Seesawing back and forth between a "fuck it, it's 80 degrees out and life is not immediately falling in on my head in this precise and specific instant" sort of brittle calm in the moment and a broader "no, nothing is remotely okay" screaming abyss in between that. I'm not sure which of the two states to be the more concerned about, given that the latter is my baseline state anyway and probably the more realistic overall...
Apropos of... nothingtoseehereguv, I've been thinking that there are basically three possible societal responses to variance:
Thoughts? Thinly veiled screeds against the bureaucratic system of your choice...?
- Society tries to help you be the best you that you can be, with accommodations intended to bring your individual functioning in line with where you want it to be
- Society tries to "help" you to be in line with the functional level that it expects... or demands... of any other of its citizens
- Society says to hell with it, if you can't keep up with the implied rest of us it's Not Our Problem
Thoughts? Thinly veiled screeds against the bureaucratic system of your choice...?
Trevor and Jason, unsorted fragment:
Um. Yeah. Today happened. Today finally happened.
"Now they legalize it." Max was somewhere between livid and heartbroken all over again, the last time we'd had this conversation; now he just seems bewildered, as if this sudden collapse of resistance has caught him out without a map for the road ahead. To be able to say, this was my family, this was my life, long after it's far too late for far too many.
The burdens of memory. Or the joys. I've never been able to work out which.
In the entryway the laughter of a child, Jason and the pup home from the park. Family is what you make of it.
Um. Yeah. Today happened. Today finally happened.
Trevor and Jason, unsorted fragment:
Last night was... um... Interesting. Yes. I will use the word "interesting". While the exchange above was not written in response to Current Events, I kept coming back to this fragment of character-study as I tried to sort out my own reactions; Trevor and Jason were actually a fascinating frame to consider the news through, because Trevor in particular has that built-in tension of I'm really not supposed to approve of this but then again I've lived through the entire godawful 20th century to wrestle with, and then he's having to explain himself to someone who's barely old enough to remember why everyone's mad in the first place.
(I believe what they're arguing about here is the idea of judgment -- to the extent that Jason has any particular religious background the demographics suggest it'd be a fairly mainstream Protestant denomination that his parents were because their parents were etc., and I doubt he's given it much individual thought at this point in his life as such beyond handwaving the bits that disapprove of werewolves. Trevor, as I've mentioned extratextually, is a Quaker, and has given that a lot of thought.)
Drunk enough we're arguing theology. What about, like, Nazis? Daleks?
I would want, I say before he can get onto the idea of Nazi daleks, for them to understand what they had done.
He looks incredulous. And that's all?
That's not enough?
A pause.
...Fucking hardcore, man.
Last night was... um... Interesting. Yes. I will use the word "interesting". While the exchange above was not written in response to Current Events, I kept coming back to this fragment of character-study as I tried to sort out my own reactions; Trevor and Jason were actually a fascinating frame to consider the news through, because Trevor in particular has that built-in tension of I'm really not supposed to approve of this but then again I've lived through the entire godawful 20th century to wrestle with, and then he's having to explain himself to someone who's barely old enough to remember why everyone's mad in the first place.
(I believe what they're arguing about here is the idea of judgment -- to the extent that Jason has any particular religious background the demographics suggest it'd be a fairly mainstream Protestant denomination that his parents were because their parents were etc., and I doubt he's given it much individual thought at this point in his life as such beyond handwaving the bits that disapprove of werewolves. Trevor, as I've mentioned extratextually, is a Quaker, and has given that a lot of thought.)
In the end I went with the bank that was currently offering the most substantial bribe, and used part of it to actualize the metaphorical toaster. Which means that I've just spent the last 8 hours getting fuck-all done while I was waiting around for UPS, and also that I have managed to inflict upon y'all the linguistic violence of "actualize the metaphorical toaster", which Google believes may well be a unique achievement. Product notes on the actualized toaster possibly to follow once I'm hungry enough to be arsed to find some bread.
In other observations, I was apparently one of the few people who bothered to show up for yesterday's primary. I voted for the shrink, because god knows Congress needs one, but alas, the universe did not agree that this was funny. I had actually gone to the trouble of dragging myself and Mum out a couple of weekends ago to a 'candidate forum', where we sat for three hours in backache-inducing chairs to get at least some vague idea of who any of the two dozen candidates were in the first place (the guy who won the Green nomination was actually wearing a sweater-vest!) and in exchange infected several with my cold, so I am now in the privileged position to report that this Quigley dude is a girly-man who can't get the cap off a water-bottle but was nice enough to go and fetch a Little Old Lady a replacement and doesn't appear to be actively insane, so I suppose I can live with the result. (Although I reserve the right to call him "Quiggles".) Oh, and my pink hair was on telly the other day when they showed a clip of the event. So, go me and my recognizable coiffure.
And a rant I've been meaning to work myself up enough to remember why I cared in the first place: I ended up having to sit through the last hour and some of "Stephen King's Storm of the Century" the other day when I couldn't convince Mum that she'd seen it before (we have these arguments frequently, and they usually end with her acknowledging that after it's too late and I've had to sit through something for the third time that I was never interested in in the first place) and I got to musing that one could in fact have made an interesting if very different movie if the payoff had turned out to be that all the lottery stones were white and the point had been to show up what fools these mortals be. But Rod Serling is dead, and so is a general audience's capacity to appreciate subtle irony a la "The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street", apparently.
Now, to clip the cat's claws, because she is stuck to my blanket and looking rather distressed. Such is the never-ending whirlwind.
In other observations, I was apparently one of the few people who bothered to show up for yesterday's primary. I voted for the shrink, because god knows Congress needs one, but alas, the universe did not agree that this was funny. I had actually gone to the trouble of dragging myself and Mum out a couple of weekends ago to a 'candidate forum', where we sat for three hours in backache-inducing chairs to get at least some vague idea of who any of the two dozen candidates were in the first place (the guy who won the Green nomination was actually wearing a sweater-vest!) and in exchange infected several with my cold, so I am now in the privileged position to report that this Quigley dude is a girly-man who can't get the cap off a water-bottle but was nice enough to go and fetch a Little Old Lady a replacement and doesn't appear to be actively insane, so I suppose I can live with the result. (Although I reserve the right to call him "Quiggles".) Oh, and my pink hair was on telly the other day when they showed a clip of the event. So, go me and my recognizable coiffure.
And a rant I've been meaning to work myself up enough to remember why I cared in the first place: I ended up having to sit through the last hour and some of "Stephen King's Storm of the Century" the other day when I couldn't convince Mum that she'd seen it before (we have these arguments frequently, and they usually end with her acknowledging that after it's too late and I've had to sit through something for the third time that I was never interested in in the first place) and I got to musing that one could in fact have made an interesting if very different movie if the payoff had turned out to be that all the lottery stones were white and the point had been to show up what fools these mortals be. But Rod Serling is dead, and so is a general audience's capacity to appreciate subtle irony a la "The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street", apparently.
Now, to clip the cat's claws, because she is stuck to my blanket and looking rather distressed. Such is the never-ending whirlwind.
So, our Long National Tittering Behind Our Hands is over, and after inviting everyone to walk a mile in his hair Governor Blowhole disappeared down into the steam tunnels of the state capitol to have some sort of "HALLO CLEVELAND!" moment while his security detail was busy packing up and taking the baby seat out of the official vehicle. (Which seems like a mistake, since I've walked by his house a couple of times since all this started and if I were one of his neighbors I'd be ready to do something rash myself by now considering how hard it must be to park over there even without all the newstrucks...) So, what's the next shiny scandal du jour going to be, anyone have any bets?
[Poll #1340059]
[Poll #1340059]
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So, presented with the scenario above, do you attempt to board the Brown Line afterwards at:
A) LaSalle/Van Buren
B) Library
C) Adams?
Of course the genius answer is D) Quincy. And if you said E) Madison, well, you're probably still standing on the platform instead of reading this.
The ticket-checker initially misread my name as "Martha". Considering what I'd been thinking on the way down, I was rather amused by this. And yes, I did the Good Deed of adopting a ticketless stray on my way in. Still pretty much in Jumbotron SRO Land anyway, but at least without that risk of ending up watching from somewhere in Indiana. (Although the end of the line was all the way down by the museum campus by the time I got there...)
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Well, that's bloody efficiency for you, my ticket to the Obama rally just came at 1:44 this afternoon while I was asleep. (I was just doing one final check on my email before I threw some pants on to head down to the unticketed-rabble side of things...) Pity my usual plus-one's at work and can't make it, if I'd been informed in a timelier fashion I'd have thrown this open to audition for a New Best Friend...
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There was a line at our polling place at 6:15.
There is never a line at our polling place at 6:15.
Oaky, so we were having the usual issue with the pens, and I just watched it take Obama 20 minutes to wade through all the judicial retentions on the back of the ballot, but... Got a feeling.
And now I am taking to my bed.
There is never a line at our polling place at 6:15.
Oaky, so we were having the usual issue with the pens, and I just watched it take Obama 20 minutes to wade through all the judicial retentions on the back of the ballot, but... Got a feeling.
And now I am taking to my bed.
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Voted, of course, and no points for guessing for whom. I must confess to having completely lost interest in the entire mess by this point, since the only real suspense there's ever been in this race is in contemplating which Nontraditional Candidate would be more likely to tip the other side's nutballs over the edge into taking a shot at him or her first. Meh. I'd go down to the SF Meetup tonight to take my mind off it all by threatening people into giving me beads or else I'll show them my boobs, but it's supposed to snow, or something, so I guess I'm stuck with watching Olbermann... {sigh}
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Yet another "still not in the mood to type up the New Things Learned" filler post, brought to you by the Department of People With Entirely Too Much Time On Their Hands...
Yet another "still not in the mood to type up the New Things Learned" filler post, brought to you by the Department of People With Entirely Too Much Time On Their Hands...
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My contribution to World Socialism And All That Good Stuff for this year was to send Mum into a fit of hysterics while we were watching some Food Network show about spoiled yuppies making cake designers fight to the death for the right to do their wedding cake, by exclaiming, as the baker was detailing how much work her assistant was putting into 144,000 chocolate truffles, "Well, why not just set some slaves on fire while you're at it?" (Seriously, though, the older I get the less tolerance I have for Conspicuous Consumption, and I didn't have any to begin with...)
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(Apparently an independent effort from a supporter, and I think we know which community to begin looking in... :) )
(Apparently an independent effort from a supporter, and I think we know which community to begin looking in... :) )
- New Thing Learned for 18 March: Early naturalists thought that the north american badger belonged in the bear family. (It's closer to weasels, which is apparently why you can install Linux on them.) [Source: Animal Planet, "Badgers: digging the dirt".]
Took a break from unpacking to attend ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
polyfrog's bowling birthday party, which was fun (although I declined to bowl on the grounds that the last time I bowled, at the beginning of the move, I spent the next few days of box-moving berating myself for my lack of foresight), but later on the thought struck me that Generation X has outlived both the World Trade Center and the Concorde. Not quite sure what to think about that.
polyfrog's bowling birthday party, which was fun (although I declined to bowl on the grounds that the last time I bowled, at the beginning of the move, I spent the next few days of box-moving berating myself for my lack of foresight), but later on the thought struck me that Generation X has outlived both the World Trade Center and the Concorde. Not quite sure what to think about that.Day 10,324 of "America Held Hostage By Terri Schiavo's Parents", and at this point I'm rooting for global warming to inundate Florida, it's just one damn thing after another out of the place. I'm actually starting to feel sorry for Jeb, and there's a string of words I never thought I'd hear coming out of my mouth. It can't be easy to be the smart one in that family.
As to the case, what bothers me most about the way this is all going down is the same old thing that always scares me about the Right in this country -- if the rules don't make things come out in their favor, then it's the rules that are wrong, never their argument. Whatever happened to "A government of laws, not of men"? To scream "judicial tyranny" after a decade of litigation that has consistently gone against one's case risks masking the true slide into a world where there is no common ground upon which to stand. (This is why I feel bad for Jeb; he's the only one of them whose deer-in-the-headlights look when he talks about the limitations of his position seems to be grounded in a genuine understanding that he's being asked to gang-rape the idea of the rule of law -- and that this is a Bad Thing.) It's horrible for the parents, yes, but someone needs to sit them down and explain to them that the woman who was their daughter has been dead for fifteen years, and keeping her body alive by feeding it through a tube is way past morbid by now.
But enough of the Heavy Mental Lifting, how about more socks:
( mmm, copyright infringement... )
(The astute viewer will note that the "Slytherin" sock is not, in fact, hunter green, which I couldn't find locally*, but green heather, actually a much better match to the light grey as it turned out. The astute viewer will also note that, it having slipped my mind that Hufflepuff's colors are yellow-and-black, the presence of "Bee Girl" in this collection means I am accidentally three socks to my Potter pair, and will now have to either knit myself a Ravenclaw sock, or grow another foot.)
BTW, who's definitely in for Samapalooza tomorrow?
[* By which I mean, "If I'd have to schlep out to Hobby Lobby for it, I'd rather go without". That little sticker on their door about being closed Sundays so their employees can have "time for their families and worship" offends me, because somehow I doubt it's ever even occurred to them that some people might rather have Saturday or Friday instead...]
As to the case, what bothers me most about the way this is all going down is the same old thing that always scares me about the Right in this country -- if the rules don't make things come out in their favor, then it's the rules that are wrong, never their argument. Whatever happened to "A government of laws, not of men"? To scream "judicial tyranny" after a decade of litigation that has consistently gone against one's case risks masking the true slide into a world where there is no common ground upon which to stand. (This is why I feel bad for Jeb; he's the only one of them whose deer-in-the-headlights look when he talks about the limitations of his position seems to be grounded in a genuine understanding that he's being asked to gang-rape the idea of the rule of law -- and that this is a Bad Thing.) It's horrible for the parents, yes, but someone needs to sit them down and explain to them that the woman who was their daughter has been dead for fifteen years, and keeping her body alive by feeding it through a tube is way past morbid by now.
But enough of the Heavy Mental Lifting, how about more socks:
( mmm, copyright infringement... )
(The astute viewer will note that the "Slytherin" sock is not, in fact, hunter green, which I couldn't find locally*, but green heather, actually a much better match to the light grey as it turned out. The astute viewer will also note that, it having slipped my mind that Hufflepuff's colors are yellow-and-black, the presence of "Bee Girl" in this collection means I am accidentally three socks to my Potter pair, and will now have to either knit myself a Ravenclaw sock, or grow another foot.)
BTW, who's definitely in for Samapalooza tomorrow?
[* By which I mean, "If I'd have to schlep out to Hobby Lobby for it, I'd rather go without". That little sticker on their door about being closed Sundays so their employees can have "time for their families and worship" offends me, because somehow I doubt it's ever even occurred to them that some people might rather have Saturday or Friday instead...]
The Prequel's Progress: 32569 as of last Monday, whereupon my sleep/wake cycle unexpectedly randomized itself again and I spent most of the intervening week only being alert for brief snatches. I did, however, have the opportunity on Saturday to ascertain that Valois actually appears to be surprisingly accessible as MeetUp venues go, so assuming I'm awake for those particular hours of the day tomorrow and it isn't raining frogs, I may even make it down to the LJ MeetUp...
A graphic indication of how overworked our Congresscritters are these days:
( Dear Constituent... )
I've seen snailmail form-letters that came faster than this... :)
So, [flipping back] I was going to tell the story of attending the preview showings of the playfebrile's been working at, let me see... Mum and I allowed ourselves two hours to drive from the Evanston Library to Lincoln&Webster, and turned out to need every minute of it, for we had forgotten, not being partiers ourselves, that that particular Saturday had been decreed "Get Wasted For The Irish" day, and every drinking establishment in the metro area was venting overflow crowds out into the streets, along with their attendant conveyances. But eventually we made it though the mobs of drunken yuppies lining Lincoln, and even found a decent parking space, which was a very good thing because we had been on the verge of giving up on the whole idea if we'd had to walk much farther than those two blocks in that kind of cold. (Indeed, part of why I dragged Mum along in the first place was because I knew I'd never make it to the theater without the ride, the way I've been complaining this winter... I need a different coat, I think.)
It was quite the thrill to walk up to the box-office and say, we're friends of the ASM, he's set aside tickets. ;) (And, as I remarked to the other LJ'ers in attendance that night once we'd discovered we were seated in consecutive rows, thank god he didn't have them held under our LJ names...) There was a bit of confusion when the ushers failed to point out to anyone that the seat-numbers had a right/left/center-section to them, but this turned out to be an indication that all the seats would be occupied for this showing, so good news for the production, in the end.
So, the play: It's been so long since I've been to see live theater that anything would have done, but above and beyond that, Humble Boy is a worthy effort, a reworking of the themes of Hamlet in a brisk modern idiom, and well worth seeing even if you're not Taking Advantage of Connections. :) (I kid because I love, and because even cheap tickets are a rare treat for our household...) The set, asfebrile has mentioned, is stunning, especially in such an intimate space, and provoked a morbid giggle from my quarter when it turned out that a large part of febrile's actual front-stage duty for the between-acts change involves, basically, bussing a table. Even when an actor can get a gig in the theater, the spectre of the old "oh, you're an actor? At what restaurant?" gag still intrudes...
Afterwards the LJ contingent regrouped in the lobby to make further plans for the evening, but alas, I had barely begun to chat when Mum's patience ran out and she started to wander off in search of her long-deferred dinner, so I had to say my goodbyes if I wanted to catch a ride back home. Such a trial to maintain any sort of social connections when you're carless in a city with this kind of winters... {sigh}
A graphic indication of how overworked our Congresscritters are these days:
( Dear Constituent... )
I've seen snailmail form-letters that came faster than this... :)
So, [flipping back] I was going to tell the story of attending the preview showings of the play
febrile's been working at, let me see... Mum and I allowed ourselves two hours to drive from the Evanston Library to Lincoln&Webster, and turned out to need every minute of it, for we had forgotten, not being partiers ourselves, that that particular Saturday had been decreed "Get Wasted For The Irish" day, and every drinking establishment in the metro area was venting overflow crowds out into the streets, along with their attendant conveyances. But eventually we made it though the mobs of drunken yuppies lining Lincoln, and even found a decent parking space, which was a very good thing because we had been on the verge of giving up on the whole idea if we'd had to walk much farther than those two blocks in that kind of cold. (Indeed, part of why I dragged Mum along in the first place was because I knew I'd never make it to the theater without the ride, the way I've been complaining this winter... I need a different coat, I think.)It was quite the thrill to walk up to the box-office and say, we're friends of the ASM, he's set aside tickets. ;) (And, as I remarked to the other LJ'ers in attendance that night once we'd discovered we were seated in consecutive rows, thank god he didn't have them held under our LJ names...) There was a bit of confusion when the ushers failed to point out to anyone that the seat-numbers had a right/left/center-section to them, but this turned out to be an indication that all the seats would be occupied for this showing, so good news for the production, in the end.
So, the play: It's been so long since I've been to see live theater that anything would have done, but above and beyond that, Humble Boy is a worthy effort, a reworking of the themes of Hamlet in a brisk modern idiom, and well worth seeing even if you're not Taking Advantage of Connections. :) (I kid because I love, and because even cheap tickets are a rare treat for our household...) The set, as
febrile has mentioned, is stunning, especially in such an intimate space, and provoked a morbid giggle from my quarter when it turned out that a large part of febrile's actual front-stage duty for the between-acts change involves, basically, bussing a table. Even when an actor can get a gig in the theater, the spectre of the old "oh, you're an actor? At what restaurant?" gag still intrudes...Afterwards the LJ contingent regrouped in the lobby to make further plans for the evening, but alas, I had barely begun to chat when Mum's patience ran out and she started to wander off in search of her long-deferred dinner, so I had to say my goodbyes if I wanted to catch a ride back home. Such a trial to maintain any sort of social connections when you're carless in a city with this kind of winters... {sigh}
Even though in retrospect it's always been obvious that Bert would be a Log Cabin Republican, there's still something rather disturbing about this image:
Liberal media, my ass.
Liberal media, my ass.
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The Prequel's Progress: 29976. Many idea fragments crashing around and not exactly wanting to show up to put in a real day's work. Spent time doing research instead and read A Cow's Life, which turned out to be surprisingly helpful RE the background of the current Narrator's best friend, who left his cowboy family to become a necromancer (the cultural equivalent of running away from the circus to join a law firm, I suppose). I now know more about cattle than I probably should, and am currently trying to purge most of the chapter on artificial insemination from my already-crowded brain, as I have better things to keep in there than kinky bovine sexual practices. Although you never do know where the plot's going to take you, really...
Spent Thursday napping in front of the Charles/Camilla coverage, which I had stumbled across as breaking news at 3AM. I say, good for them, it's always seemed to me that the real tragedy of the situation was Charles being forced to marry someone "suitable" in the first place because his family were still so traumatized by the Wallis business back in the 30's. They ruined Princess Margaret's life for the sake of the Royal Image, why should he have to put up with the same treatment? But maybe I'm just being a boorish boots-on-the-table Murr'cin who never did see what was so fabulous about Diana in the first place, so what do I know. I do appreciate the nostalgic trip back to a time when crap like royal relationships actually seemed important, though, it's a refreshing break from having to worry about North Korea all the time.
Other observations from the past week include the mystery of "Chocolate Lucky Charms", which so far as my taste buds can discern are basically just "Count Chocula" in Irish drag. One wonders why General Mills wants to risk cannibalizing its own sales this way, unless they've taken that silly "Signs your child may be GOTH" checklist seriously and they're trying to surreptitiously substitute the more wholesome metaphor of a crotchety Irish pagan spirit to placate the ravening hordes of upset Xtian parent groups whose children still crave the worldly sweetness of chocolate first thing in the morning. Mark my words, some day you'll go down to the Jewel for your chocolate Satan breakfast fix and all you'll find is a capering representative of the Fair Folk...
Spent Thursday napping in front of the Charles/Camilla coverage, which I had stumbled across as breaking news at 3AM. I say, good for them, it's always seemed to me that the real tragedy of the situation was Charles being forced to marry someone "suitable" in the first place because his family were still so traumatized by the Wallis business back in the 30's. They ruined Princess Margaret's life for the sake of the Royal Image, why should he have to put up with the same treatment? But maybe I'm just being a boorish boots-on-the-table Murr'cin who never did see what was so fabulous about Diana in the first place, so what do I know. I do appreciate the nostalgic trip back to a time when crap like royal relationships actually seemed important, though, it's a refreshing break from having to worry about North Korea all the time.
Other observations from the past week include the mystery of "Chocolate Lucky Charms", which so far as my taste buds can discern are basically just "Count Chocula" in Irish drag. One wonders why General Mills wants to risk cannibalizing its own sales this way, unless they've taken that silly "Signs your child may be GOTH" checklist seriously and they're trying to surreptitiously substitute the more wholesome metaphor of a crotchety Irish pagan spirit to placate the ravening hordes of upset Xtian parent groups whose children still crave the worldly sweetness of chocolate first thing in the morning. Mark my words, some day you'll go down to the Jewel for your chocolate Satan breakfast fix and all you'll find is a capering representative of the Fair Folk...
All I can think about the cloned-kitten story has been variations on, "lady, for $50,000 you could have helped nearly a thousand people find their own loving Nicky, you selfish bitch." I know firsthand how painful it is to lose a cat you've had for 17 years, but I can't help but wonder if this is the culmination of the American tendency to self-absorption uber alles, and if the next story's going to be that for a million or two you can have your dead spouse back, some assembly and rearing required.
So, somebody convince me I'm wrong: is, as the woman put it, "it's my money and I can spend it how I want", really the bottom line for every question in this world anymore? As we enter the final frenzy before the American holiday of Spend-Más, with shoppers rushing to tuck Salvation under the tree as if even that could be bought from a store, I find myself sitting here bemused by the spectacle of it all, and wondering if those who go about braying "Jesus is the reason for the season" have given much thought to what He might say about the burgeoning market for Xtian Kitsch like the Third Day CD's their SUV is probably choked with. Or people who clone their cats in preference to saving another's life. Just wondering...
So, somebody convince me I'm wrong: is, as the woman put it, "it's my money and I can spend it how I want", really the bottom line for every question in this world anymore? As we enter the final frenzy before the American holiday of Spend-Más, with shoppers rushing to tuck Salvation under the tree as if even that could be bought from a store, I find myself sitting here bemused by the spectacle of it all, and wondering if those who go about braying "Jesus is the reason for the season" have given much thought to what He might say about the burgeoning market for Xtian Kitsch like the Third Day CD's their SUV is probably choked with. Or people who clone their cats in preference to saving another's life. Just wondering...
Kind of says "...Damn kidneystones!" to me. You'd think at some point in the last four years somebody would have sat him down with a mirror and trained him not to do this quite so often when there are cameras around.
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