May 3, Houston: The big one -- the Inprint reading -- occurs at the Alley Theatre on Monday, May 3. Do not miss it or you'll be sorry. I'm not kidding -- I'm going to say the craziest, most intellectual yet hilarious stuff I can think of, and I'll be sharing the stage with the ultra sexy Oscar Casares, too.
June 24, Houston: I'm one of the peeps scheduled to read at Poison Pen, at Houston's famous Poison Girl bar. Besides me, everyone there will be ultra, *super* sexy. Come see me and drink!
June 26, Washington, DC: I'll be reading at the American Library Association conference. Come on down.
My other blog: Go read my the Houston Chronicle parenting blog (or my ChronMomBlog, as I like to call it) and make sure my kids won't resent me more than other kids resent their own parents.
Buy my new novel, Lone Star Legend. Already did? Well, buy a few more for your friends, then. :)
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Kat Konversationsfor Diane G.
Note: For the following kitty dialogue, the cats' non-verbal communications will be in italics, and their meowed words will be in normal font. Most of their conversation is non-verbal. Luckily for y'all, I can understand and translate their language.
I.
Toby and Starbuck have finally signed a treaty and declared my bedroom to be neutral territory. Starbuck has, therefore, resumed her nightly occupation of the foot of my bed. So I'm lying in bed, recovering from the work day with a sexy domestic magazine, and Starbuck sees her opportunity to spend quality time with me. She does this by jumping onto the bed and lying on top of the next magazine on my list, a foot away from me. Mmm... magazine bed...
ENTER TOBY.
Toby: Are you on the bed? Should I get on the bed? Are we on the bed? Can I get on the bed?
Me: Hey, Toby-binky. Hey, Toby Tonka Truck. Get on the bed.
Starbuck: Oh, jeez. Whatever.
Toby: Hi! Here I am!
Toby steps on my magazine, hits me in the face with his head. His butt is all up in Starbuck's face.
Toby: I have a special offer for you today! You may pet me! A lot!
Toby wedges his entire body between me and Starbuck, falls onto the magazine I'm reading, head butts me again.
Starbuck: WTF? Seriously, WHAT the HELL?
Toby: [Looking into my eyes.] I love you! Do you love me? I love you! You love me! We're a happy... Pet me, please!
Starbuck: Oh, hell no. Eff this.
Me: Starbuck... Wait! Starbuck, we love you, too!
Starbuck jumps off the bed as bitchily as non-verbally possible, and leaves the room. Toby lets out a happy sigh. I remove cat hair from my lip gloss.
II.
It's night. I turn off all the lights in the house and retire to my room. This evening, there happens to be a child in my bed. (Scary movie, potential bad dreams.) The other kid is in his own room, lights out. Lights out in my bedroom. Next thing I know, Starbuck has appeared at the foot of my bed. She is curled up, head down. Ready to sleep. I'm glad, because at first I was worried that Toby was making her nocturnal again. But no. Here she is, and everything's quiet. I roll up in the piece of the blanket my child has allotted me, and close my eyes.
Fifteen minutes of silence. Then, the sound of cat claws clicking far away, across the dining room floor.
Toby: HELLO?
Silence. Then...
Toby: HELLO? IS ANYBODY THERE?
Me: [Calling toward dining room.] Toby! Go to sleep!
Toby What? Who was that? Man. This is, like, so weird. It's happening again. It turned dark, and suddenly no one's around. Why does this always happen? Where'd everybody go?
Me: [Trying not to wake up my kids.] Toby! Be quiet!
Toby: Oh, there's that chick again. Let me go see...
Toby enters the bedroom. I see his giant, half-white body glowing in the doorway.
Toby: HELLO? Hey, you guys! What are you doing? How come you're all in bed with your eyes closed?
Me: [Weakly.] Toby... Please... Shh-h-h...
Toby: Should I get in bed, too? Are you gonna pet me? No? Okay, well, I'll be in the living room if anybody wants me. Just let me know.
Starbuck: Oh, Jesus Christ.
Toby clicks back into living room.
Toby: Doo dee doo... Here I am, walking around alone. Mmm, cat food. Delish! People all over the world... join hands... start a love train... love train...
My child: Can't sleep... Mom! Ricky's wearing that ugly hat again and he's crying all over my outfit for school... zzz...
Me: Why does he only meow at night?
Starbuck: See? You see how I'm being all good here, and he's making noise? This is what I've been trying to tell you. He is bad, and I am good! You need to take him back to the shelter! Oh, damn! [Jumps up and runs from room.] He's eating all the cat food!
III.
Toby has PTSD. We know this now. At some point in his childhood, someone apparently abused him with household items. This is how we found out: I lying in bed, recovering from a long day of broking commercial insurance by flipping through a magazine and talking to my boyfriend on my cell. My cell was also charging at the time.
Me: And then I was like, whatever! And she was like, let me just email everybody as if they care! And I was like, well I will Reply All on that shit, and CC our boss, his wife, and my lawyer! That'll teach her to ask me if I followed up on Alan's file! I'm like, "You follow up on YOUR files, and I'll follow up on MY files, and you follow up on SHUT THE HELL UP." Not even to mention that she's trying to copy my hair color.
Tad: Uh huh.
Toby: Hi!
Me: Oh my God, can they please stop showing these kids from the Hills? Jesus! So anyway, remember I was telling you about that one time a long time ago when I saw that green skirt on sale and it was too small? Back when I was sixteen? And I was like, totally traumatized?
Tad: Uh huh.
Toby: Hi!! It's okay if you want to pet me now!
Toby falls onto my magazine, tearing the Heidi Montag page, and head butts me in the eye.
Me: Jesus, Toby. Toby's here. Oh, guess what. Toby and Starbuck didn't make any noise at all last night. Until 3:30 AM, when they started fighting under the bed. But they stopped at 4:30 AM, when I finally got up and sent them out of the bedroom. I think they're getting better, don't you?
Tad: Uh uh. Not really, no.
My elbow is falling asleep, so I turn from my stomach to my side, temporarily pausing my petting of Toby. As I turn, the charger cord connected to my cell brushes across Toby's ear.
Toby: Oh my God! It's happening again! RED ALERT! RED ALERT! THE VEE-CEES ARE IN THE TREES!
Toby jumps up, makes a warning motion as if to bite my hand.
Me: [Sitting up quickly, so that the charger cord pulls out of the phone.] What the fuck? Toby, what's wrong with you?
Toby grabs phone cord, starts feverishly biting it.
Tad: What happened?
Me: I don't know. Toby just freaked out. I think it was because I turned away from him to talk to you. Do you think he's jealous of you? Do you think he wants me all for himself? Do you think he's emotionally abusive, looking to get into a codependent relationship with me? Oh my god, why does this shit always happen to me? Why am I a magnet for...
Tad: He probably just got scared. You know how he's kind of jumpy.
Me: Maybe. Oh, shoot -- I need to charge my phone. I don't know why it keeps running out of charge so fast... It's not like I talk on it all the time or...
I reach over and take the charger plug from Toby. The cord brushes against his body.
Toby: JESUS CHRIST!
Toby jumps straight into the air, lands near Starbuck at the foot of the bed, and bites the air near her back.
Toby: [Jumping off bed.] Why? Why does the devil cord follow me???
Starbuck: Oh, for the love of...
Me: Oh. I think I know what's wrong with him now.
Tad: Baby, do you mind if I get off the phone and eat dinner now?
Me: Oh, I guess. I'll call you later, okay? [Hanging up, putting phone cord out of sight, turning to Toby.] Toby, come here, baby. Come here.
Warily, Toby jumps up on bed. I reach over to my nightstand and grab the cat brush that's there.
Me: Here, baby. Let me brush you.
Toby: [Jumping off bed, running out of room.] Not the cat brush! Not the CAT BRUSH! No means no! No-o-o-o!!!
Me: What is his deal?
Starbuck: Hell if I know. I told you, you never should have got him from the shelter.
Me: Oh, Starbuck. Come here.
Starbuck: Only if you're going to brush me. Otherwise, shut the hell up.
FIN.
Labels: cats
5:06 AM # (15) commentsTuesday, February 26, 2008
what's going onWe went to the Rockets vs Miami Heat game, because one of the peeps at my job gave me last-minute free tickets, and I was like, "Let me do my duty as a single mom to boys and take my kids to this free sporting event." It was fun.
We went to the FFA rodeo carnival in Renee Zellweger's home town, and I'm happy to say that I'm all carnivaled out and won't have to go to another one for at least two years. Also, the funnel cake underwhelmed us.
We walked along the Buffalo Bayou to see Houston's new skate park, under construction, and then kept walking all the way to Sam Houston Park, which is very awesome. I hadn't been there since I was a kid, and it's increased in awesomeness since then. They have all these historical homes that they picked up and plunked down in various spots, and you can call on your cell phone to hear a recording about each home. And, maybe it's just because I'm getting older, or because I was steeped in Houston civic pride (jingoism) at an early age, but I really enjoyed hearing the recordings while scoping out the houses. Most were about people who showed up in Houston while it was still being made, who busted ass until they made enough money to buy themselves houses, and who, usually, eventually, became rich. And had streets and opera houses named after them, and the like. Very inspiring. Plus, the houses are pretty. You should check it out.
Then, in the Heritage Society Museum, they have a model general store which is awesomeness deluxe. Just the medicine section, full of boxes of Screw Worm Remover and Dr. Thatcher's Swamp Root Laxative, is worth poring over for days.
Then, they had a big old display about Jesse H. Jones, about whom I used to know nothing except that his is the name of a local high school who beat my high school in basketball all the time. But we learned all about Mr. Jones this weekend. Him, his wife, and their penchant for Art Deco furnishings. His granddaughter, Audrey Jones Beck, who looked a lot like Stockard Channing in the picture they showed us, and whose name is all over Houston's art museums.
Sometimes I want to learn all about Houston's philantropist tribes. But I want to learn it incidentally, you know? As a matter of trivia, not of study.
We walked to a man-made lake and looked at duck-made ducks.
We went to a salad buffet. I bit into brocolli slaw and my temporary bridge cracked in half. I went to my dentist, my brother-in-law-to-be, and he said it was time to get a real bridge. I tried to lie to him and say I was only eating brocolli. He expressed surprise. I said, "Brocolli with peanuts." He said, "It was a peanut." I felt ugly, lying to my b-i-l-2-b like that. But I wanted him to have a good impression of me. You know? 5:55 AM # (6) comments
Thursday, February 21, 2008
quickI typed this in an email to my boyfriend (fiance) and decided to paste it here, too, so y'all know:
I feel, lately, like most of the problems around me are caused by unhappy people looking to make others unhappy. I want to be left alone so I can do my work and have a good life.
I put a couple of new pics on the Flickr page, including my new author photo and a pic of Toby and me. New author photo is also on the About page, for those who are interested in seeing it but don't want to click all the way over to Flickr.
weight yammering
I'm a little bit annoyed by the fact that I've been losing and gaining the same five pounds since February 1. I want to tell people "I've lost 40 pounds!" but then that number changes back to 35. Back and forth, back and forth. I read a comment on a blog the other day (maybe Big Fat Deal?) where someone said, "The only way she was able to maintain that weight was by eating only 1200 calories a day and exercising for 90 minutes every night!!" And I thought, "Damn." Because that's what I'm doing every day, and it's not working. I'm stuck here at this pants size that I don't want to be.
My number one motivation here is becoming a pants size that is readily available in all non-plus-size, non-vanity-sized retail clothing stores. I'll just say it: Size 12. And it's not happening. And it's starting to piss me off. Personally, I don't think 90 minutes of exercise per day is a lot, especially if you spend most of your day sitting at a desk or in your car. It's not like we live in genteel Victorian England, where everyone has a huge freaking garden to take an hour-long walk after every meal. So I don't feel like it's unreasonable that I might have to exercise even more. But I do feel like I either have time to lose weight, or time to, say, write a novel. But not both. Not with an eight-hour day job and 2 hour roundtrip commute. Very, very annoying.
(Note: The above paragraphs are about me, not about you. I want to be size 12, and that's my business. My desire to be size 12 has nothing to do with your body, my opinion of your body, or American society's potential, personal hatred of you. FYI. So don't start, if you're thinking of starting down that road.)
Hardcore judgmental thoughts, here. Avert your eyes if you can't take it.
See... I hate lookism, and so I avoid people who judge others only by their looks. But, at the same time, I can't stand it when people go around presupposing that everyone is discriminating against them or, basically, that any woman thinner/prettier than them must be an evil bitch. It goes both ways, you know?
A while back, I found some chick's weight-loss blog. (I will never recall the URL and I'm about to hate on this chick, so I wouldn't post it in any case.) This woman said she'd just lost some enormous amount of weight, okay? And she had several entries about how it now disgusts her to see fat people on the subway. She said she especially hates to watch them eat. And that's her right, I suppose. You could maybe say her reaction was actually self-hatred and fear of becoming fat again. But still, I thought, "Well, you're a miserable, insecure, lookist bitch, and that's why you'll never be happy, no matter what you do."
A while back, that old Trainwrecks site used to link to a Livejournal group for "hot" fat chicks. Fat chicks who thought themselves pretty would submit a picture to the group, and then the group -- in plain sight, online -- would critique the hell out of the photo and vote on whether the submitter was "hot" enough to join their little clique. I saw that and thought, "I bet a million dollars half these chicks go to fat-activist sites and complain about lookism on a regular basis."
This feeling has been boiling inside me for a while, and I've resisted posting it because it's kind of sexist, but now I can't stand it anymore and I have to say: Insecure women are a major force of evil in our country. Or, at least, a major source of annoyance to me, personally.
I mean, insecure men are plentiful and annoying, too. But there are whole industries built on the masses of insecure women who believe that their only value is in being pretty, and that, if they can't be prettiest, they can at least judge less pretty women and hate prettier women. And then, of course, they give stupid men the excuse to walk around labelling all women catty bitches.
Disclaimer: I'm sure I used to be one of these insecure women, probably. And it's only because I'm getting older that I have so little patience for that sort of thing today. (Maybe my reaction is secretly self-hatred and a fear of becoming insecure again? Heh.) But I'm not the only one who's tired of insecure women. It seems like, in each of my social groups, most of the women are working, buying cars and houses, starting families... and then there's that one woman who's constantly comparing her looks to everyone else's and worrying whether men think she's hot. And the rest of us are like, "Jesus, bitch, can you please shut up about that stupid, boring crap?" You know? Like:
Jane: OMG, you guys, my mom has been really ill lately. She's getting worse.
Sharon: Oh, no. That sucks. What are you going to do?
Jane: I don't know. My brother and I are meeting tonight to discuss our options. She might have to move in with John and me.
Cindy: Wow, that sucks. Guess what, you guys! I lost six more pounds! So now I weigh even less than you, Jane! And guess what else. That guy at Starbucks? Totally checked me out again. I think it was my new bra. I can't wait for Todd to find out -- he's gonna be so jealous!
Jane and Sharon: [stony silence]
Cindy: So, you guys, why don't we go to that Starbucks, and then go shopping for smaller jeans? We never hang out anymore. You guys never call me anymore. Why is that? Is it because I'm thinner than you now?
Coming down now.
Okay. Sorry I had to talk all loud like that. I just feel like, lately, I'm trying to vent these feelings in a subtle way, but I'm not being very clear, and then people are like, "What? She said on her blog that pretty women don't deserve to live on our planet? She's a jerk, then! A fat, ugly jerk whose boyfriend didn't buy her anything for Valentine's Day!" So I wanted to clarify. Hope I did.
Later, taters. 5:50 AM # (15) comments
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Questions to Consider1. Would you rather live in a world where looks don't matter, or live in a world where your looks embody the standard of beauty?
2. What's wrong with getting by on your looks? Is that somehow worse than getting by on your brains, your perseverence, or your good personality?
I think I'm okay with people getting by on their looks, as long as they're honest about it. And, more importantly, as long as the people choosing/hiring/electing the pretty people are honest about their motivation. Don't flirt with your pretty secretary all day and then tell me you're promoting her because she types real fast.
I think I'm also okay with people wishing to be beautiful enough to get by on their looks. Again, though, as long as they're honest. Don't pretend you're trying to eradicate lookism if, really, in your heart, you're just trying to browbeat people into giving you the same perks that pretty people get.
3. If you are a woman and you want your significant other to buy you something for Valentine's Day: Would you be as happy with your gift if you weren't allowed to show anyone or tell anyone about it?
I ask this because I remember that, in high school, I didn't hate Valentine's Day because none of the boys at my school bought me gifts. I hated it because all the girls at my school went around making note of who got gifts and who didn't. Now that I'm no longer surrounded by packs of immature girls, I don't need gifts for Valentine's Day. And I realize that the whole thing was just more of the bullshit insecurity contests that women put each other through.
4. What could a man possibly buy me that I wouldn't be just as glad to buy for myself?
Nothing. I have really good taste, actually, and therefore I prefer to buy jewelry, flowers, and candy for myself.
:) 6:59 PM # (24) comments
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Linkelodeon1. Zadie Smith cohosted a short story contest. Eight hundred and fifty people entered. Then, Ms. Smith informed the entrants that none of their stories were good enough to win. Ouchies.
No, I didn't enter, because I didn't hear about the contest until now. But if I'd entered, I would be walking around with a drink in my hand right now, telling people, "Zadie Smith doesn't care for my writing." Too bad I didn't enter, then. Next year I will.
2. I kind of suspect this is a publicity stunt, or kind of hope it is, for the sake of everyone involved: One of Gawker's former editors "secretly" hooked up with another one of Gawker's editors, and one of the two apparently kept a "secret" blog about the relationship. And so the other of the two went ahead and wrote a big old essay about it for Page 6 mag, telling everyone in the world who didn't already know.
3. Related subject, on the internets and in my mind: A long time ago, Tracie Egan wrote an essay about trying to get her rape fantasy fulfilled. I was interested to find out what would happen, so read eagerly. But then, it turned into a sad story about thwarted hopes, all the way around.
All three preceding links via Gawker, which is my painful weekday addiction.
4. Ashton Kutcher at your middle school dance.
5. The Barbie Tarot, via Pop Culture Junk Mail.
6. This is old, but still true: Roast Beef and Ray discuss McDonald's vs Starbucks.
7. I keep seeing this Star Wars cook book at Urban Outfitters and wanting it, even though the recipes themselves aren't that exciting. The pictures are funny, though.
8. Another old thing. We saw this SNL rerun Digital Short the other night, and can't stop thinking about it: People Getting Punched Just Before Eating. You have to watch a commercial first, sorry. That's the price of legal content viewing. Also, please view with sound on, as the song is half the magic.
Labels: links
12:01 PM # (4) commentsMonday, February 11, 2008
Toby Updateby request, for Pixielyn
Toby seems to be doing okay, y'all. He still hides a lot, but we're starting to realize that he just gets off on hiding. For instance, he likes to hide under our bed and watch us. Eavesdrop on us.
And it seems that he and Starbuck have bonded over that. One day last week, Starbuck ran to hide under the bed, and Toby was already there. So what did she do? She hid with him. They sat under the bed, facing the same direction, for half an hour. Then, someone made a noise and Toby ran out into the living room. Starbuck ran out right next to him. I knew that she was trying to play the Chase Game with him.
The Chase Game = Whenever someone walks out of my bedroom, Starbuck runs like hell to get in front of that person and pretend she's being chased. Each Chase Game must include at least one 180-degree spin-out on the Pergo floor and one wreck into furniture or walls. Conversely, if one of us walks into my bedroom, then Starbuck has to run ahead, through the bedroom and into the master bath. She's better at this one. She has this cool trick where she jumps up on two wheels, so to speak, and bounces off the side of my bed on her way to the bathroom. It's very Matrix-y. Usually we just watch her do this and laugh, but sometimes we'll pretend to chase her around the house a little. We have to make monster noises. She has to run through the kitchen, office, hall. We have to reverse directions and chase her back through hall, office kitchen. She ends up under the dining room table, panting and with gleaming eyes.
So anyhow. Toby ran out from under the bed, and Starbuck ran with him with a look on her face that clearly said, "Oh, yes, now is the time we play the Chase Game!" And Toby stopped and looked at her like, "Why are you running, too?" And she looked at him like, "C'mon!" And he looked at her like, "I don't understand this person." And then he went and ate some food.
So, since then, Starbuck's been hiding with him and trying unsuccessfully to teach him the Chase Game. But sometimes she still gets pissed off at him, too. He likes to be petted, but we have to drag him out of hiding, first. The other day I was petting him and he drooled on me.
Here are a few more pics, for those of y'all who missed them. More soon.
Weather Wishes
I'm sending sympathy and condolences out to the tornado survivors in the South. I hope y'all get all your stuff rebuilt and recovered as soon as possible. And sympathies to the blizzard/snow-having people in the North -- I'm sorry y'all are cold and have to shovel snow.
Weekend Adventures
The weather was nice here, so we wanted to do something outside. Of course, so did every other human being in Houston. So we went to Hermann Park, which is right next to the zoo, the biggest museums, and a bunch of other stuff. And of course, there was no parking. Because never, since I was born, has there been enough parking at Hermann Park. Ahem. Mayor White, please fix this. I'm not mad at you anymore. I mean, please feel free to finish the skate park first, because that's going to be completely awesome. But then, right after that, please add some parking to the zoo area. Thanks.
So we couldn't park there, and we were sad. And then I said, "Oh, wait -- weren't we going to go to the Arboretum?"
Yes. So we did. And it was awesome. I'd only been there once before. On that first time, we got lost on the trails among the swampy woods, and it was hot. But it was still fun. This time, the weather was perfect and we took a little trail map with us, so it was completely effing awesome. And it was free -- well, donation requested, not required. And there was a ton of parking. Because no one ever goes there, because it's kind of educational and nature-y, and that turns people off, I guess. I don't blame them. It turned me off at first, too. But then I gave it a shot, and it was cool for reasons I didn't expect. It's like, you walk twenty feet into the swampy woods, and that's it. You're gone. You're in the middle of the wilderness. You're a hobbit, and Gandalf's waiting for you, over there by that creepy tree.
I used to think the pond was the coolest part, but then we saw the swamp, and it's shockingly beautiful. It's creepylicious, with gnarly trees reaching out of the water, and the water covered with pale green algae or scum or pollen. It's kind of like the swamps around the bayou, but without the homeless people or the smell. I can't explain. You just have to go.
Funny thing -- I joked with Tad that we should have our wedding there, and I could wear my Halloween fairy costume. But now I see that they do, in fact, host weddings.
If you're thinking of going, go before it gets hot. So, before May. This weekend was so completely perfect -- one of those unrealistically perfect Houston weather times. Sunday we went to another less frequented parky area, which I will always call Transco Tower, even though that hasn't been its name since I was a teenager. Transco Tower is awesome because it has a local landmark of a fountain, that looks just like this, except with a cross section of everyone in Houston standing in front of it, damp, trying to get a photo. And at least one quinceanera with her court of 14 teen couples. Always.
Does this sound like I'm trying to boost Houston tourism? I'm not -- y'all know I just love my hometown, and it's fun and inter-webby to show y'all what we did via links. I keep meaning to take my camera, but it's old and therefore too heavy to haul in my purse. Pulls at my shoulder muscles, you know.
okey dokey
This entry has been for people who really care about the details of my life, in the context of nothing. Sometimes I feel weird posting a lot of that stuff, because I imagine that no one cares -- that y'all come here for hard-hitting judgmental thoughts, ranty feminist screeds, and tasteful book promotion, instead -- but hey, what's the point of having a blog if I'm not going to yammer about life details, at least a little. Right?
Back to the work week. Sighz.
Labels: cats, domestic, Houston, wedding stuff
5:41 AM # (5) commentsWednesday, February 06, 2008
busy-ness; current eventsI've spent the last few days either writing stuff for money, or else dealing with domestic dramas. Toby is sick, for one thing. We (his vet and I) think his stomach is upset by the dietary change. We hope he doesn't have some cat digestive disease. Other people in the house get sick, on and off, but they're way easier to diagnose. Toby keeps rolling in dirty things, like a dog. I need to give him a bath tonight, if he'll let me.
Did y'all watch the Super Bowl? I saw the last half. I don't care about any one team, but football is an interesting game to watch, so I was especially excited by the thrilling conclusion to this one. I was kind of sad that the Patriots didn't get their perfect season. But, oh well. Perfect season or underdog victory: they even out, right?
Are y'all watching the primaries? Isn't it fun, to see everyone so excited about them? It's like football, in a way. Our local paper did one of those "Let's ask black women if they're voting for Obama or Hillary" pieces, and I was aggravated and embarrassed. The more often that white men ask those questions, the more it makes me think those white men would never vote for anyone other than white men.
Also, I wonder why everyone calls Hillary Hillary, but no one calls the other candidates by their first names. I'm doing it, too, you see. Hmm. Benefit of the doubt: It's not because most people are sexist -- it's to distinguish her from the other famous Clinton. Right? Sure.
There's an article somewhere today in which people are freaking out that Latinos didn't vote for Barack. Meaning that Latinos must be... racist! Because anyone who doesn't vote for Barack hates black people, right? And it is so, so shocking to the author of this article that Latinos would be racist against blacks. (Another majority culture idea -- that all minority peoples are united in their non-majority-culture-ness.)
And I was waiting for someone to point out that Hillary could be the Latino's Virgin Mary, but no one did. Because, while that would have been offensive, it wouldn't have fit in with the offensive theme of this election process, which is that everyone is racist. Racism!!!
I mean, it's to the point now that I'm more interested in media attitudes than I am in the candidates, themselves. You would think we could just consider electing a non-white person, or a non-male person, without it being this much of a mirrored maze of accusations, suspicions, and flat-out hatred. But that's not how America operates, apparently. Embarrassing.
Meanwhile... the more I have to see photographs of people from that show The Hills, the more I hate that show and vow not to watch it. Those people from The Hills are clogging up my magazines. All I want from magazines is famous women in fancy dresses. Not faux-famous girls who are marrying Spencer or breaking off their engagement with Spencer or cheating on Spencer with Zach and Gossip Girl. What is that crap? Who forces my pretty dress magazines to talk about that?
I feel sorry for Britney Spears because, at this point, she has no one she can trust.
I keep having to watch this show called Drake and Josh. Over the weekend, my youngest son explained to me why iCarly has all the same actors as Drake and Josh, but isn't the same show. My fave is Ned's Declassified, but I don't see that as much. (If you know what I'm talking about, you must have kids.) Besides those, I get to watch reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bellaire on a daily basis. It's held up pretty well, if you listen to it from your kitchen and don't see the primary-colored sweaters.
I heard the other day that Nickelodeon is doing a new show called Ni Hao, Kai lan that looks sort of like Dora the Explorer. That's funny to me because my boyfriend's niece Alyssa, who is mostly Chinese, is really into Dora. On one episode a while back, Dora and her friends celebrated Chinese New Year (which is today, coincidentally -- Kung Hey Fat Choi!) and busted out speaking Chinese. Alyssa, who was three at the time, reacted as if she'd found a Virgin Mary in her tortilla. It was a big deal to her. So I wonder if she'll like this Kai-lan show even better. Or am I being like one of those reporters here, making the racist assumptions? Maybe she won't like Kai-lan at all. :)
Happy Year of the Rat. What does this mean for me? Nothing. My boyfriend is going out to dinner with his family. I'm staying home with my kids, and we'll work out and watch Project Runway.
I've lost 40 lbs total now. Fifteen pounds to go. Over the weekend we went to the mall and I picked up a pair of clearance corduroys at Ann Taylor Loft in a size I literally haven't worn since I was 18. That was nice, even though I've ruined the moment, in my mind, by deciding that Ann Taylor vanity-sizes everything.
Still, though. It may be a vanity size, but it's a smaller vanity size than I wore last month.
That's it. More later. Stay warm, y'all.
Labels: domestic, politics, pop culture
5:53 AM # (14) commentsFriday, February 01, 2008
Friday Linkelodeon for People Who Are Bored1. How to Make an Earbud Cord Caddy. I showed this to my boyfriend and he was like, "We could make those and sell them!" and I was like, "No, too sweatshop for too little money." But it would be fun to make one, if I had an I-Pod.
2. Do you need a Burt Reynolds purse? I think you might.
3. So this nature writer finds out that a very prolific, best-selling romance novelist plagiarized from his article about black-footed ferrets. And he writes a pretty funny, good-sport piece about it.
Meanwhile, on the site of the initial plagiarism discovery, readers are scanning the novelist's other books and finding plagiarism galore.
4. The AV Club ranks on progressive rock album covers. I knew, before even looking, that a Yes album would be included.
5. Sometimes I love the NPR program This American Life, and sometimes I don't. Often, listening to the stories in my van, I can't help tearing up a little. I loved the story of the evangelically raised student who took on a demon at his university.
On the other hand, I hated the story about the girl who got a heart transplant thanks to a boy who'd been murdered by gang members. That one literally made me sob, I was so upset by the self-centeredness of some of its characters. I remember sitting in the parking lot of Home Depot, waiting for the story to end, and then waiting to get hold of myself, it upset me so much. But don't get me wrong -- it's totally worth hearing.
Labels: links
12:04 PM # (8) comments
