Me: Wha?
Beadie: Wake up, wake up!
Me: Wha happen?
Beadie: I need you!
Me: Is the house on fire?
Beadie: Come on! Up!
Me: Hurricane?
Beadie: Now, let's find your shoes....
Me: Whatever's going on can wait until I pee, right?
Beadie: No! No time! Emergency!
Me: I'm going back to sleep.
Beadie: No! No sleep!
Me: Awright, I'm up, I'm up.
Beadie: Don't mess with me like that again.
Me: Fine. Get off.
Beadie: Now, hurry!
Me: Do you want food?
(checks food bowl, food bowl is full)
Me: Do you want water?
(water mommy is full)
Me: DID YOU WAKE ME UP FOR PETS?
Beadie scampers down the hallway away from me as fast as she can and hides under the couch.
Where little Timmy is trapped. Or something. And I am very awake.
Hollywood likes to pat itself on the back for its progressivism to an embarrassing degree, but I think there is some truth in the idea that casting women, gay people, transgendered people, and racial minorities in powerful roles and treating it like no big deal has an effect on making the public more accepting over time. The LA Times agrees.. This occurred to me again when reading about the new British Reality Show Britian's Missing Top Model, which has the stated goal of challenging attitudes about disability. The way to challenge attitudes is to cast disabled characters in popular shows (Jason Street and Herc in Friday Night Lights, for instance) or cast disabled actors in mainstream, normal-people-living-normal-lives kind of roles without commenting on it. Just treat them like people instead of dressing them up like Amputee Fetish Barbie.
Barack Obama “sounds to me like a Middle Eastern type of name and whether or not he’s born here in the United States, he doesn’t seem like, to me, somebody who is trustworthy,” Kristie Hartle told the AP pollsters. “You can’t trust anybody these days, so who’s to say he’s not a terrorist and we just don’t realize it yet?” Apparently, you can’t trust somebody with a name like Kristie Hartle to make a rational, informed decision before she goes to the polls, either.
This to me is a continuation of the "White Working Class Voters" narrative during the end of the primary campaign. I know many Hillary voters are really pissed off by the way things worked out, and many have doubts about Obama's experience (I myself am not loving his recent FISA vote) etc., and all this is a perfectly valid way to feel and we might see some repercussions for the Democratic party in the fall. Sure. Honestly, vote for whoever you want. However, 1) It's really weird to me that Kristie Hartle speaks entirely in Republican talking points and 2) I find the media's continuing focus on this to be narrative is greasy and gross and underhanded. The press gets to keep these stories ("Is Barack Obama A Muslim? Or a Terrorist? He sure has a funny name! I don't trust him!") afloat with the old "some voters are saying" reporting routine, where a ridiculous claim is treated with the same weight as the truth has become central to American political reporting. It usually shakes out like this:
Headline: Are Invisible Pink Unicorns Hurting Our Children?
Voters are worried that flying unicorns are hurting our children. Kristie Hartle, a hard-working white American spoke with AP reporters this week about her concerns. "These unicorns, who knows what they are up to or what they want? They could be hurting your children right now. There's no proof they aren't hurting our children. Our presidential candidates need to speak out against the Unicorn Threat."
The Center for Actual Fact-Based Reality denies the existence of Invisible Pink Unicorns. A spokesman for the Center, Pointyhead Nerdenweiner said "Unicorns exist only in the realm of fiction, aka, stories that aren't real. Science has found zero evidence of the existence of unicorns. There is absolutely no truth to reports of unicorns attack, and if they did exist, no indication that they would be dangerous to young children, though, like any large animal, they should be approached with care. If they were real. Which they aren't."
What should you do about the Unicorn Threat sweeping the nation? Has an Invisible Pink Unicorn hurt a child near you? Tune into our special Web feature, "The Tapestry: Unicorns Throughout History" for more information."
Then you start seeing motherfucking "Unicorn experts" on TV, candidates to weigh in on Unicorns, and I can't even write about it in a rational way at this point any more because I'm like WHAT THE SHIT IS GOING ON? This is the kind of shitty, shitty, shitty journalism that creates a background "feeling" of distrust based totally on lies continually propagated by at best really lazy reporters and at worst reporters under pressure from corporate media to keep these narratives at the forefront of political discourse. Also, Kristie Hartle, if you exist, I have the answer to your question here, and you should feel free to contact me and explain how it is that you are not a complete moron.
My vegetarian summer has had a major kink thrown in it by the free-range pork lady at the Lincoln Square Farmer's Market. She had a special on ham steaks this week, and they are so fucking good I want to drive to her farm and cook dinner for the pigs to thank them for being so tasty. I chatted with her and her daughter about pork-themed parties, and learned that the daughter had a pork-themed graduation. I asked if she'd ever gone vegetarian to rebel and she said no.
Today's Recipe is called "I Win at Breakfast." It serves one, but can be easily expanded. You'll see. All ingredients except eggs & butter are from the farmer's market.
1. Hack about 4 oz of ham off of that ham steak you've been defrosting, and chop it into cubes.
2. Cut up two little green onions and a clove of green garlic.
3. Cut up about 6 mushrooms.
4. Grab about 10 of those little grape-sized potatoes that came in your quart of new potatoes.
5. Melt some butter in a pan until it's hot and then throw all of the above things in with a few leaves of fresh rosemary crumbled in and cook them until the potatoes are done.
6. At this point your roommate might come out of his room and look longingly at you and your skillet but just ignore him.
7. Shove all the veggies over to one side of the skillet and crack an egg into the other side, cook until over easy.
8. Slide it all onto a plate. Put in face.
9. Win at breakfast.
Today's Recipe is called "I Win at Breakfast." It serves one, but can be easily expanded. You'll see. All ingredients except eggs & butter are from the farmer's market.
1. Hack about 4 oz of ham off of that ham steak you've been defrosting, and chop it into cubes.
2. Cut up two little green onions and a clove of green garlic.
3. Cut up about 6 mushrooms.
4. Grab about 10 of those little grape-sized potatoes that came in your quart of new potatoes.
5. Melt some butter in a pan until it's hot and then throw all of the above things in with a few leaves of fresh rosemary crumbled in and cook them until the potatoes are done.
6. At this point your roommate might come out of his room and look longingly at you and your skillet but just ignore him.
7. Shove all the veggies over to one side of the skillet and crack an egg into the other side, cook until over easy.
8. Slide it all onto a plate. Put in face.
9. Win at breakfast.
HOLY COW.
ETA: A note on casting.
Dear Nice Actors of Chicago:
There's no good way to say this. You've been nice enough to submit your headshot and resume to our no-pay indie production. But I'm noticing a trend here, and it's not a good one. Honesty is the only way we can make this work.
When we describe someone as 40ish, powerful, charismatic, handsome, sexy, an international art collector, used to getting anything he wants, looks great in a tux, foreign accent helpful, we are looking for this:
Not this:
Thank you, doofy Midwestern Dad Types of Chicago. You have many fine qualities. No.
P.S. We would most definitely accept this.
P.P.S. No..
- Mood:giddy
MoveOn.org is sponsoring a Bake Sale for Obama in Lincoln Square. Where like, 90% of the population will vote for Obama, if they can be arsed to vote at all, which is not at all clear.
So yeah, there is a bake sale (with pretty terrible cupcakes) and a guy who looks like Art Garfunkel playing the white blues, and all I can think of is the resulting Onion headline: Obama Also Running for Student Council President.
So yeah, there is a bake sale (with pretty terrible cupcakes) and a guy who looks like Art Garfunkel playing the white blues, and all I can think of is the resulting Onion headline: Obama Also Running for Student Council President.
Beadie is at the vet today. I will post pictures of her in Kitty Carrier Jail later. Though I thought it was routine shots and they want to take x-rays (expensive, expensive x-rays) because they "feel something" in her abdomen which could be a growth (an expensive, expensive growth) or could be, you know, a giant poop.
So I'm a little on edge. But really, I just have three things to say:
1) "It sure is quiet over here today!"
- Yes, it IS quiet
- Yes, I AM enjoying it
- Everyone who works near me is on a corporate retreat
- REALLY THE ONLY SOUND IS YOU SAYING THAT WHENEVER YOU WALK BY
2) Yes, computer, I AM SURE that I want to move files to the recycle bin. I am really, really, really sure. Just like the last 150 times I did the exact same thing. Still sure! Quite sure, thank you. Totally sure. Without a doubt. It is a certainty. HULK SMASH PC!
3) It is possible my cat will produce a $600 piece of cat poop today and that is the hoped-for, happy, best-case outcome.
- Mood:HULK
Afterwards we were hungry so we ended up getting carryout pizza from the little joint near my place. While we were waiting for our pie, a really drunk belligerent man came in to order a "cheesy beef." Then, as he stood facing the counter, his ass about three feet away from us in the tiny front room, he ripped an enormous, loud, horrendous fart.
Was it the loudness of the fart or the fact that he didn't miss a beat in verbally abusing the employee about when his sandwich would be ready? Where was his deep shame?
Cheesy Beef stepped outside for a bit and Paul and I collapsed in giggles.
"That guy....doesn't get to eat any more Cheesy Beef."
"My name is Cheesy Beef! I am here for your soul."
"If you aren't careful I'm going to Cheesy Beef all over you."
Then he came back in and yelled at the counter boy so threateningly that we were worried that a robbery or an assault was about to break out, so you can just imagine our silent facial conversation from then on.
Imagine this, entirely with facial expressions:
"Should we just go?"
"But our pizza!"
"But he's kinda scary!"
"I think I can get out without him noticing."
"You'd just leave me here?"
At this point Cheesy Beef noticed us and stood staring at me and scratching his tummy.
"Whatever you do....don't laugh."
"Not where he can see us, what do you think I am?"
At that moment our pizza was ready so we grabbed it, exited the shop, and collapsed in laughter as soon as we were out of sight/earshot of Cheesy Beef. The pizza was delicious. The end.
Surreal and real services I could trade for money:
How much might you pay for such services? What else might you pay me to do? I am open to creative and legal suggestions.
And they pitched this idea to the editor-in-chief of Essence magazine and some other black leadership type people in Chicago. Their dream was to get Oprah to hand it out at their conference. I tried a feeble, "hey guys, are you sure" but was told it was a "board matter" and "when we want your input, we'll ask for it."
Yeah, Rosa Parks died in 2005.
If you have ever doubted that Fox News is the network for dumb white people, by dumb white people, doubt no more:
And I know everyone is sick to death of the election, but I need to say something about the Reverend Jeremiah Wright. Who I'm sick to death of hearing about. So I'll be short.
Personally I would love it if having a crazy, intolerant preacher meant you couldn't be president. Billy Graham? John Hagee? Pat Robertson? James Dobson? The yearly Republican bow-down at Bob Jones University and Oral Roberts University? 9/11 is punishment for gay people? Hurricane Katrina is punishment for "sins"?
But the national media doesn't call white people to too much account for their crazy preachers, because white people get the benefit of the doubt that they are individuals who can maybe have a diversity of viewpoints and agree to disagree and see the good in people they disagree with. Even when, in the case of George W. Bush, Trent Lott, Rick Santorum, and other prominent Republican leaders, they strive to make the views of The League of Crazy Preachers, USA the laws of the land.
However, in the eyes of the national media, all black people know each other and are responsible for everything each other says. They are called on to "disavow" and "distance themselves" from crazy militant people in case some Scary Blackness rubs off on them. But of course, they can never quite rub it off, and once they do disavow the support they get the "too little, too late" thing. "Oh, that guy's got a crazy preacher." "Well, he said he disagreed with everything the guy says." "Too little, too late. Craaaaazy preacher."
So in the short-term, I say everyone gets one crazy preacher, with a goal of zero crazy preachers by 2016. I can hope, right?
Me: No.
Beadie: I can be on you?
Me: No.
Beadie: I'll just be on you.
Me: Get off.
Beadie: But you said I could be on you.
Me: OFF!
Beadie: So howabout I just climb up...on your shoulder. You won't mind.
Me: OW! oFF!
Beadie: Come to think of it, your rack does look like a better place to perch.
Me: No.
Beadie: I can be on you?
Me: Off.
Beadie: Me ....on you?
Me: No.
Beadie: But what if I'm just...on you?
Me: Off!
Beadie: You let me be on you yesterday.
Me: No, I didn't.
Beadie: Did so.
Me: 'Fraid not.
Beadie: Ok, howabout the day before yesterday?
Me: Get OFF!
Beadie: Oh, sorry, how did I end up on you again? I didn't even notice.
Me: No means no!
Beadie: Maybe? Me, sitting on you?
Me: OFF! OUT!
Beadie: Ok, howabout NEAR you, with an option to be ON.
Me: I can work with "near."
Beadie: But then I'll be on you?
Me: Near does not mean on.
Beadie: You're debating semantics with a cat.
Me: Get off.
Beadie: A cat who can't really talk.
Me: Seriously, go in another room. Take your cat thoughts and your cat fur and your cat needs...elsewhere.
Beadie: You're crazy.
Me: Yes.
Beadie: A crazy cat lady.
Me: Probably.
Beadie: Does this mean I can have a brother?
Me: No.
Beadie: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaase?
Me: No.
Beadie: Fine. I'm gonna go look at burdz. Wanna come?
Me: Bye.
Beadie: Or, you know, I could just sit here, on you.
Here's what I would suggest:
Cocktail: Champagne with blood orange juice
First course: Salad with arugula and shaved parmesan with a touch of balsalmic vinegar, olive oil, salt, and fresh-ground black pepper. Dry white wine.
Dinner: Risotto with shrimp, mushrooms, and asparagus, more wine. ( recipe )
Dessert: A scoop of coffee ice cream covered with shaved dark chocolate and an espresso. Or a pomegranate sorbet with slices of fresh blood orange (and finish off that champagne).
I think this would send the right message - carefully selected ingredients, requires time and love, no meat to make you sleepy, and nothing in the broccoli-cauliflower-bean family to cause farts. Please let me know how it worked out.
Also, I have a very strong message for American voters in upcoming primaries.
1) Democrats, and Democratic leaners, and people who like, I dunno, access to family planning and separation of church and state, and an end to torture, and some sanity in deciding whether to continue or start new wars and and stuff: we have to pick one. Uno. Un. Jeden. Ichi. Ein. There can be only one. WORK IT OUT.1
2) And if you're threatening to vote for McCain if your favored sane person doesn't win, remember what happened when they put Colonel Tigh in charge of Galactica.
Thank you for your attention.
1 Until y'all pick one, they will BOTH keep GIVING SPEECHES. BORING BORING BORING SPEECHES.
If you don't live anywhere near those places, that's ok, because they will tour again and maybe that tour will bring them closer to you. Don't worry. And when you go see them, you can play the game where you try to figure out who my favorite McDade is. It's a fun game.
Paul's Great Aunt Bea is hated by her few remaining relatives, and has managed to go 85 years on the planet without making a single friend.
This weekend, I had the good fortune to tour her depressing home filled with odd colors, statues of animals, and the stench of loneliness and despair.
Pictures here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/captaincin
Background here.
This weekend, I had the good fortune to tour her depressing home filled with odd colors, statues of animals, and the stench of loneliness and despair.
Pictures here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/captaincin
Background here.
Collection here.
The whole photostream for the trip is here, but I organized them into sets such as:
People and Street Life.
Le Marche.
Sights and Places.
The whole photostream for the trip is here, but I organized them into sets such as:
I'm uploading photos in the background now, but will pick up where I left off. Friday I went to the Museum of the Middle Ages, and then obviously to Berthillon and then walked through the Marais in the rain until I found a promising cafe and drank a whole bunch of pink wine and then took the train back to my 'hood and found dinner at Cafe du Marche (Rick Steves recommended, Jennifer approved) and drank more wine and then went to the internet cafe where the sexy African owner played jazz saxaphone in the background while I checked my email and we talked about jazz for a while afterwards and he played me some more songs and I got out of there because the chances that I was going to have sex with him were increasing with every jazz song. I went around the corner to see if I could get some last creme brulee at Le P'tit Troquet but they were packed full so I wandered around for a while until I found a cafe full of locals and I read my book (Philip Kerr's Berlin Noir trilogy, excellent) and watched French people make out with each other and argue and generally be and drank a kir royale and ate a crepe with goat cheese & honey. Then I walked home and stayed up late watching French-dubbed Law & Order and drunk dialing many of you.
More Things I Ate:
Saturday morning I was packing up and I got distracted by a French cooking show, Les Escapades de Petit Renaud. The show started out with a really goofy and awesome opening, and then it was two French guys sitting in a boat and opening up cans of things that could be purchased at a grocery store in Paris - random little jars of pickles, vegetables, packaged pates, etc. and eating them for a picnic and talking about them. I could have watched this all day, and I thought there might be an entire show devoted to this, but that was just the opener. Then the host went visiting chefs and learning how they cook their recipes. I'll share one or two with you now.
( So, so, so wrong )
I got packed up and cleaned up the apartment and then went out to find lunch, which was duly eaten, boarding passes printed, walked home, got all prettied up, went to The Orangerie (which you can virtually visit, here and gazed at the amazing water lilies paintings, and then went to Hidden Kitchen (more below).
I didn't bring my camera with me at all my last day. I just wanted to be. That Saturday night, I wore a little black dress with a black wrap and red patent-heels and lots of eye makeup and many many people asked me directions in the Metro (total trip count is about 25) and I met new people and ate one of the best meals of my life and then there was unwise drinking with Australians and running home at dawn to pick up my suitcase and get to my flight. The best thing I saw all day was a couple saying goodbye in the morning - He was leaning out his first floor window to kiss her goodbye while she stood on the street in her work clothes. As I walked by he shut the window and I saw that he was stark naked and he winked at me. Awesome.
( The Hidden Kitchen )
And then I came home.
A brioche studded with chocolate chips
A ton of baguette, beurre, brie, et charcuterie
Oh, and remember how I'm not supposed to eat dairy? It turns out that's really, really true = I've been eating tons of dairy at every meal and also for snacks and it's like I'm breathing through pea soup.
I went to the Cluny today, along with every French schoolchild in the country and also every British tourist. I have been neglecting the museums this trip - there is money for food OR museums, and we know what I have chosen. But the Cluny is free now, and for 6 of my euros I took in a concert of medieval music in the frigidarium, which means the cold water pool of the old Roman baths (frigidarium, tepidarium, uh, hotwaterarium) but you could also translate it as "fucking freezing basement, with scaffolding and madrigals." I really loved The Lady and the Unicorn tapestry, and the tiny illuminated books, and I have added to my photo collection of "sculptures who look like they are having a very bad day." The music was very beautiful and I understood all the introductions/explanations of what the songs were about in the reed instrument player's gorgeous gorgeous French.
Let's get into some cultural stereotypes today, ok?
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magdalene1- Eyes Will Roll
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