A Little House

While I was at home, I re-read "These Happy Golden Years" which is the last book but one in the "Little House" series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I was given these books by my grandma, at the rate of about one every four months when I was a kid, so I used to anxiously await the next installment. Sunday night I got through this book in two hours. (couldn't sleep, what can I say?) I was struck by not only how well the book portrays life on the American frontier, but also by how much it shaped my opinions and ideas when I was growing up. I always identified with Laura: we both have brown hair, an inherent dislike of shoes and love of reading are irredemably attached to our childhood toys. But beyond that, Laura really influenced my ideas of how the world was supposed to work--for example, in "By the Shores of Silver Lake" her bulldog Jack lies down to sleep and never wakes up again. It was a cruel shock to me to learn that sometimes people have to make that decision instead. Or, more directly, the idea that at some point in every woman's life, Almanzo Wilder would just appear and, after a decent interval, you'd get married and that would be it. (A recent conversation with a college friend confirmed my suspicion that I was not alone in thinking that Manly was, I quote, "hot") Again, a bit disconcerted to learn that's not always the case.
But Laura also helped show how women can be strong and independent: she's not afraid to work to help her parents, and she tells Almanzo flat-out that she will not promise to "obey" in their wedding vows. Heady stuff for a twelve-year old.

So after reading the book, I decided to learn a little bit about the "real" Laura's life: I knew that they had moved to the Ozarks at one point after the books ended, and I learned through the miracles of Wikipedia that she became a respected chairwoman of the Woman Farmer's Association and journalist. And, of course, in 1932 she started writting "Little House in the Big Woods" and the rest is history. (another trait we share: A Wisconsin birthplace.)

I was a little aggrieved to see, after a few more clicks, that the "Little House" universe has been expanded and exploited to include several other series of books that are ghostwritten by other authors. The books deal with Laura's family--her mom, grandmother, great-grandmother, and daughter--and tell each girl's story, designed to appeal to the readers of the originals. And, I suspect, compete directly with the American Girl market. We do love the stories of the feisty American girls overcoming bullies and history, but not when the dolls are being sold to us for sixty dollars a pop (additional outfits not included).

I guess my happy memories of these books are all wound up in the hazy, halcyon memories of my childhood, when Laura's adventures were easily re-enacted without the help of expensive toys. Not to mention my set of books--knocked about, dirtied, torn, chewed on and taped up--are a treasured present from my grandmother. I haven't decided if I'll let any potential future offspring indulge in the knockoffs of the original series, but I already know that I will buy them their own copies to knock about as much as they like.

Trafalgar Day isn't a REAL Holiday

One year ago I was attending a symposium on "Sex and Lies in Nelson's London," and two years ago I was watching in fascination as British Marines danced the hornpipe at Trafalgar Square. Today I'm waiting on chocolate-chip pancakes.

Mmmm. Pancakes.

The test didn't go as well as I'd hoped. The score I got was better than average, but not the glowingly brilliant number that will ensure me instant access to any institute of higher learning. So this is a problem. Obviously if I'd sucked, then another round of GRE would be in order, but since it's only blah, I'm not sure if I'm up for taking it again. Of course, with my weak admissions application, I could probably use a strong test score. We'll see.

The fun part about the GRE is that you take it on a computer, so the questions automatically get harder or easier depending on whether you get questions right or wrong. So by the end of the math section I was literally getting questions like, "What is a SQUARE?" Although, I did better than I thought I would on the math section.

Meanwhile, I am enjoying being home and being petted. We went out for fish on Friday and then over to the Mr. & Mrs's house so I could play with the beasties. (they have TWO chocolate labs and they are very happy to share, so I am now happy to report that my best jeans are covered with brown hair and dog slobber. Aw.) And yesterday I went and visited with Grandma for three hours, and we only politely mentioned Bill O'Reilly once. Or twice. Or mabye three times. But the important thing is she didn't have to reach for her heart medication, so I guess I was not too politic. Today mom and I are going shopping--mom has a list of places, and dad has helpfully written "Packer shirts/sweaters--new? (For all of us?)" on top of the list. Dad and Mom are taking a road trip which includes two Packer games next week, so they will need some new shirts. Dad always wears Packers gear when he travels. Don't believe me? You should see the photos of us from Scotland. There we are: St. Andrew's Golf Course--and there's dad, proudly supporting the Green Bay Packers National Football assosiation. *love*

And it totally unrelated news, for all you slavering HP fans out there (okay, me) I was shocked to read a report last week that JK Rowling has outed Albus Dumbledore. At a reading of her book, she was asked if Dumbledore ever found true love, and JK "quietly" responded that Dumbledore is gay. I was completely surprised. Not only because this is a major character in a children's book, but because JK has shared something about the character that's not explicitely stated in the "canon" as we call it. I love that she recognises that the characters have a life beyond the pages of this book. Ironically, I responded exactly how I did when anyone else comes out, first with, "Really?" then with "OMG!" then with, "I'm proud of you," then, finally,
"And?" I always maintained HP is a radical book, now I'm sure of it. Whoo!

bored

There I go again, being pishy without counting my blessings. I forgot to mention yesterday that I was offered a part time job at one of my favourite retail stores, the one that starts with an "L" and ends with a "ane Bryant." You may think taking a job as a shopgirl is beneath my dignity as a holder of two degrees. Well, this girl would like to eat next month, not to mention divest herself of the extremely generous discount offered employees.

I have also decided to re-apply at Colonial Williamsburg for next summer's re-enactment fun. I was thisclose to getting a job there last year, but they wanted me to start on March 21st which was (as I'm sure you all remembered) the day of my grand re-entry into the US and subsequent ticker-tape parade. Hopefully they'll be dazzled by the fact I have only added to my knowledge of colonial times in the intervening year and offer me a job.

Am also getting bad cramps, which I hope means the womanly time will start tomorrow, meaning that the brunt of the agonizing pain/heart palpitations/hand shaking/double vision (oh yes, it realy is that bad) will be Thursday and can be shunted aside by sweet, sweet generic allergy medicine (which doesn't cure allergies so much as knock you unconscious) instead of arriving Friday and causing a wee distraction. I have countered the pain slightly by eating cassoulet today, which is a hearty French stew/casserole that includes (yes, Virginia) sausage and Duck. Well, we all knew I was a bad vegetarian. But the cassoulet had the happy effects of dousing the growling Beast lodged in my right hip and also causing fond remembrances of Paris to swirl through my head.

I apologise for talking about bodily doings so much; I blame the fact that I have been reading alittlepregnant.com religiously for the last couple days.

Meanwhile, Stephen Colbert has announced his candidacy for president. Meanining that FINALLY there is a candidate who has caused me to do some deep soul searching about my unabating love for Barack Obama. Sure, Hilary Clinton is less sexy than Barack, but Stephen Colbert...is definitely MORE.

Also: update on the roommate situation. Any suggestions for getting your "liberated" male roommates to do the dishes? Both have told me they've "lived with women" before and so they're "used to" helping out, implying they're "doing me (the woman) a favour" instead of acting like "human beings" and picking up a "sponge" once in awhile. Yet when I returned home yesterday, the counter was still liberally strewn with dishes. Not gross, disgusting three-day-old soaking cassoulet dishes, just empty drinking glasses and cereal bowls that need a wash. Maybe I'm just being paranoid that I'm the only one doing the dishes--but oh wait, I am. When Rich did them last week (last week!!!) he only did half of them because they didn't fit in the drying rack (curious, I could make them all fit) Sure, I could nag them about it--but why? I'm leaving tomorrow, and I'm planning on spending tonight hunched over my favourite table at A Taste of Heaven on Clark Street (not the best scones in the world, but pretty close) feverishly getting in some last-minute cramming. And if the dishes are there when I get back on Monday, why, I'll just continue to blithely ignore it.

Because if it doesn't bother them--I'll grit my teeth and not let it bother me.

Now, not replacing the TP in the bathroom...this will be addressed at the next meeting.

Ow! Ironic brick!

This from an email I received from a professor of colonial studies (who, I am happy to report, reacted much more enthusiastically when I emailed him):

"Frankly, I wouldn’t try calling historical sites. The person on the phone is not going to be able to answer your questions and they are often as much invested in preservation and maintance of the site and don’t really have the resources to answer specific historical questions. You’d have more luck working with historical organizations or with academics."

Cheers, mate.

So, I have flipped my schedule around and will spend tomorrow morning working, tomorrow evening studying, Thursday morning working, Thursday night traveling, Friday morning pacing anxiously, Friday afternoon taking the GRE, Friday night eating fish and celebrating Friday night with my parents.

I am incredibly nervous, stressed out, irritated, deydrated, upset, angry, stressed, overprepared, hungry, tired, stressed, carnivorous, lonely, maladroit and stressed.

Also I suspect I'm going to be getting the monthlies on (you guessed it) Friday. Most women are blessed with acne, cramps and/or a slight upward swing in emotional tendencies. Only I am lucky enough to combine near-bipolar mood swings with crushing, agonizing pain. Not that I'm blaming female hormones for the way I'm feeling today, but the only other option is the fact that I'm just like this naturally. Rarrr!

In other news--Sunday night is Trafalgar Day. I tell all of you this so you have time to lay in some rum so you can toast the "Immortal Memory!" But not--dear God, please not--"Admiral's Rum" which is a travesty. No, Pussar's if you can afford it, Bacardi if you can't.

Calling Independence Hall

Independence Hall, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, is a nationally registered historical landmark. That means all you American taxpayers out there are funding conversations like this one:

Most Unhelpful Tour Guide EVER: Independence Hall Historical Site. Hel—(phone cuts out for a second, Nicki looks at it to make sure it’s still working) He-looooo? Helloooo?

Nicki: Hello? Hi—I’m doing research for the play 1776 and I was wondering if you had any information about, um, like, Philadelphia in that time period, or the men who attended the Continental Congress or anything about that era?

MUTGE: That’s a pretty big chunk of time, you should start by doing some research, that’s a lot of information.

N: Well, I have some information, I’m just looking to fill it out.

MUTGE: I think you need to do some research on your own. I mean, there were 56 guys who signed the Declaration of Independence.

N: Well, there’s only 24 characters in the play—(rising, thinking she’s going to give this woman some names)

MUTGE: Yeah—that’s like basic American history, you should look in a history book or do some research on our website, I can’t really help you.

N: (sitting back down, confused) Yeah, I got your website, that’s how I got your number, but there’s not really a lot of information there. Do you have any info about, like, the time period, or?

MUTGE: See, that’s like, what I said, it’s basic American history. I don’t have time to sit here and give you a history lesson—you need to read a book or something.

N: Okay, seriously? I have, like, a stack of books here that comes up to my waist. I know what happened—what I’m looking for is insider information about Philadelphia during that time period.

MUTGE: This is just basic American history.

N: No, I got that—I got all the facts, but I’m looking for more specific things. Like, do you have any brochures about Independence Hall?

MUTGE: Only what we have on our website.

N: Yeah, but your website isn’t very helpful. I clicked on the link that said “Pictures and Multimedia” and all I got was a schedule for the powerpoint presentations that are available in Philadelphia, but I’m in Chicago, so…

MUTGE: This is basic American history. I mean, I’m sitting here at a visitor’s center desk, I don’t have time to give you a history lesson.

N: I’m not asking you to give me a history lesson, I’m just wondering if you have any additional information, or any brochures you can send me.

MUTGE: No.

N: No brochures?

MUTGE: Not for what your looking for.

N: Okay, well, thanks.

MUTGE: *hangs up without saying another word*

Happiness is...

...three libraries in two days.

All right.

Good thing number 6 about Chicago: they have a LOT of libraries here. With good reference material. Sometimes more than one copy. And all the Goldsmiths alumni know what I'm talkin' about.

So I am incredibly stressed/irritable/nervous/upset/etc about this test on Friday. I know that My Entire Future is not riding on one test score, but since this is one thing I have a little control over, one thing I can prepare for, I've been studying for it with the single-minded fervour demonstrated by Sir Christopher Wren when it came to that cathedral project. Am I over-prepared? ...possibly. I have practised and practised and upped my vocabulary, and written good but brief analytical papers. Okay, I'm ready. But the test isn't until Friday. Now what?

Rather than continue to study/freak out, I decided to hit the libraries yesterday and today and gather some material for a dramaturgical assault on 1776. What is dramaturgy? It is researching anything the director asks you to, which might be historical items, the production history of the show, and/or interpretive essays on the text. The director wants me to focus on the historical interactions between the real people in each delegation. Which means: Lot of shiny happy primary material that has to be distilled down to a level where actors can understand it. ("Actors" meaning "people who work very hard and who are also doing their own research but who don't have enough time for all these interesting things," not, "bloody actors!")

The end result of two day's labours is a stack of books that would make Hermione tear up with approbation and cause Mr. Norrell to shoot me covetous looks. Oh bliss. Oh joy. If only Madison could see me now.

dream gig

Before I went to bed last night, I made myself come up with a list of good things that happened yesterday, since I was feeling so negative. This is what I got:

1. Finished my sewing project--a canvas bag
2. Weight: Holding steady. Hipbones: projecting.
3. Had lovely fish for dinner.
4. Received $8 tip for no reason
5. Got a postcard
6. Payday
7. Wrote two more scenes for a play.

Today was cold and I'm still pretty cranky. I bought a new pair of mittens though, thinking they were extravagant, but glad for them when the sun went down.

Oh yeah--and I'm going to be the dramaturg on a production of "1776." Can you say "dream gig?" Finally I'll get to use that degree. On a play about men in breeches signing important historical documents. *happiness*

More Than A Headache

I'm desperately hoping that this odd torpid feeling I have is nothing more than a headache, or the response to a change in the weather. (yeah, remember what I said about it being too hot? I take it back!!!) My sinuses are pressure-y and I am exhausted, even though I got nine hours of sleep last night. I'm feeling particularly spiteful towards my roommates ("Morning." "THOSE DISHES AREN'T GOING TO WASH THEMSELVES!" --well, at least no one has left their coats on the chairbacks, because that's a particular peeve of mine--oh wait, we DON'T HAVE ANY CHAIRS.) And my nose tries to run occasionally, but again that could just be the weather.

On the plus side, the downturn in temperature means I can break out my fabulous brown coat which has featured so prominently in every picture of me taken outside for the past year and my London scarves, which instantly up my trendy-factor. Bonus point: my coat is so big it still fits even when I have my suit on.

But I am a little scared that I will get sick. I'm due for a whopping great cold, but RIGHT NOW is not a good time. On average, I'm getting about an hour and a half with my GRE study materials each day, not to mention I have another six places I want to ask/beg for a job this weekend. Also, have to figure out how to inflict MLA-style on my Assassins paper and eventually submit an awesome application to Madison that will guarantee me instant admission, even though I have zero confidence in my abilities right now. I have concinved myself I'm not going to be accepted, but instead will be stuck in Chicago forever paying ever-higher taxes. I'm tired. I'm cranky. I'm nursing a low-grade Feminine Complaint. I'm sick of studying and everything I write is shite.

And now I'm done complaining.

It's probably just a headache anyway.

maybe baby

If you're like me (i.e. you have a lot of time on your hands while you sit around waiting for the gods to smile down on you regarding certain applications), then you might find the following blog interesting: www.alittlepregnant.com This is written by a woman who's undergone massive IVF treatments to counter her infertility. (not to give the ending away--but her last entry was about telling her son about her father's death) It is funny and heartfelt and absolutely fascinating. I've learned more about infertility treatments and the Workings of the Inner Female than I ever cared to know.

Now, I know that I want kids. Someday. That's what we all say, isn't it, girls? Except that with people I know getting married, people I know having babies, I suddenly realised that Someday could be Today. Well--nine months from now. (I should note for the benefit of any parents reading, this topic is purely hypothetical.) But I'm also not kidding myself about little bundles of joy falling out of the sky--babies are a life changing event, and I wouldn't have one without another parent around. So say Mr. Father-of-My-Hypothetical-Children is the next person who walks through the door. It's going to take a year or four before we decide to have the kids, and now I'm thirty. All the rationalising you can do about putting off grad school ("meh, I've got time") doesn't apply. This is purely evolutionary after all. I have a window of time.

And now I'm discovering just how unfun and agonizing not getting pg can be. And I'm not even trying! (I sincerely apologise to anyone who's ever tried and failed. I am co-opting your experienced opinion and probably being incredibly selfish.) But as a woman who never really considered the fact of babies, and who thought that getting knocked up would be a fairly easy thing to do (in the future) now I'm already concerned. What if my hedonistic lifestyle and addiction to Midol is slowly eating away at my fertility? What if the pain on my right side isn't horrible cramps, it's actually endometreosis? God--how do you even SPELL that?!

I know that I'm just being paranoid--and that, let's face it, of all the current issues in my life right now, this is probably the least pressing. But it worries me. I try to be a well woman, and this includes the bits that can make other humans. How do I know if they're okay and in working order? I don't. I just have to trust I'm not severely screwing myself up unknowingly and that--when the time comes--if the time comes--everything will work out fine.

I'll let you know in a year or four.

Whole lotta nerve goin' on

President George W. Bush has got a lot of nerve asking Congress to extend the No Child Left Behind Act when he recently vetoed the amendment to SCHIPS, what would extend healthcare to more children. I saw Prez W. giving the speech this afternoon, urging Congress to act, a speech that was peppered with words like "deserves," and "the right of every child" which begs the question: Why do Americans deserve a good education but not healthcare? (note I did not say "good" healthcare--I've seen what free healthcare looks like, and I'm under no illusion that it would be perfect. But it would be there.)

I understand the point of No Child Left Behind, and I agree with it, the same way Churchill agreed with Stalin during WWII. Of course we need to make sure schools are not passing children through without them being able to read, that kids are not falling behind because they're black/female/disabled/in a poor neighborhood. I have no problem with the basic idea of No Child Left Behind, even, up to a certain point, to the idea of "rewarding" well performing schools with money. The children are our future, to use a hackneyed phrase, and we can't invest enough money in them.

But why should we have to choose? The fact is--kids are unable to get healthcare on their own. They can't. They're kids. They aren't employed, and they can't exactly go signing up for programs on their own. If mom and dad are unable or incapable of providing health insurance, then all the literacy classes in the world aren't going to help them. Far be it from me to suggest that the reason we can't have both is the fact that our resources are diverted "elsewhere," but this definitely smacks of partisanship. My God, sir, how can you indifferently wave your hand and say that the children of your own country are undeserving of basic healthcare? I'm not talking about cancer treatments, or recovery after a fall on the baseball field. I'm talking about monthly checkups--it happens (or, rather, doesn't happen) in this country. In America.

It's enough to make me partisan. I almost want to say "no SCHIPS? Then forget your NCLB!" But of course--that doesn't work either. And of course many of my loyal readers are probably rolling their eyes at me, since I had he advantage of both health insurance AND a good education (not to mention apparently unlimited access to my orthodontist). America is not throwing good money after bad when we invest in our kids--on any level. We don't laugh at farmers when they plant clover only to plow it under in preparation for next year's harvest--why should we laugh at attempts to nurture our future citizens?

I did it

All right, I admit it, I jinxed the Packers last night. Coming from Green Bay, being a Packers fan is less a choice than it is a way of life, so I was excited to watch them trounce the Bears--my first chance to watch a game in about nine months. (For obvious reasons they don't show Packers games here, but they do show Bears games.) I ordered a pizza from Giordano's and, right before kickoff, I benevolently called my friend Cathy (a die-hard Bears fan) to wish her a happy game. The rest is history. Tho I don't know whether I should blame the Chicago-style pizza or the incredible hubris for the loss. Either way, Packers fans, I apologize.

Today I have nothing to do. I was thinking about taking advantage of all the Persecution of the Indians by Christopher Columbus Day Sales and maybe buying a kitchen table, but I didn't want to contribute to a holiday that was celebrating the beginning of several hundred years of horrific subjugation. Instead I'm going to finish hemming my curtains and study up on the math part of the GRE. I took another practise test last night and I improved my score 69% on the verbal section. And no, I did not figure out that percentage on my own, which might explain why my math score went up exactly 0%.

Meanwhile, I turned on the BBC World News last night only to discover their lead story was about an off-duty police officer shooting 6 people in Crandon. My relative joy at hearing the word "Wisconsin" in a British accent were immediately offset by the horrific nature of what happened--yet that didn't stop me from rankling at the statement "Crandon is a tiny town about 225 miles north of Milwaukee; truly the wilderness where people hunt, fish and shoot." Yeah, DEER. Hello world, meet Wisconsin. I've read more articles about what's happening there, but it still feels incongruous to have the first word come from the Beeb.

The big 5-0

So today is a landmark of sorts--I've lost fifty pounds. I wasn't aiming for a specific number, but I finally managed to get over the "plateau" and now I'm down to--well, I still want to see the south side of 200, but it's a lot closer now that it was three weeks ago. Lest you think I'm Being unhealthy, however, let me tell you that it took me about two years to get to this point—so that’s like a half a pound a week on average. Woot. I had a job interview this morning that did not go well—I arrived late because of the BLOODY CTA!!! and then I couldn’t remember my ACT score. It’s ninety degrees today and I’m absolutely dying—I keep forgetting to shave my legs so I can’t wear shorts (hey, if I’m going to submit to the American beauty standard of thinness I might as well go whole hog and buy into the shiny-legs theory as well) and I was feeling grumpy so I thought I’d get an iced tea and a doughnut. And now my stomach is unhappy:

“What is this. Is this…is this a doughnut?! What the hell?! Oh, you are going to suffer…”

I think it’s probably partly the weather tho. Come on, rain!

I am happy—my new roommate and I painted the living room last night in a burst of energy. Nothing bonds roommates like painting and arguing about musical theatre. New Roommate says that musical plays are bad because it breaks the rules of plays by telling not showing. I was aghast for a whole minute at that before I (gently) explained that musical theatre wasn’t beholden to the “rules” of drama because musical theatre is a different art form. Then he called Sweeney Todd a melodrama and I had to excuse myself and go take a shower to cool off. I think we’ll get along, as long as he never talks crazy ever again. But the living room is nicely painted—I’m a little embarrassed at the boring color I picked. In the end I couldn’t bear the idea of a cold living room, so I went with “Brickdust” which is kind of like chocolate milk. I’m hoping it will be less beige once I get some pictures up on the walls and the curtains hung. Right now I’m off to the Laundromat to wash out our rug, and then I’m going to sew up the curtains. Hancock fabric was having a sale so I got fifteen yards of sheers $28. woot.

yayyy!!!

Halloween comes early this year! Trick or treat!

Click on it! It's the new Sweeney Todd trailer! aaaaa!

Much has been made of Johnny Depp singing--and from what I can hear in the ten seconds that's in this clip, I'm not overly impressed. But the sets! The costumes! LONDON! It's so pretty! I'm more excited than I was before. Whoo! Sweeney! Sweeney! Sweeney!

Decorating

This week two things are happening: I am going to finish "Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell" for the fourth time, and we're getting a new roommate. Another underemployed theatre people. These two things don't have much in common with each other, only that when my old roommate moved out, I realised just how much stuff was actually hers. The apartment is literally echoing with the empty space. So I have decided to redecorate. The reason I mention JS & Mr. N is because my dearest wish would be to decorate in a style faintly reminiscent of the Empire period, but, alas! low fundage prevents buying the lovely Empire style desk that I saw at Macy's today. (the floor model was only $3,999.98!)So I have decided to put to use some of those skillz I learned in theatre and from watching shows like anything on TLC and see what I come up with.

I also think of JS & Mr. N because of the chapter where it's describing Lady Pole's very first dinner party after she gets married, and how big a deal it is that she gives a dinner party which is entertaining, that it is a mark of a good feminine mind. And I started to think about how one of the benefits of having one's own place is that one gets to finally inflict their personal tastes on everything. I am quite looking forward to it--although, as much as I would like to paint the bathroom ceiling black and hang glow-in-the-dark stars, I probably won't. (Our landlord is generally rather forgiving when it comes to outlandish wall colours: my room, for example is a lovely terracotta that was not of my choosing, but I like it) Since I have roommates, I think I'm going to paint the living room a sort of French-grey/lilac/lavender/bluey thing, like the colour of heartbreak, and do the ceiling in sky blue, then get some yellow pillows for the sopha, and then it will match "The Fighting Temeraire Taken to her last Berth to be Broken Up" which I finally bought a frame for.

We also need a kitchen table and chairs--I think I'm going to try to find a mishmash of chairs and paint them all to match--and eventually some other odds and ends. But, it's chiefly the living room I'm concerned with right now, as that is the room where I like to study. Although a kitchen table would be nice too: I'm getting sick of eating my cereal on the floor.

I haz a headache

Yahoo has decided to take a break at the exact moment when I'm trying to email my resume to another theatre company, which is frustrating, to say the least. Whoever said that looking for a full time job is a full time job wasn't kidding. I wanted to be done with all this stuff by this point so I could go and work on a play, but instead I'm going to have to push the play back so I can study.

I read a story, a million years ago, about a princess in another country who had a magic wishbone that would grant one wish. And everyone was harrassing her about what to wish for--some people wanted her to wish that the king had more money, that her sisters would make good matches, that the war would end, that the baby (who had a black eye for some reason) would get better. The princess, being incredibly smart as most princesses in these stories are, wished for it to be a bank holiday about to m onths in the future. Suddenly there was enough money (because taxes were due), the war was over, the sisters had all married foreign princes and the baby was all better. That's kind of what I feel like right now: I wish it was about four weeks in the future so I would know about the jobs, have the GRE over and done with, the application for Madtown handed in, and have this draft of the play done.

Meanwhile, I gotta do something while Yahoo tries to load:

Liberally biased

My good friend Laura sent me the above video, which is about Conservapedia, the conservative alternative to Wikipedia. Wikipedia, for those of my readers who don't know, is an online encyclopedia that anyone can edit, the theory being that everyone knows a little about something, and eventually the whole thing will be mostly truthful. Teachers won't allow you to quote Wikipedia directly, but they do require updaters to cite their sources, so you can check out the firsthand material if you're writing a paper or something. Generally, they're pretty good. And, according to Conservapedia, pretty liberal. This video uses the definition of "homosexuality" as an example: on Wikipedia it "...refers to enduring sexual and romantic attraction towards those of the same sex..." Conservapedia does not start out with a clear-cut definition, but gets straight to the heart of the matter: "Sexual relations between men is condemned in both Old and New Testaments. It is forbidden directly four times in the Bible"

Conservapedia then goes on to have pictures of Moses, a brain infected with AIDS, a rock of Methamphetamines, a picture of Sodom and Justice Antonio Scalia, which might lead the casual viewer to suspect that there's some sort of agenda going on here, since there are no happy homosexual pictures, like a nice clean house or Freddie Mercury.

In the interest of science, I decided to conduct my own investigation. I don't really have an opinion about the homosexuals (tho I'm pretty sure Conservapedia got it wrong on the Mark Foley bit), so I thought I'd see what Wikipedi and Conservapedia had to say about something I am deeply, passionately, all-consumingly interested in.



Like Admiral Horatio Nelson.


Both Wikipedia and Conservapedia have the picture posted above, but that's where the similarities end. You would think, due to the constant love and deference Nelson showed to his king and country Conservapedia would have more to say about him, but the entry is barely two pages long--and all it has to say about his time in the Mediterranean: "...Nelson was content emotionally during the months spent there. On board his ship was a well-trained crew, and amongst his crew was his son whom he had taken on board; waiting for both was a loving wife. And it was during this time that Nelson changed from an enthusiastic young officer to a genius of a commander. Some of his success in his mission was due to the British minister in Naples, Sir William Hamilton." And there's absolutely no mention of Lady Hamilton. Nada. Someone who konws nothing about Lord Nelson (which doesn't include my faithful readers, I trust!) would think that Nelson was happily married with a doting wife, isntead of passionately in love with the wife of his best friend. Who eventually bore him a daughter. (the mistress, not the friend) Scandalous, true, but no more so than some of the scandals that have seized our nation's leaders--and at least Nelson stuck around instead of flitting off to a new woman every few months. Wikipedia on the other hand, has much more information about Nelson, including people who helped him, like his uncle Captain Maurice Suckling. Also Wikipedia gets his title right.

I was pretty surprized to see Conservapedia fail theNelson test so badly. If there's an entry, I thought, then surely it will have been lifted from Wikipedia--how liberal could an entry be about a man whos last words were "Thank God I have Done my duty?" Apparently too liberal for some.

Conservapedia's Nelson
Wikipedia's Nelson

full of it

i would write more but i has a lap full of cat

Practising

I just finished a practice test for the GRE, and you know the saying "there's noplace to but up?" Yeah, erh, hehe, I have a lot of upping to do. aaargh.

Anyway, I wanted to write about a production of "Phantom" that I saw last Friday. This is the Arthur Kopit and Maury Yeston version. I wanted to see it because I love "Nine" by the same authors, and because it's the Porchlight Theater Company again, the compmany that put on Ragtime, and I want to support anyone who does musical theatre. This version of it was very diferent from the one I'm sure you're all familiar with--it's much less gothick and much more, uh, musical-theater-y. As in, Christine Daae turns into Laurie from Oklahoma, and the Phantom could pretty much sweep her off her feet without any problems, except he's hung up on his face. The count in this version is even lamer than the other one--how he manages to fall in love with her after only a few haphazard scenes together defies even the laws of musicals. Even Carlotta gets a makeover--she's a villianess in this one, scheming to keep everyone else off "her" stage.

The biggest problem I have with this show is the problem I have with all Phantom interpretations, namely, that the Phantom's face can't be THAT bad. I mean, sure, having to face down stares day after day after day might get tiring and cause one to retire quietly under the Paris Opera, but if the woman who loved you truly loved you, wouldn't you have some dialogue about how "it's really bad, and I'll understand if you're scared, so we'll just go slowly" instead of this screaming and fainting? I was especially disappointed in this version, since Christine is so much more levelheaded and open-hearted. I mean, if a woman can stick by her man after his face has been eaten by flesh eating bacteria, how bad could Erik's face be? Seriously.

The Porchlight production was okay. I think there were too many problems with the pacing and the script for them to adequately cover it all gracefully. I also had a problem with the scenery and costumes--there were too many scene changes, and the costumes were ill-fitting and not period. Or, to use one of my vocab words, anachronistic. Everytime the phantom came stomping out in his pirate boots I wanted to stand up and say “am I the only one who’s bothered by this?!” Apparently. The theatre was also filled with a group of AP-high school students who obviously hadn’t been to the theatre that much. I sat in the front row with an elbow in my ribs most of the night, and at one point I was tempted to lean over and say “shut up—they can HEAR YOU” but I clenched my teeth and let the drama distract them.

The best part about the show was the singing. Really, I don’t know where the Porchlight finds these people. The woman who played Christine should be on Broadway, and the man who played the Phantom could hit the high notes with the best of them. (he could also enunciate more, but I digress) I think the Porchlight needs to spend less money on fancy sets that don’t really work anyway (the chandelier falling was just…hokey) and concentrate on tailoring costumes so their fantastic actors shine. Three days later I still have “You Are Music” stuck in my head, which isn’t bad considering I’ve never heard the score before. And I’m quite grateful the Phantom never took his mask off in this production—judging from his headshot he’s actually quite hot, and the suspension of disbelief only goes so far.

Madison (or, There and Back Again)

Madison is just as the awesome as I remembered it. I woke up early on Thursday, took the L out to O'Hare and picked up my rental car, then drove up to Wisconsin. I bloody love Wisconsin--truly, the most beautiful place on earth. And Madison is an amazing city, with an amazing campus. Despite the fact I discovered that my driving skills have deteriorated so much I probably wouldn't pass the test, I made it there in one piece.

The "interview" started off by me attending a class on international children's theatre, and then meeting with three professors in rapid succession. After that, I went out to lunch on State Street with another grad student who's in her fourth year there. Talking to her, I really got a sense of what I was in for as far as a graduate program. It's quite intimidating--the classes are intense, and there's teaching as well as the constant encouragement to publish and be involved in symposia and conferences. Far from being overwhelmed, however, I started to feel like "yeah! bring it on! I love to learn--I want to be challenged! yea!" Then after lunch I met briefly with the dean of the program and another grad student. Everyone was extremely friendly and--while not downplaying the difficulty of the program--very encouraging. So now I'm even more psyched to apply. My only worry is that I don't have enough credentials. I don't have a master's thesis, only a play, and while I've done research and academic writing, certainly not to the extent that some of these people have. So that's my paranoia. But I'm going to apply, because I know I would be a good candidate, and we'll see what happens. One of the profs suggested applying to the MA program and then matriculating into the PhD program, but I can't afford to pay for two years of another degree. Everyone who asked seemed surprised that I was only applying to Madison, but, to quote a far better playwright than myself, "why would I want to apply somewhere I don't really want to go?" Half the reason I want to attend Madison is because it's MADISON.

These are the thoughts currently swirling around in my head. If I don't get in...who knows what will happen. Possibly I'll become even more powerful than anyone ever thought. When I returned home, I had an email from Teach for America, politely informing me that I had not made it to the interview round. After the long drive, I was pretty tired, and this upset me a great deal. My poor journal got it all over--whinge, whinge, whinge--but I went to bed, slept for about eleven hours and then woke up and put out some more applications for jobs. Christmas is coming up, after all, and everyone needs playwrights-come-shopgirls.

The thing I enjoyed most about the trip was the freedom of the car, actually. I forgot how nice it is to go tooling off the highway every now and then. Before I crossed back into Illinois I had to find a bank to get some cash for the tolls, so I turned off the highway in Beloit. I stopped at a gas station, stocked up on petrol, also cookies and a pumpkin-spice cappucino and was politely informed that I couldn't get cash back on my my purchases, but I was free to use the ATM. The ATM cheerfully told me that to get my money out of my bank it was going to cost me $3.50. Being so close to the interstate, I figured this was the new form of highway robbery, so I decided to head into Beloit and see if I could find a bank. (briefly considered buying a bottle of water at Wal-Mart--Sam Walton would let me get cash back, but the thought of having to explain to my children how I once supported a huge money-sucking corporation deterred me.)Beloit is nice. A fairly smallish town, well-hid amongst trees and curvy roads. Not real big on banks. I drove for about fifteen minutes, enjoying the scenery before I found an ATM ($2.00 fee--aargh). Briefly considered winging it back to Chicago off the interstate. Remembered that Illinois also had a deer problem and my driving skills were not up to evasive manouevering. Noted for future reference that Beloit has a road named Nelson Ave., decided it was probably named after some Norwegian immigrant who was unaware of the great sacrifices the admiral had made. And got on I-90 again. The drive home was uneventful, even getting into O'Hare. If I had more money, I'd rent a car again and drive back and spend an afternoon at the local eatery.

But, for now, more of the same. Work, study, read, applications, sleep. Ah, well.

Faithful

Tomorrow comes the next step in both paths of the Plan, outlined previously. I will find out if I progress to the "interview" stage of Teach for America, and I will also be visiting Madison to visit/interview/dazzle the Theatre Department. Needless to say, I'm slightly nervous. Nervous firstly because I'm driving and, let's face it, it's been a while. Nervous also because the more I think about attending Madison as a PhD student, the more I realise that's what I want to do more than anything in the world. (the only exception possibly having "UK" at the bottom of my address, but I digress) I don't want to put too much pressure on tomorrow since I'm already stressed out, but the people I'll be speaking with tomorrow have the power to determine what I'm going to be doing with the next five years of my life. And if THAT's not a dramatic statement, I don't know what is.

I still don't understand how people do this whole life thing. How do you not stop and change your life every few years? Aim for a graduation ceremony or the end of a contract and then make new plans? Which is what I've been doing, I guess, only perhaps I've foundered a bit more than some people I know. But it would be a relief to have the next few years planned out--not planned, but with a clear goal in mind. Of course, there are several steps to go still. Before I'm accepted I have to take the GRE, then actually apply, and then it will be all for naught unless I can get some fabulous financing going. Ah, yes, but if all the dreams come true I look forward to *finally* ensconcing myself in a fabulously boho apartment, complete with dog, and having room to stretch out ALL my Nelson stuff. Also, safely back at school which is clearly where I belong. Who would have thought?! Me. A scholar. tee hee.

Part of me still wants to be selfish and run off to London--part of me is so happy to be back in the US. I guess that's part of the nervousness as well. Two years ago I was happily wandering around London--well, not happily, after all, it was only loneliness that drove me to explore Greenwich and stumble across Lord Nelson--but the point is I was THERE. And now I'm here. I never would have connected the two places, but when I sit down and write my memoirs seventy years from hence, o what a wonderful story it will be. That's me--often given to dramatics, morose, ebullient (it's a vocab word!), capricious (ditto!), but never boring.

talking points

President Bush is currently lurching through another speech at the UN. My roommate is watching it, and I'm in the office wincing at every ill-timed pause. The short bursts of undeniable statements ("The world knows how to stop malaria! Mosquito nets! Medicines! Spraying for insects!") that work so well when appealing to American voters sounds positively idiotic when delivered in between a beautifully crafted rhetoric delivered by leaders of other countries. I'm only tuning in occasionally--I learned long ago that in order to prevent myself from pulling my hair out I should read Prez Bush's speeches online instead of watching them--but I'm really struck by how bad his speaking abilities are. Just listening to the sound of this speech is hard.

I also find it interesting that President Mahmoud Amaninijad (I know I misspelled that, but there you go) of Iran was invited to speak at Columbia College--the dean of the college defended his position by saying that "Just because we are willing to listen to opposing or distateful viewpoints does not mean we condone them." Again, I paraphrase, but that was the sentence that stuck with me. It sounded perfectly reasonable to me--but apparently not to everyone. My roommate is confused why Amanidijad was allowed to speak at all--surely he should have been sniped on the way into the press conference. And a woman who graduated from Columbia tore up her diploma because she was so disgusted with the college. I was really started by that particularly--surely you would be PROUD that your university was encouraging differing viewpoints and inviting challenging speakers? After watching the news coverage of Prez. A-jad, I was actually pretty glad he spoke--all of the attention merely held up a spotlight while he proved to the world what a scary psychopath he really is. Students laughed when he said that he didn't believe in the Holocaust, but it's statements like that that will focus the attention on what a delusional dictator he is. How can we believe him about his nuclear intentions when he is convinced that 10 million people weren't systematically killed by the Third Reich? (altho--there are some schools of thought that are trying to coinvince us that nuclear power is a "green" alternative to oil-based fuels, so perhaps Prez. A.M. is merely trying to lessen depence on foreign oil...) Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is, is does us no harm to listen--after all, he wasn't persecuting women up on stage in front of the cameras.

I'm just worried that we're going to get provoked into a war with Iran. As opposed to Iraq, where someone made up a reason and we got all het up and charged in there. Now the attention is on Iran, and Americans are going to start asking why we aren't in THERE kicking some dictator butt. And I feel like the Iranian gov't understands this, and is going to continue to provoke us until we either have a military strike or invasions or something military. (Alas--my knowledge of military tactics peters out somewhere around the last cavalry charge at Waterloo.) Already there are stories about Iran closing their border with Iraq. It's very worrying. I'm listening very closely, and I'm not too happy about what I'm hearing.

dulces donnas!

After talking to Laura for six hours I decided I needed a Sweeney Todd fix. This is what I found--Sweeney en Catalan. Enjoy!

if a person could ever love a person

I went to the Adler Planetarium yesterday with an auld friend from UWSP, which was terrific fun. Usually I try to go to museums alone, since I'm the annoying person who has to read every plaque, but it turns out that so is Peter. It took us a couple hours to get through every thing, and by the end of it my head was spinning. I like science, but I like historical science, the kind where there is an end to the story: "And THEN Galileo looked through his telescope and discovered Jupiter had four moons!" Not, "and THEN Einstein theorized that maybe there were black holes, but where did they go? Who knows? And time? Totally able to be sucked into black holes. Or did I just blow your mind?!!" Science is very cool, but once you move beyond nice safe textbooks and into the realm of quantum mechanics, my mind slowly starts to shut down. But, I definitely recommend the Planetarium, there are lots of great hands-on exhibits and a TON of information, all packaged in a lovely historical building.

So I have a busy week coming up. Tomorrow I have to clean my room--you may think this is not such a big deal, but then again you haven't seen my room. also, I haven't seen my floor for a week. Tuesday and Wednesday I am working (just a part-time thing, heleas, but it's something at least) and studying for the GRE, a graduate school test I have to take for when I apply for my PhD thingy. Then Thursday I'm going to Madison to meet with the theatre department there, which is quite nerve-racking. I hope it goes well, but I have no idea how to prepare for it other than to get my stuff figured out. And then working next week and and studying and at some point I'm going to find out if I made it to the next step of Teach for America.

In the meantime, I've got to check imdb.com every five minutes to see if the new Sweeney Todd movie has a trailer yet and eventually get around to emailing you.

When I am old, I shall continue to wear purple...

I guess I'm one step closer to being old and crochety (as opposed to mom, who is fabulous) because today as I was walking behind three hooligans, one of them casually tossed an empty water bottle into an alley, prompting me to call out "Nice! Save the planet! Nice!" And to wave my cane at them. Seriously though, where the hell is Captain Planet when you need him? The juvenile delinquent favoured me with a glare, but kept walking, probably put off by the demonic glint in my bifocals. God I'm getting old.

I also saw a picture on the back of the Red Eye (free newspaper=not as good as the Metro)of a "America's Next Top Model" contestant who probably weighed as much as my arm underneath the caption "Plus-Sized Debate!" The accompanying article said this woman was causing controversy because she was being touted as a "plus sized model" even though she was only a size four or something. I didn't really read the article. I also don't watch "America's Next Top Model" but I do have an opinion, and therefore feel qualified to blog about it. What is the debate? there is no debate. Size 4 (or eight, or ten or 12 or fourteen!) is not a plus size. End of debate. Fin.

Tomorrow I'm going to the planetarium, and I hope they have some sextants on display. I dearly love a good sextant.

PS Sam!

Nicki Buys a Suit

I finally had to buy a suit, so I wandered down to Sears today and found one on sale (woo). I was extra excited because the coat was only a size 18, but the shirt I tried on was a 16/18 which means that I am officially the smallest I've been since I was about, oh, thirteen. I would be more excited, but I'm exhausted because I have been exercising every day for the last week. (not in a compulsive anorexic way. In a "I paid a lot of money for a one-week gym membership and I'm going to feel really guilty if I don't use it" way)

My friend also pointed out to me that I'm walking like a duck, so I finally admitted that my awesome Gola shoes were little better than pieces of construction paper, support-wise. Even if they are trendy and European. I am sad to see them go.

Booty Call

The paper informs me that tomorrow is national Talk Like A Pirate Day (or, as I like to say in my snobby, pendatic tone) Talk Like a West Country Person Day. The paper also encourages me to go on a Pub Crawl, with free drinks for dressing up like a pirate. However, as much as I like to drink, also to dress up, I won't be partaking because The British Royal Navy certainly doesn't condone pirates, and What Would Lord Nelson do? He would clap them all in irons. So until they have a National Lord Nelson is Awesome Day, I will be primly sitting this one out.
Speaking of the awesome, check out this contemporary painting by Mark Churms I know, I know, I have enough Nelson stuff, but I really like this painting. The technique is incredible.


Well, I am off to study. I have to learn a bunch of vocabulary for the GRE--luckily I already have a leg up, since JK Rowling tends to use a lot of their words in her books. Stupefy! Enervate! Obliviate! wait--no, don't obliviate...damnit...

Change Yer Mind

So I've done a 180 and have decided to stay in Chicago, although I am still Planning on applying to Madison and Teach for America. I would like to teach in the future, but in the meantime, I'm a big girl and I should be responsible for my own life.

Anyway. I'm also mad about Facebook, which some of my loyal readers are on. It's a fun diversionary tactic, but I don't understand why people email me on there, then get upset when I don't email them back, EVEN WHEN THEY HAVE MY REAL EMAIL. This hasn't happened recently, but I don't understand why people suddenly start facebooking me even when previously we've conversed via regular email. Possibly because I tend to write a novel every time I sit down at the computer.

Arg. I like my roommates, but this week there is a set of parents living here as well. The TV is on very loud, the kitchen is full of old newspapers and weird Swedish baked goods, and I'm about to join the cats hiding in the closet.

working hard

I'm staying at Lennie's again this week. She talked me into buying a one-week pass to her local gym, so we've been going there every morning and working out. I've learned I can do 2.13 miles in 30 minutes on an elliptical machine--take that evil mile-running gym class--and I'm going to buy some running shoes and take up jogging when I get back to GB. Because I can afford running shoes. I can't afford a gym membership.

I'm also really proud that I can still do shoulder stands. Last year when I was in London (london!) and I took the yoga class of doom, my yogi shocked me by grabbing my legs and throwing them up in the air. It's kind of awkward, but it feels soooo good on your shoulders. So today, after thirty minutes on the elliptical and another ten on the rowing machine (for the "bingo wings") I stretched out by doing a shoulder stand. I can't touch the floor behind my head any more, but it's close...

I spend the rest of my time divided between writing applications, making appointments and reading my new book, "Too Much of a Lady" which is a novel about Emma Hamilton. Oh, how I wanted this book to be good, but it sooooo....bad.... The writing is terrible. There's no suspense or drama, just boring storytelling. Even the "voice" of Emma Hamilton doesn't match the letters that are so often quoted. And no author worth their salt should have to put " 'is majesty's army, yer 'onour!" when there's other ways of delinating accents. (see: Jane Austen, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell) Oh well--at least it's a quick read.

Also, from the irony department: "Sondheim" is in the Penguin rhyming dictionary. teehee

The Sixth Anniversary

I wasn't going to write about Sept. 11th today, but then I read an article about the memorial services in New York, which ended with this:

"In all, 2,974 victims were killed by the Sept. 11 attacks: 2,750 connected to the World Trade Center, 40 in Pennsylvania and 184 at the Pentagon. Those numbers do not include the 19 hijackers."

I was struck by my reaction to the last line--it feels so cold, so angry. I probably don't have the right to say that, since everyone I know and love is safe. But I feel that those men should be counted--they died convinced of the evilness of the Western world and America in particular, and to forget them is to forget those like them who are also convinced America is evil. To turn our backs on them or treat them like some kind of aberration will only breed more hatred and distrust. If learning and accepting other cultures was hard before, doing it now is almost impossible after these men took nearly three thousand of our countrymen with them. But that's why it's more important than ever. Never forget--we will never forget--but we must remember also the reasons why.

Ya gotta feel bad for the guy

I do feel bad for General Petraeus, no matter what I might think about him, the war, GOPs, W, politics in general. I was listening to NPR today, which had a live broadcast of him defending his findings about "the Surge" (wasn't that a soda a bunch of years ago?) to a joint session in Congress. Basically a bunch of politicians lining up to take potshots at him and get their bullshit posturing in so they would have a soundbite for the punters back home. Sure a simple "Is this working? Prove it." would have ben adequate, instead of questions like, "Do you think our effors in Iraq are aiding al-Qaida?" Gee, what do you think?

I don't know why so much effort is being put into this report. Well--in theory I do, but since we're all agreed the soldiers have to come home SOME TIME (right, right?), eventually there is going to come a time when there is no American presence in Iraq, and that's the point we have to worry about, not right now if we're "winning" or not. Sooner or later, that power vacumm is going to happen, and when it does...

Damn. Talk about your thesis-defence from hell.

Meanwhile, hamsters.

the student prince says "drink, drink, drink!"

Attention Guys Who Attempt to Hit on Me In Bars:
1. I have no problem with you hitting on me even though you’re ten years older than me. However. Please refrain from constantly saying “ah, you’re young, you’ve got time,” because if I’m old enough to be hit on by you, I’m certainly old enough to know better.
2. Please don’t mention you’re “seeing” a Romanian woman and contemplating marriage so she can get her greencard.
3. Especially if you then ask for my email. Now I’m thinking “What—don’t want my phone number in case your girlfriend looks at your phone records?”
4. Just because you paid for my beer when my back was turned doesn’t mean you “bought me a drink” and it certainly doesn’t mean I’m going to give you my email.
5. Yes—I was chatting with that handsome musician who has such lovely curly hair. Stop trying to buy my attention back by putting Queen on the jukebox.
6. And by the way—the song is called “Hammer to Fall” not “Hammers Fall.” Thank you.

Last night was a surprise birthday party for my friend Lennie. Her husband had arranged for a group of friends to meet at a sushi bar and then go to a show around the corner. I love sushi, and I love Lennie, so I painted her a picture of her cat, put on a clean shirt and went out for dinner. The restaurant—Ugayi Ya—was fantastic. Really, just the best sushi I’d ever had. The group was mostly Lennie’s fantastic theatre friends, so I was feeling a little out of my league, especially when I was talking about The Plan—but then I mentioned a new theatre in Green Bay that I was keen to look up when I went back.

Imagine my surprise when we got to the theatre and I discovered the show was being put on by the very theatre company I was chatting up. Venture Theatre is an independent theatre company in DePere, and after the show I introduced myself to the producer. Hopefully, in the future they’ll have some space for me to help out. It’s good to have a connexion like that before I even go back. The show was called “Get Down(sized)!” and it was about the daily struggles of office politics…and it’s quite accurate and very funny. I highly recommend it.

Afterward I went out for a pint and was accosted by a guy who attempted to impress me with tales of hanging lights for Aerosmith before revealing he was a mechanical engineer. Dear God, no more engineers, please.

Today I’m feeling quite empowered. The flapper-dapper arm broke on our toilet, so I went to the hardware store and bought a replacement, then replaced it all under my own steam—no man required—and just to ensure my continued empowerment, I found a copy of “Our Bodies, Ourselves” at the local thrift shop for a dollar. A DOLLAR! Score! Lest you think I’m becoming too manly however, I also found a pair of Mario Lanza CDs (also a dollar) that are currently making me quite swoon-y and causing images of roses and Naples to float through my head.

arg

So. The plan. I've decided to move back to Green Bay for awhile, to save on rent. I'm going to be applying at Madison for their PhD program, and also to a program called Teach for America. Either way, I hope to eventually become a teacher, and then either find a niche at a university or a small liberal arts college. So that's all right then.

But, of course, I'm freaking out because, hey, it's me after all, and both these programs won't start until next year. I've been writing letters and Statements of Intent and polishing up writing samples, but meanwhile I also feel a little pathetic, like, shouldn't I have had this figured out before now? Many reassurances have come my way of "well, sometimes people just take a little longer to figure out whta they want," but it doesn't stop me from wondering just why I can't seem to get my life on track.

I wasn't reasured much when I called Mr. S to ask him if I could put him down for a reference and was told, somewhat coldly, "Our office manager will handle that." So much for friends. And speaking of friends--I also stumbled onto someone's blog and was horrified to see they had the perfect life neatly put together, years after telling me off for being such a drama queen. Meanwhile, I'm still flailing. Some things never change--is what I'm trying not to believe.

I think I have spent too much time inside. With no job I am counting every penny, and not getting out much. Perhaps tomorrow I'll head for the Field Museum or something, and try not to feel too much like I've let everyone down.

Come again?

I woke up this morning—literally, because my alarm was set to NPR—to the news that Luciano Pavarotti has passed away from pancreatic cancer. I’m quite sad about this news, because Pavarotti has always been sort of a part of my life—dad likes him, and I used to get hauled out of bed late a night to watch the Three Tenors on PBS with the sound waaay up. Funny the things you remember.

But, meanwhile, it is hot and muggy down here, and I am cranky as hell. I know, I know—London wasn’t a bastion of perfect weather, but then again there was NEVER this much humidity. I am thisclose to chopping all my hair off. I am so sick of all the little curls and ringlets sproinging out of my ponytails, not to mention my FRINGE—good Lord, who thought THAT would be a good idea?!—that I’m sorely tempted to go way short. The only thing staying my hand is the fact that in a few weeks we will be knee-deep in snow, and then I will miss my hair.

Also, I guess it is football season. Not that I bleed gold and green* but it’s a little weird going around seeing ads that say “ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?!!” and then seeing the Bears logo. I almost feel like I should run around with a Packers sticker and commit a few acts of vandalism. Not that that would do much good. On the other hand, there’s something comforting about the Changing of the Seasons that brings American football back around, instead of incessant footy matches between random teams I’ve never heard of.

I spent most of the afternoon in a coffeeshop writing, and then I went shopping for cheese and now I’m going to go paint a picture of a cat. My life is awesome.

PS: I put that poster of Sweeney Todd up on my desktop, and, after a closer look, I’m fairly certain it’s inaccurate—did Fleet Street in whatever the hell period that is have a clear shot of Big Ben? I don’t think so. Look, Tim Burton, you LIVE in London—don’t go throwing around images because you think Americans are too thick to get that we’re back in the cesspool of western civilization that is—was London. I’m watching you…



*On the contrary, I bleed red, white and blue and THESE COLOURS DON’T RUN, baby!

another "S" movie you may have heard of....

Meanwhile, new pics from Sweeney Todd have surfaced on imdb. Am liking the poster, less enthusiastic about the shot of Mr. Depp & Ms. Bonham-Carter. It looks very, uh, Burton-ish, like they're reusing the attick from Edward Scissorhands. Also--what period is that dress supposed to be from? Still reserving judgement until I see the film, but these photos do nothing to relieve my worries.


The good news is that the film is going to be released on December 21st--happy birthday ME! I hereby declare my intentions to have a birthday party, complete with blood-red cake, the feature of which will be seeing this film. And you're all invited! Costumes optional, but be sure to wear something red around your neck. More details later--but be sure to "attend!" haha!

"Stardust" & "Superbad"

My roommate and I went to see “Stardust” yesterday. I have been looking forward to this movie, since it was written by Neil Gaiman (he of “Sandman” and “Good Omens” fame), and it’s been a looong time since there has been a quality fantasy film of the general “rescue-princess-cute-prince” variety. I was thoroughly delighted with the movie, even with all its departures from accepted fairytale culture, like the famed scenes of Robert diNiro (I know that’s not how you spell his name, what is wrong with me?!) being a fierce pirate who hides a penchant for ladies’ clothings. Favourite line: “Now sit down, and tell me about my dear England!” This springing from Captain Shakespeare’s love of England, as he was a boy growing up in the magical world of Stormhold—much the same way young English boys dream about faery-worlds. Love it.

Also loved Rupert Everett’s entrance at the beginning of the film—swaggering in wearing a red coat, much in the manner of Aragorn in “Two Towers” (ladies: you know what scene I mean), causing me to fling myself back into my seat and exclaim “Rupert Everett! You’ve got to warn me before you come through a door like that! D—n!”

Then, deciding that $9.50 was far too much to pay for one movie, but an acceptable price for two, we snuck into “Superbad.” Which was okay. Funny—and at times painfully, PAINFULLY reminiscent of how awkward high school was—but I took umbrage at a few scenes and a few assumptions made by the screenwriters. I also thought more conclusions could have been drawn about a night of drinking and brawling gone bad. I.e., drinking, brawling=bad, unless you’re a pirate. Arr.

Highly recommend “Stardust.” Less enthusiastic about “Superbad,” but you’ll probably see it anyway, if only to know what the hell everyone is talking about.

jazz it up!

I decided to go downtown and take in the Chicago Jazz Festival because—I like jazz, and it’s a nice day to be outside. I figured that I would get some food, sit on the ground listen to some jazz, maybe peruse some overpriced souveniers… Well, when I arrived at Grant Park I was already hot and sweaty, owing to the fact that no public transportation up by me goes anywhere near the Park—I was hugely disappointed to find that the “festival” was set up on the small access road that cuts Grant Park in two. About a block and a half had been blocked off, with one little stage crammed in at one end, and the rest given over to crappy food booths and useless vendors. (“Geico Insurance, lady?!” “Sorry, don’t have a car, and I don’t buy products from geckos with ambiguous accents, anyway!”)

Forget about vegetarian food. I finally bought some lukewarm fries using ten of the eleven tickets I was forced to buy (why-why-why?) and then attempted to listen to some jazz. Only the twenty or so chairs in front of the stage were already occupied, and I didn’t feel like standing in the sun, in the middle of a street juggling a Syrofoam container of fries and BBQ sauce, so I went around into a grove of trees. Shady. Cool. Also, directly behind the beer truck. Now, it’s nice to have beer at these outdoor events—but not when it’s ridiculously expensive. Also, the truck’s air conditioning unit was humming so loudly it drowned out a lot of the music. I pulled out “Good Omen” and attempted to get my good humor back. THEN I was suddenly attacked—bitten, hard, on the leg. I swatted the invisible attacker, only to feel it again on my arm. I caught a glimpse: horsefly. AAARGH. Despite my best efforts I got bit about five times. It was like—the Battle of Britain or something. Needless to say, I ate up pretty quickly and got the hell out of there.

After that I wasn’t really in the mood to listen to jazz, which sounded pretty modern and contemporary anyway. I ended up wandering south through Grant Park, which is actually a pretty nice park—most of the parks in Chicago are pretty nice, I will give the city that. The problem is, they are so far AWAY from anything like a little caf or restaurant, that when one begins to think longingly of a cup of tea, one has a long way to go. Also, there was no TP in the restrooms. I did enjoy the huge fountain (and subsequent cooling spray) at the end of Congress Parkway, but was saddened to see the fence around it, as if to say “No Wading.” Pffft. I don’t understand why the jazz fest organizers didn’t spread their jazzy goodness out under some of the cool shade, unless it was a concerted resistance movement by those horseflies. Next time, I’ll bring a stereo with some Ella Fitzgerald pre-loaded.

Eventually I ended up wandering (read: hiked three blocks) into the art institute on the off chance it was free today. It was not, so I skulked around the gift shop absorbing air conditioning until I cooled down, then headed for the L. Stopped in a McD’s to get a liter of cola (I would have gotten a bottle at the fest but only had one ticket left—for the scrapbook, apparently), from a countergirl who was so bored she was literally leaning on her picture-screen console. Very nearly dumped said liter of cola on a street busker who whistled at me as I was going up the steps to the L. Arg. What a waste of a perfectly good day.

The only fun part about the weekend is the fact that I have finally embarked upon “The Baroque Cycles” trilogy, which I have heard is good. All I know is, when I brought “Quicksilver” home yesterday in my messenger bag, it gave me “Nelson’s Syndrome,” a term I coined when I was walking around Portsmouth all day with my bag resting on a nerve in my shoulder and then later that night I couldn’t feel my right arm. Nelson hasn’t shown up yet, but I have confidence. Try writing a book about historical Britain and not mentioning him. Try.

windsong

I discovered when I stepped on the scale yesterday that the two pounds of cheese curds I had consumed in Wisconsin had somehow magically transferred themselves to my hips. What can I say, you can take the girl out of Wisconsin, but you can't take the cheese-lust out of the girl. So I decided I'd better go out and get some exercise. I rode my bike down the Lake Shore Bike Trail, a pretty little route between Lake Shore Drive and, um, the lake, and made it about halfway to downtown. The trick to bike riding, for me at least, is to figure out what your halfway point is: where do you turn around if you don't want to arrive back home completely wiped and unable to get upstairs? I thought I was doing better than expected, but I turned around at the marina anyway. It was a good job I did, since the kindly breeze that was cooling me off as I sped happily downtown had turned into a raging gale of torrential wind which prevented me from making any sort of headway. Also, I'm convinced the grade is slightly uphill all the way. Just very slightly. I felt kind of foolish as I was consistently passed by bikers who were traveling with apparent ease, also, old people, on their way to work or wherever. But I enjoyed being by the lake and getting outside for a change. Now, all I have to do is let my sitzbones heal, and I might even be able to do it again.

Paradise Minocqua

My parents, sensing I might be upset about being unemployed, suggested that I go camping with them, so that's where I've been last week. I'm sorry I left without a word, and I appreciate all the supportive emails. We were planning on going to visit the southwestern part of Wisconsin, only it was raining there (as you may have heard) so we ended up driving north, north, north until we got to Minocqua and Lake Tomahawk. I love Minocqua, it's one of my favourite parts of the world, even though it was still pretty grey for awhile. We took a boat cruise on the Wisconsin River and saw bald eagles. And stopped in numerous taverns, which is the reason why I've eaten about two pounds of fried cheese curds in the past week. Love cheese curds. LOVE EM.

So I had a relaxing week, and a bit of a vacation, and now I'm back in Chicago, figuring out what the hell to do next. Why is it everytime I lose a job I have an existential crisis about what to DO with my LIIIfE? I've been looking for jobs and polishing up the ol' resume, also, writing, so at least I haven't been bored. More news when I get it.

Meanwhile, Alberto Gonzalez is "resigning." Interesting.

beached.

It was not the firing itself that was so upsetting, but rather the attempt to make me feel better by saying "You're very good at creative writring, but this isn't creative writing." Only--"creative writing" was said so dismissively that I felt like launching myself across the desk and slapping someone in the face.

So. Unemployed.

No friends (right here).

Dislike Chicago.

New play=half finished.

Glass of water=half full.

Sayonara office.

And it's going to be be a beautiful weekend.

action stations!

Mr. S is gone this week, and some of my coworkers have taken it upon themselves to let me know how terrible I'm doing, also, that I'm not qualified for this job, and implying that I'm "just a writer." I was upset earlier, now I'm mad. Because I can do this--I DO do this, I just also happen to be learning on the job, so when I make mistakes it's because I've never done this before, not because I'm an idiot.

This reminds me of Nelson. British naval tradition dictated that there must be a strict hierarchy--even going into battle, the commander's word was law. You sailed in a line against the enemy's line, and the boss gave the signal to attack, retreat, whatever. This would be done by semaphore flag or, occasionally, shouting. After awhile smoke would make it hard to see, so you can imagine how chaotic things would get. Basically, Nelson got famous for flouting this tradition (also, pounding the hell out of the enemy, when gentlemen were only supposed to "best" one another), but also believed in the intelligence of his men. Before the battle of Trafalgar, he had numerous meetings with the other captains to explain his plan to them, over and over and over again until they could recite it in their sleep. Also, he had enough faith in them to say "Pick a ship, knock the snot out of it, and you won't be doing the wrong thing." I'm paraphrasing, of course, but the point is, is that he had enough sense to understand that the men in his command were intelligent enough to make intelligent decisions about their immediate situations.

Anyway. I'm paranoid my efforts this week will get back to Mr. S. via these people who are determined to see the worst in me, and he will realise he made a mistake hiring someone who was not trained to do this job, and I will be back on the street. I wouldn't miss most of my coworkers. I'd miss the one who gave me an article in Lithuanian and told me that Hitler actually saved his country from Stalin. But I like Mr. S, and I like working hard for HIM, so we'll see what happens when he gets back. If the worst happens, at least I'll be free to...ah, crap. Free to start over again.

no one sees what yr doin' thar

I want you all to imagine a pack of cats with their faces pressed against a window paying VERY close attention as the fishmonger walks by.

That's the attitude I've had ever since I heard Karl Rove was resigning from the Bush administration. Handing in his crown, so to speak. I've always been dimly aware that Karl Rove was evil, but lately I've been reading the career-spanning articles, and I'm slightly shocked at how methodical and overarching this man's agenda has been. Nothing less than the overthrow of two-party government? I am horrified--as you know, not the biggest fan of the current administration, but a big fan of American Democracy in general--had the man succeeded, I may have had to wage guerrilla warfare. Thank God for the Iraq War. No--wait--I mean, thank God the righteous right shot themselves in the foot. Of course, it may still come to republican (republican meaning French Revolution) fighting in the streets. Curse the American practicality of eliminating cobblestones! We will have to throw SUVs at them!

What was I saying? Oh--right--so, the evil mastermind is leaving his post, and I am happy, but still impatiently waiting for the day when Nancy Pelosi will rise, Marianne-like (what is it with me and La Revolution today?!) and lead us against the Reign of Terror. (I guess that would make Bush Robespierre. Robespierre shot himself in the face, fyi. Lived to be guillotined, but still.) Democrats of the World! We put you in office for a reason! Knock off this partisan shit and get some stuff accomplished! You have been put on notice.

Karl Rove is Evil here and here.

In other news--Zac Efron, recent love of my life and star of "Hairspray" apparently has a torrid past. Before acting brilliantly in a John Waters-inspired movie adaptation of a hit Broadway show, he was in (wait for it) HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL which I refuse to see on the basis of a) it's a craptacular Disney made for TV movie for God's sake, and b) if your kids are old enough to want to watch musicals, they are old enough for West Side Story. I am torn, however. I want more of Zac Efron singing and dancing (and may I just point out he is eighteen, thankyouverymuch), but the only place I'm going to get it is in--you guessed it--crappy HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL. DAR.

In other news, I think I'm almost over the hangover I picked up somewhere between midnight and four AM Saturday night at my brother's wedding reception. Damn. I did manage to stay on the dance floor as long as my younger cousins, but probably only because I couldn't really feel my legs at that point. Damn. Congrats, bro. I'm so glad you're only getting married once, because I have no more brain cells to spare.

"I thought we were going to go get those Sharks!"

"Not without three years jazz/tap we're not!"

Nobody here is interested in Nelson, including my therapist

I can barely be excited about the fact that I am now a published author. Not one, but TWO of my sparkling gems now reside on the internet:

Everything was Ragtime A review of the book, the movie, the play.

and

On the Beach A scene for two that happens on a beach. Maybe.

Grrrr.

Right--off now. I heard a rumor that there are Turners at the place with the art.

Put Out the Fire

How did this happen?! The AFL-CIO (that’s a labor union) hosted a HUGE debate last night, with most of the Democratic nominees, right here in Chi-town, at Soldier Field!! And I missed it! I didn’t even know anything was going on until I watched the news last night. (Yes, I have a TV right now, which only gets five channels, one of which is, grrr, Fox news, so I don’t watch it much) If only I’d known! I could have gone down there and protested! Why? Why not! At least I could have stood sullenly in front of the “dead-baby-picture-anti-abortion” people, who provided the most priceless soundbite of the evening:

Reporter: Why are you here?
Blonde soccer-mom with two kids: Because it’s wrong. It’s just wrong.

Sure. And making little Brendan and Blair stand outside in ninety-degree heat waving signs that have pictures of aborted fetuses on them is PERFECTLY OKAY.

Compared with the relatively intelligent sounding college student who was out holding a sign that said “Troops Home Now:”

Student: “We’ve heard a lot about bringing some of the troops home, or keeping a small troop presence over there permanently, but what we’re saying is, is it’s time to bring everyone home. That’s what we want: all the troops home from Iraq.”

Easy. Simple. Like the Temperance Movement in the early last century what got Prohibition passed.

Meanwhile, inside, the candidates were vying for the support of the largest labor-union in America. The AFL-CIO has said they’re not ready to declare support for one candidate yet, fair enough, but I think it was great that they hosted a debate so their members could see the candidates firsthand and get to hear what they had to say. For the record, the union also invited the Republican nominees, but no one responded. Since I didn’t see the whole debate (I gotta start watching some of these pretty soon) I’m under the impression that a lot of the talk centered around rebuilding America’s “infrastructure” which means perhaps, oh, I don’t know, fixing New Orleans or maybe rebuilding some of those Eisenhower-era bridges. As opposed to rebuilding Iraq’s infrastructure.

Barack Obama has come under a lot of heat lately for saying things which—while very refreshing—aren’t exactly politically astute. I’m thinking here of his statements last month where he said he would meet unconditionally with leaders from countries who don’t follow US policies, like President Musharref from Pakistan or Hugo Chavez from Venezuela. (I hope I got that right—I didn’t google them this time…) Then there was the statement that he would attack terrorist groups within Pakistan without that country’s permission, if he had “actionable intelligence,” whatever the hell THAT means. I was slightly stunned at the sudden hawkish turn of events, yet…refreshed that someone had the ovaries to come out and say what we’re all thinking instead of dancing around the topic. (Paging Prez. W…Prez. W to the red button, plez…) Hilary Clinton seized on what he said last night, saying (I paraphrase) “Well, it’s easy to make statements like that, but you have to be careful, because things change, and we have a long way to go yet.” (update-I found the quote here: Warning that Pakistan has nuclear weapons that could be used against U.S. interests in a post-Musharraf world, Clinton added: "You can think big, but remember you shouldn't always say everything you think if you're running for president, because it has consequences across the world. And we don't need that right now." )

Part of me wanted to jump on her for basically telling Obama how to do his job, part of me wanted to tell Obama to be more of a politician so he would get elected. But then, if he was more of a politician, he wouldn’t be Barack Obama. I really don’t like Hilary Clinton, she seems as though she’s always judging her actions to ensure she’s making the right movements. Politically we get along fine, although I would have said “Chicago, I’m your candidate!” instead of “Chicago, I’m your girl!” I just wish she wouldn’t forget there are a WHOLE lot of liberals out there who need convincing to vote for HER. After eight years of the Evil Empire, we’ll vote for anyone left of Attila the Hun, but we won’t LIKE IT unless she convinces us.

I know this is already WAAAAY too long for a blog that purports to be about my fabulous self livin’ the high life in the Windy City, but I also wanted to talk about guns today. Last Monday night the Chicago police shot an 18 year old dead, after claiming that he had waved a gun at them, then run away. This latest death is just one more in a loooong line of recent shootings. At least, it feels to me that there has been a lot of gun violence lately, but that could be because I’m used to England where there is violence, yes, but not so many guns. But watching the family and friends of this latest victim hold a rally outside the station where the police officers are stationed, I want an answer to their question: When is it going to end? When are the police in this city going to stop abusing their own people? Of course, I don’t want to defend people who are legitimately defending themselves—but shooting a suspect in the back while he’s running away from you seems slightly, uh, unjustified. The other side of the coin, of course, is a society that is armed to the teeth, which leads to the police suspecting and fearing everyone. The police chief has gone on record as saying the suspect adjusted his waistband, which officers take to be a sign that they are armed. Well, hello, have you seen the fashions lately? TRY and keep your pants up without adjusting your waistbands these days. Hell, even I do it.

No, the problem to me seems to be the one that the NRA and the gun lobby don’t want you to hear: that guns themselves are the cause of violence. It really is a spiral, going from armed officers to armed citizens, but if we take away ALL the guns, then NO ONE gets to play. The other option, the one we have today which clearly isn’t working, has led to suspicion between police and the people they are sworn to protect, so that both groups seem more interested in protecting themselves from the other, instead of working together to root out the truly “bad” elements in society.

I was thinking about buying some Mace the other day—women have been attacked in a neighborhood nearish enough to mine to give me pause—but I decided against it because I don’t want to carry a weapon. I may be afraid, but I’m not going to start carrying something that will give me a false sense of confidence or security. Basically, I don’t want to be part of the problem.

PS: Mace is also illegal in England. Hmmm….

I say...

"when people ask me what I'm bringing to a party, I say, 'I'm bringing the AWESOME!'"

I had a great weekend this week, despite the fact I got stood up on Friday and spent most of Saturday catching up on my sleep. (Two unrelated events.) I re-read Harry Potter 7--the review is coming, so y'all better hurry up and finish--and I went to see the Simpsons movie on Sunday. I thought it was great, especially all the little side jokes to the fans of the show. Truly, the show but in a longer format--but hey, what's wrong with that? I also loved the character of Colin. Because we all know if you are a musical Irish kid who's into saving the planet, odds are on that your father is Bono.

But the best part about this cinema is that its right next to the bookstore that is the Muggle-bookstore-equivalent of Ollivander's wand shop. Think books stacked on each other to create shelves which are stacked with more books, hung with masks, posters, busts of George Washington, McDonald's toys, prints of WWII sailors, commemorative statuettes of Liberty...it's a maze AND a firetrap and I love it. This time I found a book called "Memoirs of Emma, Lady Hamilton, The Friend of Lord Nelson, and the Court of Naples," which was written in 1910, and based largely on her own letters. From this book I have learned two things: 1, Emma could not spell to save her life. 2, in 1910 the world was STILL not ready to deal with Emma's sexual climbing. Whereas I once attended a workshop entitled "Sex in Nelson's London" this book neatly skates over ANYTHING that might hint at flaring ankles or laviscious dropped handkerchiefs. It's a bit like watching "Pride and Predjudice" and turning your moral meter down so that you're completely scandalized when Lydia walks out in her bloomers.

ANYWAY, the whole point of that last paragraph is just to say that the thing that is driving me crazy is the print on the front of the book, which is an engraving of "Admiral Nelson Dancing With Lady Hamilton at the English Embassy, Naples" by H.G. Glindoni. I think to myself "I would like this on my desktop--it will make a nice change from "The Fighting Temeraire is tugged to her last Berth to be Broken Up" by Turner. But when I go online, I cannot find it ANYWHERE! ANYWHERE, I tell you! Even the artist is shrouded in mystery, Wikipedia being staggeringly ignorant about him. Now I'm picqed. I want to know where this painting is and, more importantly, how I can get my hands on a copy, because it's a nice picture. Inoffensively historical, appropriate for bathrooms and your better sort of B&B. I will have it.

In the meantime, something by Glindoni for all you fan fans out there:


and, for all you flan fans:


Meanwhile, I'm off to the library.

"and if they try and stop us, Seaweed, I'll call the en-double-ay-see-pee"

I am not a football fan, but I am a dog fan, so I've been following this Michael Vick case with some interest. One of the interesting aspects of the case is how the animal rights community has made Vick their new posterboy. Most animal rights activists are white, by the way. So when you see a picture of Vick entering courtrooms, you see a large group of white protesters waving signs at him, and opposing them are champions of justice...who are largely black people asking for the right for a black person to receive a fair trial in this country. And yesterday I read an opinion article where the author was fuming about how the NAACP is "protecting" Michael Vick , the dog-abusing murderous scum. They were angry that a group would close ranks merely because of the colour of a person's skin.

Gentle readers, personal opinions aside, Michael Vick is innocent until proven guilty. THAT'S what the NAACP is protecting--the right for someone to be judged in a courtroom, not on the streets outside by a pack of wild animal rights activists. I'm not fighting for Vick's right to abuse dogs, but I am fighting for his right to a fair trial. Regardless of skin colour.

43%...and gaining

I just read in the latest opinion poll that Senator Clinton is ahead of Senator Obama for the Democratic National Party's nomination for 2008, 43% to 22%. Part of me is sad that the Chosen Candidate is behind, but then again, I don't feel like I'm losing, because if she wins, we get a woman in the White House! Whoo! And Obama can try again in eight years. Or--better yet, esteemed Senator from New York, how about picking Obama as your running mate? You're complaining about Obama's lack of experience, well what better way to get him experienced up than by making him VP?

I was seriously considering buying an Obama T-shirt the other day (they have ones priced at $20.08--cuuuuute), but the website makes clear that this is a campaign donation, and I just don't know if I'm ready for that kind of a commitment yet. What I really need is a T-shirt that says "Obama For President! (but Hilary's OK too!)" Because seriously, at this point, it's like having M&Ms on your ice-cream sundae because they're out of crushed Oreos.

OMG I TOTALLY DID NOT MEAN IT LIKE THAT. hahahahaha.... I mean....uh, oops. :)Oh my God, I am going to hell.

Meanwhile, in other news, the Sunni faction of the Iraqi Cabinet, about six ministers in all, have resigned due to the fact that the Iraqi President Nouri al-Maliki, has not met the goals established by their political party. I don't understand how resigning from the government is going to help you establish your goals any better, unless you're planning on setting up your own governing body in, say a Sunni stronghold and then seceding from the Union, but at first read this kind of felt like the Sunnis got sand kicked on them and were now taking their ball and going home. I hope I'm not coming across as impatient and derisive, but in my opinion I would want to stick around, if for no other reason than to see what's going down. I'm fairly certain that eventually Iraq is going to end up being several smaller countries, but at this point the US is holding the country together at gunpoint, so it is probably best to stay close to where the action is. (lest you think I'm being insensitive, read a better article about Iraq bipartisan ship here.)

No noose is good noose, as Mel Brooks once said, but I also hear tell that the President W and Secretary of War-oops-I-mean-State Rice are planning on selling weapons to certain states in the Middle East to help them combat terrorists. Among the states listed are Israel, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and (potentially) Pakistan. I'm sure when this idea was starting to make the rounds someone brought up that one time we sold arms to Afghanistan and Iraq, possibly with the comment that surely things will certainly go better this time. Arg.