| tuesday august 31, 2004 |
****They call her Coffee and she'll cream you!
On Sunday, when we got back from the hotel (here), our cat Coffee was sprawled in the bathroom, meowing strangely, and preoccupied with the waste basket. We soon discovered a baby mouse cowering in the corner behind the waste basket, just out of reach of kitty's eager paws.
You can imagine how I felt aboutthe presence of a mouse in the bathroom. Our old slum apartment in Allston was located smack next to a rat-infested alley; it made me determined never to co-habitat with rodents again. My apartment is in an old house that was remodeled several years ago, and the newness of the floors and fixtures lulled me into a deluded sense of security.
Fortunately, we have a totally bored house cat who evolved to relish in attacking critters. Coffee had the mouse literally cornered, allowing en to easily catch the scared mouse and let it go in our neighbor's yard. The mouse didn't appear to be hurt, as our cat was more amused by chasing and batting it. A painless mouse trap. Now Coffee seems to enjoy sitting in front of the stove for long intervals (pictured right), staring under it with EXTREME interest. Hm. In the back of my mind, I know there's mice under there, but with our magnificent mouser in residence, I'll rest a little easier.
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What's under the Stove: A Picture that is Both Reassuring and Scary |
| monday august 30, 2004 |
****Cancer Fiction: Alive and Well
This happens to me way too much: I'll start reading a book that I heard was good but don't know too much about (in this case, Evidence of Things Unseen by Marianne Wiggins) and suddenly one of the main characters has cancer. And, being adverse to all things involving cancer, I'll be utterly without resolve to continue reading the book.
****Rice Burners
Recently my internal slang dictionary was sullied by the derogatory term "rice burner", which is a car or motorcycle that has been modified by a Japanese person (here for complete definition).
Please excuse my language but... I want a rice burner! These modified Japanese "night scooters" are pretty effing cool (here for lots of pictures of Japanese bike team who "never wear stinky cow jacket nor make excessive enzine noise").
****Signature Please
I had no intention of signing a petition to ABC executives to do a Who's the Boss reunion show (here)... I only intended to read it, interested why over 2000 people felt there were valid and compelling reasons for a Who's the Boss reunion. But the heartfelt imploration was touching and kinda sad, so I'm signature number 2076.
| sunday august 29, 2004 |
****Old Ironsides
en and I celebrated our anniversary by going to a hotel that is exactly one mile from our home, The Residence Inn on Boston Harbor. It was romantic because I love hotels, and when I'm actually traveling, I feel gypped that I can't spend more time in the hotel because of all the pesky sight-seeing. Most of our anniversary was spent in a lovely Residence Inn suite, but we did roam Tudor Wharf in the unreal humidity, being tourists in our own city. A short walk away from the hotel and visible from our window is the USS Constitution, pictured right ("Old Ironsides" here). Old Ironsides is the oldest commissioned ship in the world still afloat. I guess you can say Old Ironsides is a symbol of our undefeated love. Ahh. |
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| saturday august 28, 2004 |
****4 More Years!
Today en and I celebrate our 4-year anniversary of togetherness. It's not a very specific milestone, but our relationship has no definite firsts that can be associated with a day on the calendar.
en courted me in a shy but sly way throughout August, wooing me away (with little difficulty) from the total jerk I was dating. He won me over September 1, 2000, when we both had to move (to and from different apartments) and he spent a long, humid day helping to move me and my roommates. We had only a six-hour window with the moving van (as is common in Boston on Labor Day) and never would have made it without him. Then, en spent all night moving all of his stuff, by himself. Wow. No man ever put himself through so physical trauma to impress me. I knew he was the guy for me.
We are celebrating in style., though I may make him run up and down the stairs carrying heavy boxes for old times' sake.
| friday august 27, 2004 |
****Lawyer Curses!
A F-bomb-dropping attorney from Chicago (here for story) left another lawyer a malicious voicemail message to (here to listen, scroll to Friday, August 20, 2004 and click the first link that says voicemail message) and is enjoying a little web notoriety (probably unwanted... but hey, he sounds like a man who gets things done and gets his own way. I'd hire him)
But the voicemail isn't all that shocking. I've heard women at TJ Maxx talk like that to salespeople. I've heard kids talk like that to their parents. The only difference is the lawyer is calm, deliberate, almost chillingly indifferent as he spews forth his expletives.
****Do the Lynndie
| thursday august 26, 2004 |
****Bought by Bank of America
Americans are slaves to the balance of their bank account... and my bank account has been bought and sold more times than an Asian sex worker (here). Who is the master of my master this year?
My first week of college, I opened an account with BayBank because they were on campus, cherry-picking freshmen. Then BayBank merged with Bank of Boston, so my account was with BankBoston. Then, Fleet bought BankBoston, making me a Fleet customer. Now, Bank of America buys Fleet (here).
It all just sort of happened. I go to bed a customer of a small regional bank, and I wake up a customer of a hulking financial conglomerate. I would prefer doing business with a smaller bank, but I've been too lazy to do anything about it. At least I've reached the top of the bank food chain, for now...
Yesterday I got a lovely brochure in the mail: What you can expect from the Fleet and Bank of America merger. Banking convenience! Changing signs! New logo! New ATM cards! Hmm, well what no one expected (because Bank of America pinky-sweared they wouldn't) was that 100s of Massachusetts workers would be laid after as a result of the merger (here).
That, combined with the fact that Bank of America's corporate color is a shockingly bright red (half the reason I stayed with Fleet was because they were GREEN) means I will find another bank to hold my pennies. If Bank of America will indeed free me.
****Free Books! Still!
What, people... Too good for my free book offer? (here)
Come on, you have nothing to lose (except the hours of your life which you will spend engrossed in a marvelous fantasy world)!
| wednesday august 25, 2004 |
****The Antquarium
Call me crazy, but one of the most rewarding things about keeping a pet is taking care of it. How I adore the appreciative look on my cat's face when I fill her food and water dishes, or groom her, or spend 15 minutes waving a piece of string in her face, or scoop her crap out of the litter box! (Here for my cyber-ode to my cat.)
Keeping a pet is definitely work, which is why the modern-day ant farm called the Antquarium (here) is appealing to many humans all over the civilized world. Just put the ants inside of the gel-filled plastic box and never worry about them again! Takenori Shigetomi, 28, said, "As I live on my own, I wanted to have pets that are easy to take care of." He said he also "wanted to feel close to nature" (here). Yeah, Takenori, you're a real mountain man.
Does a plastic box filled with ants burrowing through a "highly nutritious" gel (developed by NASA! here) bring one closer to nature? Do ants even qualify as pets? I mean, one of the benefits of having a pet is the mutual adoration. I always thought fish were toeing the pet line, as you can never really get a sense of fish as distinct beings with whom you have a bond. But even fish are more lovable than ants. At least you can see a fish's face.
The typical purchaser of the Antquarium will get about ten minutes of amusement from it, then, after shoving the Antquarium in a drawer, fail to accomplish the one bit of maintenance required to keep the ants alive:"You simply need to open the lid for a moment once a month to aerate the interior" (somehow, the word "simply" resonates with foreboding). No muss, no fuss, because it comes with its own plastic coffin.
****Synchronized Snickers
Speaking of Japan, yesterday I watched a bit of Olympic Synchronized Swimming. The Japanese team of Miya Tachibana and Miho Takeda scared the heck out of me. Their facial expressions! Like they wanted babies to cry.
And their performance music actually had their laughter spliced into it. Which seemed appropriate to me, because I laughed throughout their entire routine. So it was synchronized.
| tuesday august 24, 2004 |
****Boston's Getting Cramped
The Cramps are coming to Boston, October 16 at Avalon (here).
Not only am I geared up to see them weeks in advance, but I'm pathetically happy that it's a Saturday show at 6pm. Call me old, but why must bands always take the stage at 11pm on a Wednesday night? It's like they don't want stuffed shirts with day jobs to go!
My love for The Cramps started when I was 17. I was browsing a store on Philadelphia's South Street, coveting all the cool clothes, jewelry and music. The TVs positioned around the store played a soundless tape of a live Cramps show. They were the coolest band I had ever seen. Lux Interior looked like an absolute lunatic, and Poison Ivy Rorschach blew my mind: A female guitarist who looked like a movie star. On the basis of that alone I bought the Bad Music for Bad People cassette (which melted in my car that summer because it was HOT) and a Cramps t-shirt. I wore my Cramps T-shirt to school (something that would probably be construed as a terrorist threat these days). In Journalism class, a preppie girl named Karen looked at my shirt with disgust, then snotted "Cramps? I don't get it." I looked at her, all decked out in her The Limited finery with her perfect sheaf of shiny blond hair, and sneered "You're not supposed to." |
Cramps Style. |
| monday august 23, 2004 |
****La Dolce Vita
Frederico Fellini's 1960 cinematic classic La Dolce Vita is randomly playing at my neighborhood movie theatre. What a juicy treat. My knowledge of film is not nearly honed enough to attempt to write a review of the movie, which is entertaining as it is meaningful. Roger Ebert says this, Culture Vulture says this, Culture Dose says this.
The movie runs about three hours, which really burdens the 21st century attention span, especially when there are no battle scenes and a distinct lack of both aliens and predators (although the decadent Italian aristocracy shown in La Dolce Vita exhibitis characteristics of both).
****Dead Soldiers
Click here to see the Calendar US Military deaths in the Iraqi war, and to read about the soldiers who have died.
| sunday august 22, 2004 |
****Supermarket Swept
Part One: Contemplating the Cheese What if the supermarkets went empty? What is the shelves that are so purposely crammed with food were left unstocked? The idea that we would somehow be cut off from our overly-abundant food supply is unimaginable in affluent America. We have long accepted that food comes from shelves. More than that, we expect more than just basic sustenance from the shelves. We want variety and choice catering to every dietary niche and proclivity, as evidenced by the typical supermarket bread aisle: Low-card, low-fat, white, wheat, whole wheat, high fiber, low salt, rolls, buns, baguettes, whole loafs, bagels, muffins, donuts, bread sticks, tortillas, wraps. (If I ever lose my mind, it will be in a supermarket bread aisle, trying to decide which product should be the canvas for my peanut butter.) I bought a block of Stilton cheese at the supermarket, a English bleu cheese with a freaky-looking mold that for 300 years has been "made exclusively in the counties of Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire from local milk" (here). While spreading the cheese on bagel chips, I contemplated all of the industry cogs that turned to get this cheese in my stomach, from its production to its journey over the Atlantic to its arrival in the Shaw's cheese aisle in Somerville, MA. I can't justify wasting the world's resources when malnutrition is rampant in other parts of the world so that I may enjoy a rather fleeting luxury. It was an impulse buy. It's not like I'm some kind of cheese gourmand. I can't say I would have enjoyed a simple block of Kraft-brand cheddar any less.
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No more Arnold Carb Counting Multi Grain Bread. |
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Part 2: Poetic Interlude (...) I
saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking (...) --Allen Ginsburg, from "A Supermarket in California" (here)
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If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding. |
Part 3: My Food Desert Our closest supermarket (Shaw's on McGrath Highway) closed yesterday for a significant renovation that will last until the spring. Luckily, we are young and mobile enough to get food in other ways, though walking 4 minutes to the grocery store will no longer be an option. While the closure is only temporary, it chills me to think that many Americans must make do without a nearby supermarket by purchasing groceries from convenience stores and gas stations. Food deserts, once a mainly rural phenomenon, are increasingly common in urban areas (here). Shoppers are lured to the huge superstores tucked in the sprawl of suburbia, forcing many smaller grocers to close and cut off service to people who can't get to the superstores. As evidence by the photos, Shaw's stopped restocking their shelves about a week ago, leaving paltry pickings for me yesterday. Trying to do my normal shopping and not finding half the items I wanted gave me this insane feeling of depravation. No 4-serving canisters of Stonyfield non-fat plain yogurt! No cans of Goya black beans! Whatever will I do! |
Your food supply has been cut off for the winter. |
| saturday august 21, 2004 |
****Free Books!
I'm getting rid of some books to clear precious bookshelf space.
Anyone up for 1500 pages of Arthur C. Clark? I have 3 out of the 4 Rama books: Rama II, The Garden of Rama, and Rama Revealed. (I do not have the first book, Rendezvous with Rama.) It's pretty decent mass market science fiction, the kind you read when you're trying to pass the time. They're thick paper books in good condition.
Also I have Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson, the perfect book for, say, a Peter Pan bus trip.
I will send any of the afore-mentioned books via USPS cheap-but-slow media mail for FREE to anyone who wants them. First come first serve. Anyone. I don't even have to know you. Just send me an email.
(Doing my bit to spread the glory of cheesy science fiction...)
****Microsoft: Offending the World
I have a bile-filled cornucopia of reasons to hate Microsoft. Right now, since I am forced to use MS Word on a daily basis, my chief grievance against the company involves a bug in their intra-document hyperlinking that causes new text inserted directly before or after referenced text to become a part of the hyperlink. This forces me to spend untold menial hours re-inserting hyperlinks after even the smallest documentation update.
Microsoft is not a beloved entity, to be sure. If you type "hate Microsoft" into Google, you'll get over a million hits (here), with the first 500,000 hits being pages that are actually called "Why I Hate Microsoft" or "The Microsoft Hate Page" or "If Microsoft were to vanish, who would we hate next?"
It turns out nearly the entire world hates Microsoft, some for reasons that go way beyond mine. A recent CNet article (here) discusses some cultural foibles Microsoft has made in their software and games in other countries, such as A Spanish-language version of Windows XP, destined for Latin American markets, asked users to select their gender between "not specified," "male" or "bitch," because of an unfortunate error in translation.
| friday august 20, 2004 |
****If Pac Man "Hitched up the Reindeers"
My boyfriend thinks it is romantic to email me links like this (here): Mary-Kate Olsen's Crackman, a game in which the head of the woman who was Michelle Tanner goes around the Pac Man maze sniffing cocaine and eating pills. It's pretty fun for a game or two.
All I can say about the Olsens at this point: Hollywood can really destroy children. Back in February (here) I commented on the Olsen Twin's lust for the gutter glitter.
FYI: Gutter glitter is slang for cocaine, according to this Parent's Resource Dictionary of Drug Slang (here). I don't know, I just can't picture cokeheads using some of the terms on that site, but what do I know? "Happy Powder?" To all the parents: If you do hear your kid talking about happy powder I do suggest you intervene immediately, because even if they're not talking about cocaine, something is still very very wrong.
| thursday august 19, 2004 |
****Local Democrats Duke It Out
A fight is raging in the sleepy neighborhoods of East Cambridge/East Somerville.
In one corner, there's Tim Toomey (here), Democrat, who has been our State Representative since 1992. My theory is it's all due to his action hero-like name: Vote for tenacious Tim Toomey! Fighter for funding, crusader for public safety, protector of our pork bills! Toomey is a townie through and through, who is well-endorsed and well-respected by the community, as evidenced by the overwhelming number of green and white "Tim Toomey" signs dotting East Cambridge.
In the other corner, there's Avi Green (here for overly slick web site), a Democrat who is running against Toomey because he says "It’s time for a change." Avi holds an advanced Ivy League education, has run four marathons, and is betrothed to a Cambridge native, as his biography here states repeatedly, though it neglects to mention where Avi is from. He is mildly active in the community but lacks any real political experience.
Avi Green doesn't have a chance in hell of beating Tim Toomey, but his strategies are most interesting. Green is positioning himself as the young, energetic outsider poised to trounce the engrained political insider, who we can only assume has grown corrupt and lazy from his years in office. In other words, Avi Green is deliberately positioning himself as the Underdog, because we all have a soft spot in out hearts for the Underdog.
Unfortunately, Green is not worthy. I don't doubt his intentions are noble, but he's an Underdog solely because he lacks experience and roots within the community, making his posturing cowardly. Toomey and Green are both Democrats and they pretty much are aligned on the issues (except abortion: Toomey is Anti-Choice and Green is Pro-Choice, but it's wrong to vote on one issue.)
Green's going for Toomey's throat about non-issues: "The fiscal situation of the state is still not what it should be. It's a top priority," Toomey said. But Green disagrees, instead flipping that notion on its head. "The fiscal situation in Cambridge and Somerville is not what it should be, and that's a top priority," he said (here, and here for another article about the Toomey/Green battle, in which Green's party loyalty is called into question). What? What are you gonna do about it boy? You have no applicable experience. You trumpet your work with children and your Cantabrigian bride on your web site, I don't see anything about "fiscal responsibility."
Local politics are a hoot.
| wednesday august 18, 2004 |
****Cruise induces Gastroenteritis
Tom Cruise was the hot movie star when I was growing up (starting when I was 6 and, sadly, never quite ending). 20 years as a hot movie star? Isn't that kinda gross? At this point, still thinking Tom Cruise is hot is like steadfastly maintaining a lifelong crush on your best friend's brother. |
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Let's pool some common knowledge about Mr. Tom Cruise, to determine if he's worthy as an actor and more importantly as a human to ever again receive millions of dollars for making an appearance in another movie:
- It was always about the looks. In the '80s, Cruise sported the perfect movie star mug: Strong jaw, perfect nose, beautiful eyebrows, and eyes that brimmed with integrity and the promise of great sex. But the passage of time has turned him into a perfectly average looking man.
- Cruise has one successful one type of character: The cocksure upstart with a heart of gold (The Color of Money, Cocktail, Top Gun). Unfortunately, 40-year old men cannot portray characters like this, same as 40-year old woman cannot be cast as innocent sex kittens. So Cruise has tried to migrate his image into that of an action star with the brain-biceps package. But he cannot be this character without just annoying the living hell out of me.
- Eyes Wide Shut and Vanilla Sky both proved what an megalomaniac the man is. He thinks everything he does is meaningful and pure genius, and it's truly sickening to hear him crow about these horrendous movies.
- The only good performance in the last 12 years has been in Magnolia, in which he played a character you were supposed to hate. Hmm..
- Cruise is slated to ruin/star in Spielberg's upcoming War of the Worlds, one of the most scared science fiction stories ever (here). Again with the ego!
- On the personal side, he dumped Nicole Kidman, the mother of his children and wife of ten years for a brainless, talentless starlet (Vanilla Sky co-star Penelope Cruz, whom he also dumped).
- He's into Scientology, which he recently proclaimed to be "the shit, man" in Rolling Stone (here for entire article -- evidence that he is completely out of touch with the rest of the world). Movie stars who are into Scientology are losers. (Yeah, eff you too, Tom.)
| tuesday august 17, 2004 |
****How to Keep a Man
Let's face it, Ladies. There are a bunch of odious things that you must do once in awhile to keep your man happy, like consent to watch a detested sport, or eat brunch at the greasy-spoon diner, or pay a visit to the wax-paper wielding sadist at a beauty salon.
There is one task so deplored that he won't even venture to bring up to you, because he knows your immediate reaction will be indignation, then rage: "What kind of girl do you think I am! I thought you respected me!"
But if he doesn't get it from you, he'll get it from someone else. Therefore, you must take the iniative and suggest to your man: "Let's go see Alien Vs. Predator!"
Click here to read my review of Alien Vs. Predator.
| monday august 16, 2004 |
****Charley and the Charles
Yesterday, as the remnants of Hurricane Charley passed by (here), Boston had a deliciously cool taste of fall: Dry, cold air, with medium wind gusts and a gray sunless sky. After the morning rain stopped, I slipped on a coat (!) and took a long urban hike along the Charles River.
The path along the Charles River would be much nicer if it wasn't adjacent to some of Boston's major arteries (Storrow and Memorial Drives.) Worse, to get to the Charles River I must walk alongside Route 28 and the entrance to I-93, which is always congested and sometimes blocked by an active drawbridge.
In the summer, with the Museum of Science and a Duck Tour stand right there, it's a nightmare, with mini-vans and SUVs attempting to turn into six lanes of always-stopped traffic while the Green Line Replacement bus shuttle loads and unloads 100s of people from the freaking sidewalk, which are clogged with joggers, cyclists and rollerbladers looping on the Charles River path and innocent walkers like me, just trying to take a nice urban hike on a Sunday afternoon.
Surprisingly, the path itself was nearly deserted. I walked down to the Mass Ave bridge and crossed it to get back to Cambridge, so I could savor the view from the bridge. Boston is beautiful when it's simultaneously green and gray; the buildings look old and stoic ornamented by the billowing trees. Fenway Park's floodlights blared like a lit oven for the game. The Charles churned, but not enough to stop some little white sailboats from venturing out.
I'm willing to sacrifice the lives of a dozen of so mobile-home Floridians if it means a break from the unbearable muggy humidity of a Bostonian August. Kidding... but hurricanes are fabulous.
****Greek Weeks
Call me world-weary, but every time the Olympics happen, I care less and less. The coverage of it gets lousier every year. I simply don't have the patience to sit through the stories of personal triumph and the commercials.
Hey, Earth... the Americans already won. We could get all of your athletes to come live in America and compete for us if we felt like it... some lured by money, others by freedom, others apparently by jobs at the Home Depot, and the rest by a dozen Navy Seals and a helicopter, if necessary.
| sunday august 15, 2004 |
****Book Discussion: Pledged
I didn't post yesterday because I was rabid to finish reading Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities by Alexandra Robbins (here). If your college years lacked excessive amounts of alcohol, drugs, designer clothes, humiliation, casual sex, and large groups of women, and you want to feel like you shouldn't regret not joining a sorority... then reading Pledged is a good start.
After failing to openly infiltrate sororities, who are hesitant to cooperate with media after MTV's Sorority Life reality show made Greek sisterhoods look (ahem) unladylike, Robbins went undercover to observe four sisters "willing to risk their sorority membership by letting me into their lives for an entire academic year" at a school that she calls State University; we never learn exact details to protect their identities. It's one part investigative journalism, one part anthropological expedition, and one part voyeuristic sleaze.
Robbins tells the stories of these four sophomore sisters at State U (Vicki, a beautiful but shy Beta Pi who is initially "embarrassed that she is a member of a sorority" but eventually develops pride after being sought after by sought-after frat boys; Amy, an insecure boy-crazy Alpha Rho who willingly hooks up with a frat boy who had raped her several months prior; Caitlin, an athletic Alpha Rho with a steady non-Greek verbally abusive boyfriend; and Sabrina, one of two black Alpha Rhos who sees the sorority as a means to building a powerful social network and accepts her sisters' blatant racism all while working herself half to death to pay her sorority dues).
Interspersed with the life and times of these girls are comments about the Greek system on a whole-- the history, the rituals, the evolution, and how traditionally Black fraternities and sororities compare. This actually saved the book from being too tedious; being a fly on the wall to a typical night of sorority partying got old fairly quickly. Girls drink, girls dance, boys watch, boys join, and from there it just deteriorates into a depressing mess of date rape and casual sex.
I had always doubted the preconceived notions of sororities It couldn't be all about drinking, sex, and hazing ... when outsiders look at secret organizations, don't they tend to exaggerate? But, according to Pledged, sororities really are superficial and ridiculous as I'd imagined:
- Eating disorders are rampant (Robbins talked with an "alarming number" of girls who told her that the plumber was a frequent visitor to their houses because the pipes would be completely clogged with vomit; again and again, we hear stick-thin sisters complain of their fatness or blame their inability to keep a frat boy interested on their weight.)
- Drinking is out of control; sisters are expected to drink and are considered cool if they do drugs.
- Everyone is obsessed with boys, dating, dates, blah blah blah... but only with guys from the "right" fraternities, leaving a small pool of acceptable dates for parties. This leads to cattiness, despair, and downright slutty behavior.
- Everyone is obsessed with image. Even the girls who are not absorbed in sorority life care about how their sorority is perceived. Many Greeks come from rich families, and most elite sororities check every pledge's family background to make sure Pop has enough cash to fund all of the exorbitant costs involved in sorority life.
- The "rituals" in sororities are generally laughed at by the members themselves, except for the few hard-core. From what Robbins reports about the rituals (secret signs, dialogues, oaths, handshakes, knocks, initiations)...it's pretty inane juvenile stuff.
(Not that this is all behavior that is not exclusive to sororities, but Robbins cites statistical and anecdotal evidence that it is more common and even encouraged. Even more interesting, drinking and sex are condoned, but if a sister is not too careful, it could used against her to disaffiliate her.)
And what of community service, which every pro-Greek organization cites repeatedly? Robbins says that most white sororities prefer fundraising to actual service. They'll raise money by throwing a midnight All-You-Can-Eat pancake party for drunk fraternity boys, instead of donating time to the community. And they usually have one token event per semester, because with all the Formals, date parties, meetings, rush activities, and other social obligations with which sororities revolve around, who has the time?
Robbins describes State U as a school where Greek life "is considered important but not essential," but she opens and closes the book with scenes from Southern Methodist University's infamous Bid Day, a truly terrifying affair in which hundreds of girls find out which (if any) sorority has accepted them while their parents watch expectantly. After they find out, they all literally sprint to their Sorority houses while spectators gawk-- it's called the Pigs' Run. At SMU, like many school in Texas, sororities are "distinct social networks they believe will inevitably determine the trajectories of their college careers and perhaps their lives beyond." (First Lady Laura Bush did the Pigs' Run at SMU's Kappa Alpha Theta, here.)
Robbins faults the expectations of alumni and the "National" office as perpetuating many of the damaging customs associated with Greek life, including the willingness to exclude a potential member because they're just not simply Eta Gamma material, creating an air of exclusiveness. She offers some obvious ways the Greek system could reform - "What Universities and Graduates Can Do." Of course reform is necessary, but there's serious money involved. The Greek System has a lot of money in it from alumni and merchandising, and it's probably easier and perhaps beneficial for schools to look the other way.
| friday august 13, 2004 |
****Couch Potato with Extra Cheese and Bacon
In reference to yesterday's post, a friend sent me a link about a 4'10", 480 pound woman in Florida who was literally fused by her own filth to a couch for the past six years (here). "Unable to separate the skin of the 39-year-old woman from her sofa, 12 Martin County Fire-Rescue workers slid both onto a trailer and hauled her behind a pickup to Martin Memorial Hospital South. She died a short time later."
Dear god.
****Self-Esteem Blow
If you ever want to feel like your life is really boring, and your clothes are really cheap, and your hair is a disgrace... because who doesn't need a reality check... go to David Patrick Columbia's New York Social Diary (here). I've been reading it for about two months, and have long since concurred that I'm not on track to become a NY socialite.
****N.J. Governor Resigns, Admits He Is Gay
That is one of the craziest speeches I've ever heard a politician give (here). Wow.
| thursday august 12, 2004 |
****If I were a Bigger Person...
If I was fat, I'd be mad about how the use of the adjective "feisty" is inevitable when mainstream publications write about the Fat Acceptance movement (here).
But, if I were a fat person (and at one point in my life I was kinda hefty), I wouldn't join NAAFA and be all into "accepting" it (here). I mean, absolutely everyone should feel great about themselves, but we all have our faults... and for obese people, that fault is excess body fat. Hey, I got a funny-looking nose. I'm not going to get rhinoplasty, but I'm not going to crusade for its acceptance either.
I know that the diet industry in this country goes to great lengths to us all feel bad about ourselves, but that doesn't make it okay to retaliate with pride. I mean, a pudge here, a chubb here... that's fine and normal, but being obese is not healthy for the individual, and being a society of obese people is not healthy for society.
These fat acceptance people always say "As long as you exercise, you can be healthy and fat." But when I go for walks on the Charles River, I see thin people. When I walk home from work, I see other thin people walking home from work. And 95% of the regulars at my gym are fit and muscled.
Where are all these obese exercisers? At home with their Richard Simmons tapes, essentially bobbing in place? That may stave off more weight gain, but the human body will not shed excess body weight from low-impact exercise. And even worse are the people who try to do it through crash dieting and these ridiculous lifestyle diets. And for god sakes, what's with these people who have to get the size of their stomach reduced IN ORDER not to eat everything in sight (here)? Is that really necessary? Can't you just not eat? Can't you discover the joys of salad and green tea?
(You see, if you've ever wondered why I don't have Comments on my site, it's so I can say stuff like that and not have to listen to people call me a jerk.)
| wednesday august 11, 2004 |
****Scratch Fever
Yesterday, fancying a bite of chocolate, I ducked into Luigi's, our closest corner store. Luigi's has the typical selection of groceries, snacks, cigarettes, and non-alcoholic beverages...and of course a special counter for filling out lottery number forms (always well stocked!), a special Keno TV, and a veritable wall of scratch tickets. Lottery is Luigi's lifeblood. Locals gather in Luigi's to watch the televised lottery drawing or to chat while killing time until their next scratch ticket or the next game of Keno.
I think scratch tickets are a fun, occasional indulgence. I probably play them about once every two months (and that's not "denialspeak" for "twice a day"). Besides not being a gambler by nature, I've seen the depraved scratch ticket lifestyle, having worked at Cumberland Farms for a year in college.
Dispensing lottery tickets for a living made such an impression on me that I can vividly recall our daily scratch ticket purchasers:
- Marsha was an overweight office worker with a permanent frown, and came in every weekday morning for a coffee, a pre-packaged baked good, and $3-$5 dollars worth of scratch tickets. One day she won $200. I thought she was going hug me. She couldn't stop giggling with delight, which creeped me out. "I never win" she kept saying, to which I wanted to ask Then why the heck do you keep playing? Usually, regular players would tip the clerk who sold them the ticket, just $10 or something, but I didn't get anything.
- Ivan was an older man who was basically an off-campus housing slumlord. Some nights he was quite charming, other nights he was pissy. Ivan was incredibly lucky with scratch tickets, but very annoying. He would buy two tickets at a time, sometimes for hours. He would always ask us to look on the back of the ticket for the number; winners, he believed, would be numbered 100-200 in the roll of 300. One night he hit big on three different tickets (probably about $1000) and tipped me $20, even though I couldn't cash his tickets for him.
- One night at about 2am, an older woman came in with $100 and got 50 $2 dollar tickets of the same kind, Bankshot (a game with a big grand prize that didn't pay out small amounts a lot). She went out to her car and came back about 15 minutes later, with a total winnings of $8. She looked like she was going to cry. She got 4 more Bankshots, went out to her car, and a few heart-breaking minutes later drove away.
- Towards the end of my tenure at Cumbys, construction started on a vacant lot across the street. One of the construction workers would come into Cumbys nearly every hour and buy 2-4 $5 tickets. I think he would sneak away from his job. He seemed always sad and resigned while buying the tickets, like he didn't have a choice, and never had a big win that I witnessed.
There were others of course, but those 4 stick out in my mind. At times I felt like a dealer, doling out drugs to stuff the state's coffers. It wasn't a good feeling. I learned you should only play the lottery if you can afford to lose, that some people really do have all of the luck, and that if you do win, you should tip the clerk because they are an unwitting accomplice in your demented little addiction.
| tuesday august 10, 2004 |
****In the Garden State of Mind
I can't remember the last movie aimed at my post-college "Quarterlifer" demographic that sought to say something meaningful and intelligent to Us. Actually, I can't remember the last movie that featured a member of my demographic who wasn't a mental case, a loser, a big freaking jerk, or literally living in a fantasy world.
Garden State was a surprise; I thought it would be another movie capitalizing on this country's love-to-hate relationship with the state of New Jersey.
I did not expect Garden State would restore my confidence in Hollywood's ability to make movies that are in touch with the rhythms of everyday life for a young American.
Click here to read my review of Garden State.
| monday august 9, 2004 |
****Book Review: I, Fatty by Jerry Stahl
There's a chance you may be thinking "I'm not familiar with the work of Jerry Stahl," but I can almost guarantee you are. Stahl got his start writing for such television classics as Moonlighting, thirtysomething and Alf... all while addicted to crack, cocaine, and heroin. Good times!
Jerry Stahl's writing style is so natural that you'd swear he was right in front of you, unraveling his spiel over shots of hard liquor and mass market porno magazines. Unfortunately, his novels are only tolerable to the extent that his subjects are engaging.
Stahl's novel Permanent Midnight dwells on his fascinating double-life as family sit-com screenwriter/hard-core junkie, making it a great read. (Permanent Midnight was made into a movie starring Ben Stiller, back when crap like Starsky and Hutch was both above and beneath him).
Stahl's next two books, Perv and Plainclothes Naked, weren't bad efforts but disappointed me bitterly. Both brandish their outrageousness to disguise the lack of interesting and original story lines and well-defined characters. I couldn't even finish Perv, antagonized beyond belief by the antagonist's constant flashbacks, obviously contrived to advance the plot (an unoriginal coming-of-age-during-the-wild-sixties snore).
I, Fatty (here) tells the sad story of Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle, the first international movie star, who rose to fame on his talent and insane work ethic, only to be disgraced in a sordid sex scandal involving the death of Virginia Rappe.
It starts out under the premise that it is Arbuckle himself is narrating his life story in a dictaphone to his faithful servant Okie, who isn't heard from at all in the book. You see, we're Okie. We're Fatty's faithful servant! I was skeptical of this narrative device at first, but it was seamless, as if Arbuckle is telling his memoirs post-scandal.
Contrary to expectations, the Virginia Rappe scandal is hardly the most interesting thing about the novel. Instead, it is Arbuckle's early life and rise to fame that is most interesting. When Arbuckle started in movies, it was because he was failing as a stage actor, and he sorely needed money. Acting in movies was derided by serious actors: "The dough's great, but the work's beneath us" Pops Keaton, father of Buster, says (Arbuckle was great friends with Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin).
On the power of the popularity of Arbuckle and his films, Hollywood began to evolve into the money-making industry that we see today, complete with studios who manipulate and control their stars, compete with each other with lucrative contracts, and feed lies about their stars to the papers in order to generate publicity. And it was these star-making and breaking mechanisms that caused the Virginia Rappe scandal.
This is an excellent book and I recommend it, especially if you're interested in the history of Hollywood or really fat alcoholic comedians.
| sunday august 8, 2004 |
****Mary Lou's: The Hooters of Coffee
Yesterday we went to Mary Lou's coffee shop in Hingham, MA. Mary Lou's coffee is steadily taking over the South Shore coffee market by offering their customers a few extra perks with their daily cup of joe (here for site). I had never been to a Mary Lou's, but was well aware of the phenomenon from the notorious commercials that have, for years, sexed up the morning news, with a slew of fresh-faced nymphets lip-synching to a raunchy, bluesy jingle: I have the morning blues/ So I went to Mary Lou's/ The best coffee in town. These Mary Lou's employees in tight and revealing "uniforms" gyrate vigorously, holding coffee and baked goods while the camera pans over their nubile bodies and teased-up 80s hair: I wanna drink up/ From that pink cup/ The best coffee in town. (Here to watch the Mary Lous commercials. You perv.) I pictured Mary Lou's coffee shop as being a brothel, with scores of scantily-dressed white trash women giggling knowingly as they cavort amid coffee air pots, and Madam Mary Lou herself, strolling around with a pink-tasseled crop, growling "Take a good look, boys. And be sure to try a donut." But, Mary Lou's appeared to be a perfectly decent establishment. A place you wouldn't be ashamed to bring the family to, even if you are embarrassed to watch the commercials with them. To my surprise, the commercials weren't a tease; the employees at Mary Lou's were indeed young and attractive, in a "I'm going to get my GED and become a hair dresser" sort of way. However, the 3 young women were not dancing or even smiling. And they had a little trouble working the cash register, initially charging $5.40 for two small coffees and a donut. (Maybe that works on the more distracted customers, but it won't work on me, girls.) The real test was, of course, in the cup. And Mary Lou's coffee is without a doubt one of the nastiest cups of coffee I've ever purchased. It was simultaneously burnt and tasteless, if you can imagine that. And even worse, I couldn't discern any absorption of caffeine into my bloodstream, leaving me cranky and bemused. I know sex sells... but why does it sell nasty coffee? And if you're trying to capture the male coffee-drinking demographic with all your undulating and dopey grins, why do you make the cups pink? |
"We're dressed like coffee cups! Tee-hee!"
"Should've gotten the Hazelnut instead of the Vanilla Penicillin." |
| saturday august 7, 2004 |
****State-Ordered Dyslexia
Six months after my attempt to master the German language in 6 easy lessons, I have retained little. I can count to 100, identify most of the days of the week, and ask where the bathroom is.
I think I would have continued with my study of the German language had I not discovered early on how effing hard it would be. And I had no real motivation other than it would be cool to speak German.
Aside from the tricky pronunciation and the fact that many German words are idiomatic (the meaning is derived from the context), there's the twenty-letter compound words. In German, any given word can be automatically made longer by tacking on another appendage as the speaker sees fit. So they end up with words like "Wohnraummodernisierungssicherungsgesetz" and "Bundesausbildungsfoerderungsgesetz".
Fully aware of the absurdity of their language, the German government launched a language reform program 6 years ago that aimed to "break up some of German's notoriously long words, eliminate excessive commas, change spellings and cut back on the old German letter for a double s, which resembles a capital B."
Major publications in the German media have recently decided to abandon the reforms and go back to the old way of writing (here for story).
This rebellion against "State-Ordered Dyslexia" proves one thing that I have always believed: Governments can control the taxes, the military, the schools, the transit, the garbage, and just about everything else in our lives, but when they try to dictate the intricacies of our common parlance, it is bound to fail.
****Journalism at its Best
Out of all the news stories that I have read in the past week, this one (here) wins the "best opening line" ribbon:
A man was arrested Wednesday afternoon after he tore off his shirt, Hulk Hogan-style, in the terminal of the St. Petersburg-Clearwater Airport while he argued with airline officials.
| friday august 6, 2004 |
****It's What's for Dinner
Despite my love for animals and my subsequent aversion to eating them, there's not too many things about the preparation and consumption of meat that curdle my taste buds and sense of decency upon just hearing them.
Hey, if you want to eat a cow stomach (here), pig's feet (here), a poor little lamb (here), insects (here), or horse-meat ice cream (here)... or if you fancy meat-scented air fresheners (here)... it's your life to live.
However, there's something about "Grilled Puppy" just gets me right in the stomach (here).
So does "Spoiled Elk" (here).
****Sex Offender Registry
You can now view detailed information (pictures, addresses, crime history) about Level 3 sex offenders who live or work in your Massachusetts community (here).
| thursday august 5, 2004 |
****Fabian Basabe: Banned by the Bushes
This web site's deep dark secret: Over its short lifetime, it's gotten 55% of its hits due to people searching Google for information about Fabian Basabe, a pseudo-celebrity whom I'm never met but loath with all my might.
I first wrote about Fabian Basabe after he gave the most ridiculous interview ever to a New York newspaper; he darkly proclaimed himself an It Kid and said that people ought to appreciate mega- rich people for living frivolously (here for post Fabian Basabe: Why Do You People Care?). I then got a mysterious email containing unflattering gossip about Mr. Basabe, which of course I posted (here for post Fabian Basabe:Exclusive Insider Gossip.)
In April-June, the hits for Mr. Basabe gradually abated, but this past week, interest in him is higher than ever: Laura Bush has banned him from all White House functions "after seeing her 21-year-old daughter Barbara in a cleavage-baring blouse on the front page of the Daily News straddling Basabe’s leg at a party" (here for NY Metro gossip column.)
O. My God. That is soooo lame. I don't know if Fabian Basabe is lamer for hanging out with Barbara Bush or vice versa. Or am I the lamest of them all for continuing to obsess about such... lameness.
****Chimping on Corn
Another reason not to vote for GWB: He doesn't know that cauliflower is the hip veggie (see yesterday). Instead, he munchs down on RAW EARS OF CORN (here).
I mean, what human eats raw corn? Don't only animals do that?
| wednesday august 4, 2004 |
****Trendy Vegetable Alert
Cauliflower is In!, according this recipe (here), which I will try tonight. Because I only eat what the beautiful people eat.
I can attest to cauliflower's coolness, having heard two seperate conversations about cauliflower in the past couple of weeks.
For all you gourmets who are chucking your sweet potatoes and bok choy in favor of this steaming hot cruciferous vegetable, here are some gotta-knows about the humble cauliflower:
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Cauliflower: The New Black |
| tuesday august 3, 2004 |
****The Plot Thinnens
Who doesn't love a big juicy plot twist? Like, even though it was obvious from the start that the pregnant woman jogger in Salt Lake City was killed by her psychological unsound, lying husband (here), wouldn't it have been cool if it turned out she ran off to elope with, oh, I don't know... Gary Condit? (Why do we know about these people?)
That's why M. Night Shyamalan's latest movie, The Village, was so disappointing. I was just waiting for a plot twist that would zing my brain, but it was just all too obvious from the start.
Click here to read my review of The Village.
| monday august 2, 2004 |
****Who needs Talent when you've got Beauty
Two news items about beauty pageants: A former Miss India and television anchor has committed suicide by hanging herself from a ceiling fan at her home in Bombay, supposedly because her wedding was called off (here) and the Miss America pageant's Sept. 18 broadcast won't show the contestant's talent routines (here).
I could try to maintain whatever reserves of coolness I possess and claim to be disinterested in beauty pageant lore such as this, but the truth is beauty pageants are fascinating. I haven't watched one in 12 years, but just the idea of women willingly being judged like pigs in county fair is interesting to me. And I know that beauty pageant winners are intelligent and talented... but that's what is so strange about it. If you're so smart, why do you want to objectify yourself to get money for college?
When I was a wee one, I loved watching the Miss America pageant. I didn't see myself ever being a pageant or aspire to be a beauty queen so I'm not sure what the attraction was. I liked the idea of each state having a representative to battle for the title. Unfortunately, Miss Pennsylvania was always a dog. All the times I watched it, she never made the Top Ten, and I was often forced to route for Miss New Jersey or Miss Delaware.
| sunday august 1, 2004 |
****Self-Reliance: Not for Everyone
The Shaw's Market that I go to (here) installed self checkout lines about six months ago.
Self-checkout lines are cited as proof that people are choosing to isolate themselves in the mundane tasks of daily life. I say: Half the time I'm in a traditional checkout line, the cashier and bagger are deeply involved in conversation. I feel rude for interrupting them, so I'm glad they'll have plenty of time to talk when the self checkout scanners take their jobs.
The idea behind the self-scanner is that if you have a couple of items, you can just scan them and go... a wonderful idea, especially if your grocery store never staffs the Express Checkout line. It's liberating for shoppers like me who only buy what they can walk home with. Initially, other shoppers snubbed the self-checkout, but now there is always a line, effectively making the self-checkout more time consuming than traditional checkout.
Like an increasing number of things in society, use of the self-scanner should require a license. This license would only be attainable upon successful demonstration of one's ability to:
- Locate the UPC symbol on a product
- Place the product into a bag instead of setting it down on the scanner
- Not get flustered about the fact that the machine is talking to you
- Use a touchscreen without jabbing the interface dumbly with multiple fingers
- Scan and bag more than one product per 10 second interval
- Successfully input the code on the produce sticker, or, failing this, locate and select the picture of the produce
- Focus. Focus. Focus.
That last one is really key. It's not like I glare impatiently at slow-moving elderly people using the self-checkout. It's the people who talk on their cell phones, or have kids to look after, or just don't seem to have it together mentally enough to interact with a touchscreen, or who get distracted by anything that is moving. They'll just stop mid-scan, holding the product in their hand, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there's a line of people waiting on them. Hey! Moron! Scan and bag, scan and bag!
Some people see our country divided in terms of white people and people of color, or Democrats and Republicans, or rich people and poor people, or white collar and blue collar. Honestly, I see the country in terms of smart people and dumb people. So many people are dumb. I can't believe how freaking dumb.