I know I must post more frequently. So here are the goings on in my home:

1. Looking for a job still. I know you all know how time consuming it is to search for a suitable position and then write a job letter introducing your qualifications and arguing why you should be called in for an interview. Sometimes, my whole morning is shot just composing the cover letter. Although I've got a number of other things to do, I find myself loath to sit at the computer any longer. As a result, the blog suffers. When I do return to the old MacBook, I check my email compulsively hoping that someone will be writing to say, "Wow, DH, you are everything we've ever wanted in a candidate and more! Will you take our humble job, please?" So far, all I've received is a nice note informing me that while the Forestry Library appreciates my interest, they have all the volunteers they need right now. You read that right, they don't even want me to volunteer. Lame.

 It is not all negative; right now I'm on the hook for a possible editing job at some science writing start-up. As part of the interview process, they sent me an article to edit to prove my mettle. The article, written by three Italians, was about solar energy collection optimization techniques. One, until I read this article, I knew zilch about this topic.  Two, Italians may speak English with the most delightful of accents, but they are not all exceptionally good at writing it. All told, it took me 6 hours of reading and writing to produce my edits. If I don't get this job, I may need to bill them for free-lance hours, because that article is now absolutely read for the Journal of Solar Energy Optimization Techniques. I know I'm good for the job, but we'll just have to see.

2. I bought Mathilda a flee comb and she won't let me alone unless I brush her for at least 10 minutes three times a day. This comb is better than catnip. When I comb her, she gets all squirmy, purrs really loudly, and sometimes drools. She also gets a tad aggressive in her amorous state and has taken to biting and scratching to show her enthusiasm.

 I recommend this comb mostly because it is collecting A LOT of fur before it sheds all over my clothes and furniture (not to mention the air vent); however, I really think you should be warned that it will drive your kitty k-razy! Also, I have nabbed a few flees with it, which is worth the cost alone (it is not expensive).

3. I've been knitting a sock. No, not socks. A sock. Just one. It is time consuming, especially when I realize that I have been knitting a section all wrong and 6 inches in conclude I have to rip it out. It's done, and it is nice, but I am not looking forward to knitting the mate. I have this grand vision of knitting everyone in my immediate family a pair of socks for Christmas. Of course, none of them know they want socks, but they'll be glad when they get them. One sock down, 11 to go! Probably I won't get everyone's done in time, and my brothers-in-law will get shafted, but I'm also confident that they will  interpret this loss as a close-call, gift-wise. Oh well. They can just eat their hearts out when they see their wives prancing about in homemade socks.

4. I've been reading about writing. Of the books I've read so far, the one that I am loving is Margaret Atwood's Negotiating with the Dead. Her writing seems effortless, and I'm smitten with her wit and wisdom. Honestly, there are few people I want to know more than Margaret Atwood, and I relish reading anything she writes. This book is especially good, because, in its effort to get to the bottom of what it means to be a writer, she draws on an amazing set of references, some I recognize, some I don't. The book is comprised of essays originally produced for a listening audience during a seminar at Cambridge University, and I love the way she speaks as a North American. She takes nothing for granted, and comes across as so humble and charming that I earnestly wish I could travel back in time and space and attend these lectures.

I'm also reading a far less endearing, but equally impressive book by James Wood called How Fiction Works. Whereas Atwood mentions Flaubert to illustrate a point, Wood dedicates a whole chapter to him to show you that you've not done your homework. Wood is a tad pedantic and comes across as a stiff and tweedy literary snob, but he is brilliant in his analysis. It is a book that, because of its ivied certainty, makes you feel obliged to take notes as if you were attending the sort of lecture you'll brag about having been at decades from now.

Finally--and now you know how I go about reading--I'm also working through Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones.  This book is the practical complement to Wood's heady analysis of how fiction works. Goldberg, a poet, writes about how to write. At times slightly new-agey, this book is valuable because it reads like a workshop for writers, offering tools and techniques, as well as valuable ideas, for practicing the art of writing. Although in literary terms, hers is the easiest to read of the three books mentioned, it is taking me the longest to get through, because it has so much to offer. I've enjoyed reading a chapter and then sitting down to practice the notion as described. Because of Goldberg's book, I am writing to write rather than to avoid perishing in the academic jungle, and I'm finding it very liberating. No novel ideas yet, just a notebook full of words that are proof of the mental calisthenics Goldberg recommends one does every day. If you want to write but don't think you know how, read this book.

That is all the news that's good gnus. Hope you are well.

Still Love It!

This is such a bitchy song and video, but it is chemically formulated to make me love it. I was only a cheerleader for 5 weeks, but I still love clap-beat pop!

Oh Weird Al, you so crazy!

Have you seen/heard "Weird Al" Yankovic's new parody of Lady Gaga's "Born this way"? Check it out:



Now my question for you: Does Al look like Molly Shannon in that Marilyn Monroe wig? (Hint: Yes!)

I love his ideas for Gaga's outfits, but I'm sorry that now she can't use them. My favorite is the "covered in bees" look (although the "large intestines round my neck" idea is pretty awesome, too). Al is also right on point calling Gaga out for her obvious plagiarism of Madonna's "Express Yourself." I really like Lady Gaga, but this song is just too allusive. The sincerest form of flattery is great, but not if it isn't. This is not, as far as I'm concerned her best song. Nor, sadly is it Weird Al's. Still, they are both fun.

My fave Lady Gaga song?
"Bad Romance", which I'll argue is one of the best videos EVER.

(but if you've been reading the blog for a while, you'd probably guess this).

My fave Weird Al?
"White and Nerdy", because word for word, it is the most thorough and smart parody he's ever done.

POP POP!

Finally, A Shop for Tuba Lovers!

As I was driving around Durham this afternoon, I passed a shop called "The Tuba Exchange" where, according to the sign, they specialize in "new and used tubas and other euphoniums." I am not making this up, see:

http://www.tubaexchange.com/index.asp

If you clicked on the link above, you will see that these guys are serious about sousaphones.  They specialize in big brass, and they ain't got time for no pansy-ass tooters. Lookin' for a clarinet? Clear out Claude! Need a flute? Fuck-off, Frank! You want an instrument that scales to your ample girth? We got it! You like playing caboose to the marching band because you're taller, gawkier, and more socially awkward than those arrogant pricks in the drum-line? Well step right up, Chuck! We got a tuba for you!

Who'd have thought a whole store could exist for this purpose? I imagine the folks in town have no idea how lucky they are, especially if they play tuba. I only hope they don't move west and discover what real culture shock is all about. Don't take your tuba shop for granted, kids!

Other one note--hardy har har--shops I'd like to discover:

• Just Jigsaws! Why waste your time in one of those big box stores when you just want a jigsaw? 
• Eraserland Go to Office Depot for your pencils; come to Eraserland for your erasers!
• The Pole Vault Palace Poles, chalk, gloves--you get the idea.
• Perm Rods and Papers  For all of your permanent hair curl needs! (So long as they are limited to the rods and the papers. You'll need to go to Sally Supply for the chemicals.)
• The Bieberarium  All things branded Justin Bieber. (This could do as well as an airport gift shop in the right demographic area.)
• Key L-A-R-G-O's  Where they only sell keyboard caps for the letters L, A, R, G, and O. (No, they do not have apostrophe or 'S'.)
• Das Hamster Haus
• Gelatin Moulds Are We The name is clumsy, what with trademark regulations, but they've got the finest gelatin mould selection in the country. Guaranteed!

The Big Man Has Joined the Band (In Rock n' Roll Heaven)

It is sad news I bring to you today, dear readers. Although very few of you like Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band as much as I do (and Josh even more so), let's all take a moment to contemplate the passing of Clarence Clemons, the band's signature saxophonist and bigger-than-life stage presence. Clemons died this weekend after a debilitating stroke.

I'm not a lifetime fan of BS & the ESB, but since I have come to love them, it is impossible for me not to feel this death as something really sad and foreboding. It turns out that our favorite musicians aren't immortal. That like you, me, and all good things, they too must pass away. If there *is* a rock and roll heaven, then I'm sure it has an even better band as of today. 

So, in tribute to Mr. Clemons, here are some songs to remember him by:

It's Gettin' Hot in Here (So take off all your clothes)

Say, fanclub readers, what did you do last night? I undid 6 inches of a sock I was knitting and muddled through trying to relocate the stitches to start again. Too many mistakes were made and I couldn't stand it anymore. All this while listening to bluegrass music. Ahhhhh yeahhhh!

--to continue reading this post, you may want to wipe the steam off of your glasses--

I just posted this article on FB, but I really think it deserves a place at the WCFC. I read the whole thing thinking, "Damn, I was so going to write this!"

10 Most Terrifyingly Inspirational '80s Songs

Probably the reason why I didn't do it was because I've referenced many of these songs in Top 5 lists before (I don't have time for Top 10 lists). Cracked is a strange website. More often than not it is as puerile as you may remember the magazine, but it does have a few writers who totally hit the mark. This guy, Robert Brockway, appears to be one of them. (Check out this other list, "5 Movie Martial Artists That Lost a Death Match to Dignity")

In other news, keep those pasta sauce recipes rolling in! I'm digging the variety.

I am happy to report that the dog seems to be slimming down. We have taken at least a half-hour walk everyday for two weeks now, and she is responding very well to it physically.

The cat, however, is just as lumpy as ever. I dunno though, she still rocks the softest fur in the house, so I'm guessing she's OK.

The fella has gone to Raleigh for the morning to join an electric car club! He is really excited about transforming his 1981 (?) beater El Camino from a gas guzzling muscle car into a machine he can run through his computer. (Nerd Alert! Nerd Alert!) When he really gets into it, he plans on starting his own blog, which I will happily link to as soon as it is available. We'll keep you posted.

WCFC Star Search: Pasta Sauce

In an effort to break free from the daily grind, let's work together to share our best ideas! I will intermittently offer up a topic, and anyone reading the blog will have free reign to submit their best suggestions. Y'all were ever so kind to give me career suggestions, why not recipes, tips for keeping the house clean, or maybe website suggestions.

We'll begin with the idea that prompted me to pursue this:  Pasta Sauce.

Right now I'm making another mediocre marinara, and it occurred to me that some of you have way better go-to recipes than I do. I actually thought of Meg while I was shaking a squirt of Worcestershire sauce into the stew. I thought, well, sorry Meg. This is no longer vegan. (I was doing so well up until that point!)

So what is your favorite pasta sauce? Post your recipes or links to the ones that most resemble the one you like best in the comments section.

BTW: Although I'm calling this a star search, you should know that it is actually more of a youth soccer league. There are no winners and everyone gets a virtual trophy. Go team!

I did it!

After my appointment at the Funky Monkey Hair Studio in Durham, I am the proud owner of a new haircut! It is just right. I now look less like this:

And more like this:

(Sorry, the fullness of my pear-shaped head was cropped in these mock ups.)

I'm happy with it although it is way shorter than I expected, but the person who did my hair, Erica, was pretty awesome, so I'm not sorry at all. Hurrah!

Haircut

About two weeks ago I went to get my hair trimmed. It was getting harder to run my fingers through it without yanking out a strand or two, so I knew it was time for a bit of maintenance. I did some research online and found a salon nearby that had good reviews without being overpriced. When I called, they offered a time later in the morning with Phoebe.

Upon arriving at the salon, I felt comfortable with my decision. One thing that I found suspicious about the salons in Oxford was that in many cases, the salon's stylists all looked the same. Perhaps like teenagers at sleep-away camp begin to menstruate on the same cycle, stylists in small town salons naturally morph into the same pudgy, orange, blond-with-chunky-brown-highlighted woman. There is a salon on University near the Big Star that is especially weird in this regard. The women who cut hair there even wear the same lipstick color. *Shudder*

Anyway, Phoebe and the rest of the stylists were individuals who seemed to know a lot about hair. I knew I was in for a treat when I sat down and Phoebe said, "So, I'm hoping you want to cut off that over-processed hair in the front there." How did she know?!? Uh, because it looked sad. I told her I wanted to go long, and she asked, "Why?" I found myself tongue-tied. I didn't know why. As she lifted and removed my hair from my face to getter a better sense of its shape, she said, "Your kind of pair shaped, you see?" as she traced the out of my brow, the in of my eye and the even more outward slope of my cheeks. "You just can't get away with this straight line of hair." It didn't even occur to me to think her rude, because every point she made was valid. I hedged, though, because I've convinced myself I want long hair. So she trimmed it up and removed some of the platinum frayed edges in the front and said, "Next time." I knew what she ment. Next time, we are going to go short.

Usually I let my hair go about 6 weeks between cuts, but this conversation has been haunting me since I left the salon. Now, I am convinced I must go for the gusto and really get a hair cut. I'm going to another salon, not because I want to avoid Phoebe, but because I need to shop around. I am hoping I'll find another stylist willing to be as honest with me. I'll be extremely put out if this is what the next person comes up with:

Before Kate, I referred to this as "Country Star" hair. No one knew what I was talking about. Thank goodness she has no taste and made this awful haircut famous. I do not (!) want even a hint of this do done to my head. I'm as serious as a heart attack about this. Fingers crossed!

Report on Yesterday's Productivity

Things accomplished:

1. Planted plants.
2. Weeded the garden and trimmed back overgrown bushes.
3. Got stung by wasp.

It was such a nice day that I found it easy to stay outside for a few hours in an effort to take control of the landscape. Starting on the side, I worked my way around to the front of the house, accumulating a nice pile of shrub clippings and weeds. Early in the process, I worried about biting insects and creepy vermin lurking in the brush. If Mississippi taught me anything it was that snakes, ticks, black widows and other venomous creatures lived closer to my front door than I cared to admit, so I tended to ignore landscaping unless it was cool and I could wear jeans and work gloves. Yesterday, however, I threw caution to the wind, figuring that there was little to fear in the ivy and crepe myrtle. This state of casual indifference to my own safety continued for about an hour, until I reached into a bush to grab one of its too-tall stalks, and was stung right there on my right thumb's knuckle.

Holy shit, that mother hurt! Any neighbor watching must have deduced at once that I was stung, because I lept back a few feet, barked out something like, "WaaaOUUUshittttttttfuckgoddamm!"and ran inside the house. There I rushed to the sink to rince it with cool water, hoping that the pain would begin to subside, but it did not. No, it only escalated. I don't remember being stung by a wasp before, so I didn't know what to expect. Would I go into anaphylactic shock? Would the venom spread through my whole arm and turn gangrenous? Or would my hand simply swell to Micky Mouse proportions? And why is the pain getting worse?!? This state of panic lasted for about a minute, but a long minute it was. Fortunately, the wound was isolated to my thumb and the meaty haunch of my palm. Since yesterday afternoon, it has remained red and swollen, but not comically. It itches when I think about it too much, but I have mobility. I expect I'm going to live through this. I'd tell you all about the quarter-sized bug bite on my outer thigh, but it doesn't hurt as much. And besides, I have no idea how I got it.

After the wasp sting, I didn't feel especially motivated to sit down and make the bookshelves. However, after taking a trip into downtown Durham to find a coffee shop, I did make a half-hearted effort to clean out the Tercel. So, you know, mission accomplished!

Today, I have grand designs to read and write. Watch me work, heh!

Also, I know that you don't like to watch videos, but watch this one if you want your heart to go "Squeeeeeeee!"

Productivity

I'm all about it today. Here is my list of things to do:

1. Get nails to hang pictures on wall.
2. Hang pictures on wall.
3. Plant tomatoes and peppers.
4. Build book shelves.
5. Clean out car.

Oh God, I'm boring you, aren't I? Yes, yes, I can actually see your eyes glazing over and your jaw slackening. But you know where I'm coming from here, don't you? Yes, of course you do. I've been ignoring these dull little tasks for a few weeks now, and they are quietly harassing me. Each time I go out onto the porch, the plants emit a barely audible "hhhhhhuuuhhhhh" as if to ask "why don't you want us to thrive in a bigger pot where our roots may stretch and breath?" The box of book shelf components lean belligerently against the wall glaring at me every time I walk into the bedroom. The pictures, having already been invited to take their places along the walls, are resting on the floor wondering when they will get their chance to join the show. And the car. Oh, the car is just plain surly nowadays, with its mushy clutch and slow-to-perform AC unit. Should it really be asked to carry tupperware pieces, bathmats, and USPS direct mail boxes around town, it grumbles? It may be a Tercel, but it has its pride.

Needs must, and I can't keep ignoring the little things any more.

Last night I dreamt that I was playing the lead in a community theater production of some big deal show. It was opening night and I was starting to get nervous, so I decided to practice my lines for a little while. When I opened the script, however....(wait for it!)....

I DIDN'T KNOW MY LINES AT ALL!  

(surprise!)

I didn't even know the musical numbers. It dawned on me that I had never once been to a rehearsal for this role nor had any of the other members of the cast. When I approached the Director about this oversight, she was really mad at all of us for not studying our lines carefully enough to just go on stage and perform the play from communal instinct.

I'd ask, "What does it mean?!?" but I think I know. It's not about me.

I'm boring you again, aren't I? Well, I'm going to take that as a sign that I need to get on with my day of productivity. Later, chump.

ALRIGHT...I admit it!

I love the new Duchess of Cambridge. I mean, I don't know or care much about her, but I love looking at her.  All clothing looks perfect on her, and her hair is so long and brown! Her teeth are perfectly aligned, and she always has impeccable makeup. She is like the perfect mannequin. She's like a virtual doll that dresses and poses herself, and she gets to appear at all of the most important events as a person of honor. With these assets, I never need to hear her talk or expose her private life. Her public life is just so photogenic! I declare her my favorite celebrity. Here is a photo essay of my favorite moments in Catherine's modern life:

Just walking into a church.

Just wearing a beret.

Just walking down the street!

You know, just riding in a royal carriage with Harry and Camilla, going to the Queen's Birthday Party.

After looking at a lot of pictures to makes these selections, I am saddened to see that she seems to have lost more weight than is advisable in the months leading up to the wedding, suggesting that she may have more in common with her deceased mother-in-law than seems fair. On behalf of women everywhere, I hope that the Duchess redefines aristocratic beauty rather than wastes away because of it.

Go Kate!

Fire Hydrants

It is a commonly held notion that the fire hydrant, besides serving the needs of firefighters in service to the greater good and offering up summertime fun to kids in Brooklyn, is a signpost for canine bladder relief. So why doesn't my dog recognize the sign? She insists on peeing anywhere from ten to fifteen yards away from the hydrant, consequently she tends to pee on lands carefully scaped, and I'm afraid she is giving me a bad reputation.

My neighborhood is very relaxed and there are a lot of dog lovers around, so I'm sure that I am not actually a pariah. In Mississippi, we had the option to open the back door and let the dog run free, a situation that made us all very lazy. When the humans didn't feel like taking the dog for a walk, we'd just fling open the back door and she'd go blazing out when she had to relieve herself. It was great! Sure, she got fat and lazy and learned how to scrape at the back door until we let her back in (often minutes later), but it worked for us! Now, without the benefit of a restricted corridor to the fenced in yard, we need to put her on a leash just to let her outside, a sign that she has reasonably taken to mean that she is going on a nice long, fun-filled walk with squirrels and rabbits and birds galore. There is no half measure here. We end up walking everyday.

Admittedly, we are better off for it. She and I are both improving our fitness and getting to know the neighborhood. She delights in sniffing out new paths and reading the trail markers left by other dogs. I would prefer she peed in the spots between yards and in the ivy covered easements, but she has her preferences, too. Would that they included the fire hydrant.

Cujo and the Chainsaw

I wake up regularly around 2-3am just long enough to get a drink of water and to find a new surface on which to lay, and then usually I'm out. Last night, at 4 am exactly, I was roused by my dog savagely barking at my cat, presumably because the cat had wandered into the dog's territory. As soon as the cat exited the scene, the dog returned to her senses and went back to sleep. This temporary bout of canine insanity was so shocking that I could not go back to sleep for a few hours. I began to think about how the dog needs her rabies shot, among others, and that I really need to find a veterinarian to take care of both pets. With a display like the one that just woke me, I figure it won't be too long before someone gets her face scratched off. Cujo-style barking may keep the cat out the room, but it will not protect the dog from a swiftly delivered, razor-sharp slash across the nose when the cat takes her revenge.

Although pre-occupied with thoughts of domestic animal blood-lust, I was nevertheless starting to dose when a new raging noise shocked me sensate. Someone, presumably a block or so away, was revving up a small motor that brought to mind the tools of lawn care. Was it a string trimmer? A leaf blower? Upon my word, I'd swear to hearing a chainsaw!  What innocent reason could someone want with a chainsaw before dawn? It occurred to me to be unsettled, but I couldn't muster anything more than a vague curiosity--where the hell was that coming from? After peeping through every blind in the direction of the sound, I lost interest as the sound moved away. It faded gradually, as though it was carried on a moving vehicle, which was more curious still. However, in the absence of noise, I had only my thoughts to keep me awake.

Thanks to Cujo and the chainsaw, I'm going to need a nice nap this morning.

Smiling about Smiling

I am just too amused by the most recent post written by my friend at Peace and Carrots. If you haven't clicked on the link to her blog yet, please do. It will be worth your while.

What Else?

Any ideas as to what a person with a Ph.D. in History (non-American) can do with her degree besides teach?

I'm serious. I need good advice and meaningful suggestions.

Applying Myself

For the past few days I've been sitting down every morning in search of a job and committing myself to applying to any one that I might be qualified to take. I mean that literally: any ONE. Just one a day. I can't imagine how soul draining my day would be if I had to apply to anything and everything that was out there just to make ends meet. I won't complain.

Much to my disappointment, however, I have been forced to conclude that I will never be able to leave the academy. Let's face it: There is not much call for historians in the "real world".  Who needs us when we have Sarah Palin and her minions revising Wikipedia articles? In the world of double-speak, the interpretation of history is up for grabs and she who misrepresents the facts loudest is the one who knows best. See, the thing is, Sarah has no excuse for not knowing the history she botched so badly. Sarah had just taken a tour of Paul Revere's hangout, and, probably through her compulsion to play to the cameras, she read a few things out loud to her daughter. She was bound to remember something about Revere's ride from her 1/2 hour old lesson. But this is what she came up with:


Um, what? My problem with Sarah is that despite having just received the lesson, she cannot competently regurgitate it for the cameras. I've seen this behavior before, and it is typical of most subpar students in the fall semester. These kids come to class in their pajamas, half-listen to lecture while texting or writing notes to their friends, and then get Ds or Cs on their assignments. They put in half the effort and produce have the understanding. Lazy and distracted, they end up getting Ds and Cs in the class for the semester. And then, malheureusement, they drop out of school in the spring semester. I don't think Sarah Palin is so different from these students, and that is why her word-salad-as-American-history-lesson was so risible. Smart people don't need fact checkers to know when an idiot has spoken.

Anyway, I'm using my unemployment to finally read Wuthering Heights and other classic novels that I've collected with all good intentions over the past few years. If I get bored, there is always all 12 seasons of Law & Order: SVU on Hulu I can disappear into.

What Are They Teaching These Kids in Canada?!?

Did you hear about the Senate page who lost her job for saying what the rest of the country wouldn't?

http://videocafe.crooksandliars.com/scarce/when-good-pages-go-bad

Ottowans rejoice! Your daughters are more awake than you realize. Even though I don't know much about Canadian politics, I am aware that this Harper's government has split the country in ways similar to George Bush's. Sure, it won re-election a few weeks ago, but this was more a consequence of a divided left than a strong right. The election was itself a result of a vote of no confidence in Harper's government, and if you isolate the results of the election to see who gained the most actually (rather than politically), you'll note that the NDP surged in this election (at the expense of the Liberal Party). Canadian politics are not happy right now, and it is a testament to these contentious days that this young woman decided to chuck her own access to power (as a page) to stage this very loud silent protest.

So here's to you, Brigette DePape: May you inspire your generation in more ways than one!

Second Saturday

It is our second saturday as residents of NC, and the weather is lovely! We've opened the windows and have grand ambitions to tackle the overgrown yard once advertised by the rental agency as "beautifully landscaped." The cat is as happy as a cat can be sitting in the window watching the little rabbits frolic in the weeds. Strike that. The cat could be substantially happier if we let her outside, but she has accepted her fate of being an indoorser, and seems content enough to make hacking noises at the little rodents who taunt her with their freedom. The dog is napping. She's a napper. No wait! She is barking desperately at the sound of people outside. This is going to be a difficult transition for her, because she was used to our relative isolation in Mississippi. If there was a car or a person talking outside, it meant someone was at the door. Now, it just means the neighbors are enjoying the day as well.

I didn't get out that much this week, because I hated the feeling that I was only going out to spend money. Apart from my trip to the public library, that is pretty much all I've been able to do. It has been so hot this week, that being in the car (or rather, getting into the car after it has been parked on a scorching blacktop for 5 minutes) is just draining. The steering wheel gets mighty hot and it is dangerous work driving the car until it cools down. Anyway, I didn't drive much farther than 3 miles of home, which has been sufficient to find a hair salon, a great cuban/mexican restaurant, said library, Ross (3 dresses for under $45!), the kitchen/bath store and the grocery store. If it doesn't rise to 100 degrees next week, I'll venture into Chapel Hill.

Actually, the fella and I went to Chapel Hill last night for dinner at an Indian Restaurant named "Mint." Now, let me offer my review. The food was very tasty, if a tad under-heated, and the sitar player really seemed to enjoy himself. However, I have never seen a more immature wait staff get away with so much in one evening as I did last night. We were positioned at a table for two floating nearby the hostess stand/cash register. The table was fine until I began to realize that the waiters (all men, all in their twenties) were circling our table as if in a game of tag. P's back was too the register, and there was only about a foot between him and a short divider wall, but some of the skinnier (and less sensible) waiters, started trying to squeeze behind him to evade capture. But what were they running from? These idiots had found themselves involved in a game of what I can only guess they were calling "jizz on the waiter." The hostess stand held a gallon size bottle of Purell with a pump dispenser, and they were filling their hands with the jelly and "tossing" (in the manner suggestive of masturbation) it surreptitiously on one another. Giggling like school children, they merrily played this game for the better part of our dinner.  I found this distracting to the extreme. Oh, and apparently nothing makes 7 young Indians gawk openly than the sight of two young and attractive lesbians having dinner. Although the women sitting behind me had the benefit of being friends with the hostess, they were still the subject of great, albeit apparently positive, attention from the waitstaff. So, despite the fact that the owners of "Mint" have received positive reviews for their food (The Independent's "Best Indian Restaurant of 2011"), we will not likely be eating there again anytime soon. Sorry, folks, but if you don't mind your waitstaff acting like 3rd graders, you won't mind if we never eat there again. Luckily there are like a billion Indian restaurants in the region and we can afford to be so unforgiving.

In other news, this is political cartoon sums up my frustration with the GOP:

drawn by Don Wright

He's Giving Hickeys in Heaven

I watched the show Taxi the other night as part of a memorial to Jeff Conaway, the actor who died last week. I was never a fan of that show before, but I have to admit that it is pretty amazing how many of that cast made it big. Remarkably, I think Jeff Conaway was the least successful among them, even though he had an iconic role as Kenickie in "Grease". Even in that movie he was not my favorite, but now that he is gone, I feel really sad. I love that movie so much that I feel the loss of anyone who made it special.

This report of his passing sums it up best:

Watching Univision

I just watched a commercial on Univision for Central North Carolina that I think must have been anti-drug--it was brought to me by Nodrugos--but without the benefit of Spanish language skills, it seemed an awful lot like a tourist board promise of mountains of cocaine and friends if you come to NC.

All of the women of a certain age in the commercials wear their hair and boobs like Gloria on Modern Family.

I'm also watching a talkshow that is hosted by a comely middle-aged blond with an admirably large backside, who is talking "Casos de Familia."  The particular segment is entitled "Mi Hijo Con Cualquiero". My child is with anyone?  So far as I can tell, the mother is angry with her son for sleeping with women her age. The hostess is scolding the "cougars" who are seducing men half their age, and telling the "Hijo's" lovers that they need to find men their own age. The real story, which they are apparently not dealing with, is that the two older women have nasty hair.

(Cue dramatic segue music)

There ends my morning of Univision. I will not let my first day alone in the house be defined by getting hooked into the telenovelos "Sacraficio de Mujer".