A Blog is a Treat

Oh, man. So, so, so much is wrong with this fucking cnn.com article.

Mostly the headline, frankly. Because the giant majority of the article quotes four different sources (a person who wrote her masters thesis on the topic, a film-maker whose documentary on the subject is used by the Department of Defence, a professor of psychology, and someone who made a popular website on the topic which then spawned two other similar sites that the article mentioned, though I think it’s actually way more than that) discussing how and why this shit is, uh, “creepy,” as cnn puts it, or “threatening,” “harrassment,” “street abuse,” “an invasion of space,” “potentially dangerous,” something that “increases self-objectification,” “causes women to fear for their safety,” and could “escalate to assault,” according to these interviewed experts, not a SINGLE FUCKING ONE OF WHOM uses the word “creepy” at ANY FUCKING POINT. Their one dissenting point of view, their tick in the “compliment” column, is a “health-care educator” who refused to give her last name. (It’s in sarcastic quotation marks because I’m wondering exactly what and who she teaches. She mentions, laughingly, still getting cat-calls even when she’s not dressed sexily, and is quoted obliviously as thinking, “Boy, doesn’t take much to impress you, does it?” Which indicates that she has no idea of the psychology behind cat-calling. So if they’re trying to imply that she’s, like, a mental-health educator or a sexual-health educator, then they’re, ah, wrong. What I’m picturing is the dental assistant who goes to elementary schools and hands out those little pink tablets after the doctor that she’s blowing on the side gives his talk about brushing properly.)

Arg. It seems like whenever I post feminist-rage things about cnn I always think, “Okay, this’ll just be a super-quick one!” But then I get furious and write for 2 hours and accuse dental hygenist assistants of blowing people.

Anyway, that’s not even really the reason I wanted to link to the article. The reason I wanted to link to the article is for the last four paragraphs:

According to existing studies and her own findings, Kearl says, some men are simply ignorant about how their behavior is perceived. Kearl, who completed her thesis, “Direct Action, Education, Consciousness-Raising, Activism and the Internet: Methods for Combating Street Harassment,” last year, thinks posting on Web sites like HollaBackNYC is preferable to resorting to anger and violence.

“A lot of men have no idea that women don’t like being talked to in this way,” she said. “It never crosses their mind, and yelling doesn’t educate them. If you yell, they often don’t understand why you are upset and so they take it personally.”

Often, Kearl says, an assertive, clear response can elicit a kinder reaction than one expects.

“A lot of the time, I find guys will just say, ‘Oh, OK, I didn’t realize it made you feel that way. Thanks.’ ”

That shit had me ell-oh-ell-ing my furious little head off. If you pulled that shit in Spanish Harlem - “Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t tell me my tits bounce pretty sweet when I walk, thanks. It’s just that I find it a bit objectifying.” - well - actually I don’t even know what would happen to you then. Hopefully it’ll only get you raped.

EDIT: I just now noticed another thing wrong with this article: the photo. (Yeah, headless/faceless body representing a woman, uniformed pack of men, woman is serving them, men are shown as the ones having fun, etc etc, but what I mean is -) Are they…soccer hooligans? Also…is the guy on the far right, ah, floating?

Today there was a tie for Worst Person in the World!

First, we have “thorazine.”

“thorazine” enjoys things such as “laughter.” I, personally, do not enjoy laughter. I will not respond to his personal ad. Also, anyone who says they “can’t live without intellectual discussions” has never had one.

However, also contending for this coveted title today is “uwhusky_girl.”

She…deleted FOX? From her, uh, remote control? What? What does that even mean? “No, she didn’t” is what it means, I think. On the other hand, you’ve kind of got to cut the poor girl some slack. I mean - your son? Really? You thought it would be a good idea to include a picture of your 10 year old son in your online personal ad? And, uh, “husky girl?” Look, I understand that it’s a reference to your old University of Washington aliances or whatever, but - just - don’t call yourself “husky girl” in a personal ad, you know? Trust me.

Everybody in RI has this weird vocal tic: “You all set?” It’s just a goofy little regional placeholder type of thing, like “Ayuh” in Maine or “Ai mami you got some ass on you” in Spanish Harlem. And I haven’t quite yet figured out exactly what it means.

Waiters ask it of you to mean, “Are you ready to order?” and “Are you done eating?” or possibly, “Do you want the check?” or maybe, “Do you need some more time?” It’s kind of hard to tell. And cashiers ask it and I think it means, like, “Hi” and “So I guess you’re going to buy this glue stick here, huh?” and “How are you?” And it kind of demands a response, too, which is disconcerting. And they say it really fast and it’s hard to understand, sort of, so you always want to say, “What?” and then they kind of laugh at you, and…it’s all very difficult.

Also, I’m no marketing major or nuthin’, but I think that maybe they could get a better slogan for their public school system.

So, I don’t know if I’ve maybe mentioned this 800 times previously, but Providence is fucking BORING, yo.  “Store 24″ is open until 2 AM (it’s a city law!), there are two Starbucks in the whole world, the mall is happenin’, and the only half-decent bar we’ve found yet was closed last Friday night when we went by there at midnight.  On the other hand, not one single person has tried to grab my tit yet, so.  There’s your trade-off.  Also?  At least one truly excellent bike path.

We put on our adorable helmets, strapped our ridonkulously superfluous 30-pound steel chains around our middles, and had a wholesome 30-mile Saturday afternoon!

A little map of the path, with handy numbered unicorns corresponding to Fabulous Photos and Exciting Stories!!! Oh, boy! A world of wonder awaits you!

1 - The very beginning of the path! We knew that this was going to be 14 (and a half!) miles each way, but we weren’t super-determined to ride the entire thing. We packed a lunch. It was sunny. We’re very wholesome.

The beginning of the path was pretty, but only because we hadn’t seen the end of the path yet. There were lovely sweeping vistas of the Providence River and all of the industrial machinery that it contains.

The path itself is super-well-maintained. It looks exactly like a highway, except smaller, so that one could pretend that one was a giant.

Ian is a real big fan of showing that he does not need to use his hands. Jessica plays it safe with the controls at 10 and 2!

2 - The path goes through four different towns, none of which is even “Providence,” which I think makes us pretty much Lance Armstrong, and makes Rhode Island the size of the Manhattan Mall. Perhaps you are starting to get hungry as you pass into the next city? Perhaps you have a man-sized craving for Hot Weiners? (Which, incidentally, I’ve discovered are some sort of RI delicacy involving “meat sauce” and, er, celery salt. Peep the photo. Actually, peep recipe, too. Step Two: “Next put mustard onto the weiner.”)

3 - The deceptively ill-photographed but actually very pretty Brickyard Pond. We considered stopping here for lunch, because at this point we didn’t quite know yet that we were superheroes who could bike for 7 billion miles, but we went on. Next time we’ll stop for a break. It’s nice there.

At one point, Ian acquired a ladybug stow-away. She rode with him for a couple of miles, and he chatted with her, and a Serious Biking Person in one of those bright-green Spandex shirts caught him doing it.

4 - The Fruity Cow! Pretty much the highlight of the entire day!!! Worth the trip! It was right on the bike path, with a little window there specifically for the bikers to go to, staffed by adorable perky 15 year olds who were obviously flirting with each other just before I arrived. They had all this faux-healthy fruity ice creamy stuff! We stopped there twice! I got a strawberry margarita smoothie on the way there, and a honeydew melon popsicle (they call them Palatas and they come in all sorts of interesting flavors, including habenero) on the way back. Excellent!

5 - We found a neat park-type thing somewhere in Warren. Actually, it wasn’t even all that neat, it was just kind of a bit of water and a baseball field. But there was this really awesome camel-hump thing in a path!

It somehow looks less spectacular here in the photo, but we didn’t even know it was there at first, and please trust me when I say that I cursed and squealed quite embarrassingly as I approached that dip for the first time. And then we turned around and did it four more times!

We also decided to stop there by the water and have our picnic. We’re adorable. (Note the stripes on my head where my hair sticks up through the holes in my helmet. That’s how you can tell that I’m cool.)

6 - Soon after lunch we came across the McIntosh Wildlife Refuge and Audubon Society Something Something Center. It was a lot of tall grass and a wooden boardwalk that went on for miles and miles and miles and then sort of ended and didn’t do anything.

We saw a butterfly, I guess?

You weren’t supposed to ride your bike on the walkway. It was boring.

The last few miles were the prettiest. Lots of wildflowers and nice fences and prettiness and smelling good and Ian still not using his hands.

7 - And, yay, that’s about the end of it.

…Except for turning around and doing the WHOLE FUCKING THING OVER AGAIN IN REVERSE.

So everyone come visit Providence! We have two living rooms and no bars and 30 miles of bike trail. Woot.

Also, here’s a picture of me, because I look pretty in it:

You’re welcome.

Job search update: looking up!

Feminist rage update:

First of all, am I allowed to be annoyed at this? I’m pretty sure this is annoying. Ian and I recently signed up for our very first-ever joint bank account. Signing into the online banking system for the first time is kind of a hassle, and one of the things that pops us is this:

This was absolutely positively nothing I had previously set. They just assumed that because I was opening a joint account, I was, one, married, and two, rich enough and Americanized enough to have taken a honeymoon to a different city. Am I overreacting? I may be. I was annoyed at their website even before this little gem popped up.

Other feminist rage news, though:

For about a million years I’ve been annoyed by the trope of naming a novel “The BLANK’S Daughter” or “The BLANK’S Wife” or something like that. It is absolutely 100% the very epitome of defining a woman solely via the men in her life. Especially since, apparently, the whole damn novel is about her! But no! She’s only her father’s daughter, or her husband’s wife. I know, I know, this is kind of a very Women’s Studies 101 type of thing to be annoyed about, but these titles are soooooooo common. And I guess, like with the Bank of America thing, I have another reason to be annoyed at them, anyway: they’re consistently fucking stupid. It’s always dumbass soap opera shit, where, like, it’s 1954 and some lady is pregnant and in love with the black man down the street and her husband is sleeping with his secretary and I assure you, nobody fucking cares, you know?

Anyway. For a while I was planning on beginning a collection of these books. Then I realized I don’t want to actually own them. So then I just figured I’d get them from the library and write long annoyed blog entries about them. But then I read one of them and realized how awful they were. (The one I read was The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, which was, I shit you not, actually made into a Lifetime movie. In this book, it’s 1964 and some lady is pregnant and in love with her husband but then he gives one of her babies away because it’s a ree-ree and I assure you, nobody fucking cares.) So I’m just collecting their photos is all.

Here are a few, taken at the Prov public library and the Borders in the Prov mall:

An older example! This was copyright 1956, I think. Photo taken at a bookstore a block away from where I live.

(I’ve actually gotten all sorts of good stuff in this dollar bin - Johnny Got His Gun and Naked Lunch and I Never Promised You a Rose Garden and some other stuff. It’s a very decent dollar bin. I almost bought this.)

So Ian and I just watched The Lost Boys 2: The Tribe via Netflix.

I will NOT appologize for this! This movie was soooooo close to not being awful! Like, srsly! All this movie needed was a quick re-write by ME and then a quick watch of the dailies by a fan and a nerd, who could have pointed a few things out and ordered re-shoots. This movie had so many jokes that were almost funny, and so many scenes and characters that were almost really clever homages. Even the plot itself almost could have been interesting!

Oh, sigh. I SO could have fixed this. And you know what, cast and crew of Lost Boys 2: The Tribe? I would have done this for free. You TEWTELLY could have gotten a theatre release out of me.

Alas, it was not so.

Anyway -

Ian claimed then that he could name 10 other better vampire movies than the first — the FIRST(!!!) — Lost Boys! I defied him to do so! He came up with:

Interview With the Vampire (maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe…)
Blade
Blade 2
Blade 3 (pfffff!)
Underworld
Underworld 2 (sigh - I would have given him these just out of charity…)
Bram Stoker’s Draucula (this is the first one I am unequivocably agreeing with)
Shadow of the Vampire (ugh - okay, the second, but this is almost cheating)
Once Bitten (he’s just naming vampire movies at this point)
The Vampire Lestat (ha! okay! that’s fine!) [ED: okay, it was actually called Queen of the Damned]

Anyway. My argument is that the original Lost Boys was coooooool most importantly (certainly far cooler than any stupid Interview With the Vampire victorian homo-erotic gothy lameness), and also wasn’t really that horrible as a vampire movie. Like, the mythology was a little weird (killing the sire kills all of his…um…sireees?), but it was cute. (And anyway, I tewtelly, fully support stupid mythology that makes for good movie: “No two blood suckers go out the same way: some yell and scream, some go quietly, some explode, some implode…but all will try and take you with them.”) And, I don’t know. I can’t possibly be the only 27-year-old who has old masturbation fantasies about “Cry Little Sister,” right? (Which - was also sort of both the best and the worst of the sequel! Because: getting some adorable pop-punk band to cover that song for the new movie? AWESOME! But geting a boring, lame-o post-punk band to do so in a way that makes it sound exACTLY the same as the orignal? No. [This is one of those things that a quick re-write via me would have fixed! Not like Bowling for Soup's doing that much these days, right?] Also, making into a really, really, really unsubtle statement about the younger sister character getting fucked? Boooooo-rinnnnnnnng!) (Also, you know what else? Asking us, the audience, to identify with the older brother? And then giving the younger sister a really long and dirty and intricate sex scene? Ne pas cool, man. Ne pas cool.)

Oh, blah blah. That’s all I got. The real question is: am I wrong about The Lost Boys? (Heh. Trick question! I know I’m not!!!) And also: what other vampire movies might be able to compare? I know that zombie movies have been getting all the attention lately. What do the vampire fans have to say?

BEST.  EPISODE.  EVER.

First of all, can they please just pick up a third curly-haired interesting black lady for the final three?  And, like, skip the rest of the stupid episodes?  And instead, just show these three ladies, like, chatting and drinking whiskey-drinks and making brightly colored pretty things?

And second of all -

“You can tell her that you’ve been to a different rodeo.  And don’t you know what with me, sister.”

Fuck you, everything else in the whole world: you’ve just been relegated to second place.

This is a post that I’ve been sitting on for a very long time. I first wanted to write it maybe a little less than a year ago, but Ian talked me out of it. He said I could post it after I left my then-current place of employment, so here it is.

Where I used to work, you cannot save anything to your personal computer. (Er…sort of - this isn’t really super-technically true, but the system is set up to try to discourage it.) Every document that gets created, in particular, must be saved to the shared servers. When you save a document, you have the choice to either put security on it, so that only you (or you and any specific people you designate) can see it, or you can leave it open and unsecured, so that anyone else on the system can search for it and open it. I don’t really know why anyone would choose this second option - especially for a personal document! - but oh, I very much did appreciate that people did.

One of my very favorite bored-at-work games was to search the titles of documents on the system for keywords such as “eng 101″ and “paper” and “school” and etc. (One of the women I worked with wrote erotic vampire fiction. I’m not even making fun of this woman, either - shit was dirty and not that bad at all.)

The following is probably my all-time favorite find from playing this keyword-search game. It should be noted, please, that I am not making fun of a person for whom English is a second language. The person who wrote this is a grown-up, American-born, English-speaker, with no known brain damages. Furthermore, this person is an experienced legal secretary in one of the largest, richest, most famous law firms in the world. All of it, of course, is [sic]ed.

At first I had wanted to post this with snarky commentary, but it got too long. So instead, I just decided to illustrate it.

Incidentally, while you’re reading, here’s another fun game to play: which sentences in this essay are direct parroted quotations from this person’s professor’s lectures, which are plagiarized from the description on the back of the book, and which were actually freshly written by this secretary?

(I dedicate this post to Isley, and all of the awesome papers he has found working in the library.)

The Secret Agent, to me is a novel about isolation, secrecy and futility. All the characters have secrets and are kept, or keep themselves, in ignorance of the lives of people and of the mechanisms of society. The novel is not so much political anarchism as a story set in an already anarchic society, where the characters can not see what is really going on. All the characters in the novel are unsympathetic. Us, the readers know the secrets they are unaware of, and our knowledge, contrasted with their ignorance, creates the ironic distance I view them from.

Verloc is just a safe provider to Winnie, and Winnie is a costly possession to Verloc, though they both believe they are loved for their own sake. They are not in accord with each other, they are unable to communicate, and the result is tragedy. The death of Stevie they are completely unable to communicate on a meaningful level.

Vladimir is a man in a high position but cannot be trusted. He is accepted in good society, but is willing to use the same means as the Professor to reach his goal.

I have not come across a book that explores the mysteries between men and women both sensual and intellectual as Women in Love. Ursula and Gudrun are these essential sisters looking for love and they find it.

Ursula finds her love in Rupert Birkin who is a school inspector and Ursula finds hers in Gerald who not only creates technology but brings it home.

Gerald is a man that can never find satisfaction. He has to live with the fact that he killed his brother and the his father dying he is lost. Ursula believes love is everything and Rupert ????.

Gerald and Gudrun have this dominating relationship where someone wins and someone loses. The idea of Gerald being attractive to Rupert boggles my mind. Coming from the 19th Century “men in love” is dysfunctional. When Gerald is lying so coldly dead Birkin is thinking to himself that he had loved him.

Men can achieve a transformed relationship in there in own way, more mind and soul. I feel Rupert and Gerald have the desire in their hearts to be together. There is no conclusion in Women in Love. Lawrence ends it with a discussion that can go on for chapters or even into another book.

The two novels in my view can not be similar. Where (SA) the characters are idealistic revolutionaries, ruthless ideologues, bureaucratic police, and at the center, and undercover, counter revolutionary mole whose mission is to provoke the radical group he has penetrated into a monstrous act of violence that will bring about its own destruction. In this world of plot and counterplot, identities are deception and glowing slogans mask savage realities.

The characters become more helpless puppet of forces beyond control until one women’s love, grief, and anger rips through the entire fabric of the conspiracy with a passionate, profoundly human act. The character Stevie brings me back to the roles in (GE). But it is more Winnie that brings me back. Winnie’s relationship to Stevie, she could bear to see the boy hurt. The death of Steve, Verloc and Winnie had only a minor affect, it was more a domino effect. One could not stand without the other. The title itself (SA) does not draw me to the novel. The whole embassy and taking place during the war. Know (WIL) is two women’s love instead of one. Gerald is a man that can never find satisfaction. Civilization is the dance of death, it has an impact or served its purpose.

Being an inexperienced reader of Conrad and Lawrence I find myself becoming lost in their descriptions, and lose the story line in the process. The Sorrow Ace is a dead end world. I could not get into nor understand it.

It’s been a long time coming!  And…and, well, Ian was still not willing to give up any part of his precious cooking experience to me quite yet. But I came closer! To being…

The GrillMan!

Tacos al Pastor! (Which sounds fancier than “pork tacos!”) Ian did his girl-part in the kitchen with his little marinade or whatever. (Which, incidentally - looked like blood and awful.)

(Also incidentally? Here in RI we get a channel on basic cable called “Chiller,” which showcases solely highly-edited horror shows and movies: mostly sketch-type shows like Tales from the Darkside and the Hitchcock Hour and Tales from the Crypt and Friday the 13th: the Series and Night Gallery. Which you THINK you’d be all excited about [if, erm, you were me], but which, actually, are kind of boring and stupid, for the most part, along with some really really highly-edited movies, which feature Jason stalking someone with a big pointy metal pole, him heaving it hard toward them, them screaming in close-up and then looking down, and then a cut to commercial. But if you COULD see their torso? It might look like Ian’s marinade. Yeah. That’s right. That’s where that story was going. Yeahhhh.)

<ian> This is the fruit of regime change.  In place of wild tangents about cooking tv shows, you get snore-or fan-girl ramblings.  Four more years!  Four more years! </ian>

But, actually - maybe it’s time now to admit that this particular food blog had to be conducted in two parts. The first part was what a lesser GrillMan might call a “failure.” And this GrillMan takes responsibility for her missteps, and so she blames no one but - the previous GrillPerson, Ian. Because that fucker was all like, “Oh, we probably don’t need very many coals,” and then the fire got up to a whopping 40 degrees Fahrenheit, and then we changed our minds and decided to broil everything in the oven.

<ian> I was full of shame. </ian>

The broiled taco components were tasty, for sure…

<ian> Then I was full of tacos! </ian>

and yet, we couldn’t help but think that they would have been better off the grill. What do you have to say for yourself, previous GrillPerson!

<ian> FAIL </ian>

Tewtelly.

So we tried again two days later. And, yeah, overthrowing a despot is fucking hard, and that guy still wouldn’t leave me alone, really. But at least this time we used 8 million coals, so that’s something. And a chimney! Which was fancy.

Incumbent GrillMan examines her work:

The chimney was actually a really brilliant idea. I think we actually let it go too long, which, er…made the coals too cool too soon, yet again. But they were hot for a little while!

The little lady brought me a beer while I was grillin’.

The best part of the chimney is that at some point you get to pour fire!

We made some mango, this time, in addition to the pineapple, mostly because we had a mango sitting on the kitchen counter that was on the verge of going bad.

The pineapple really was just perfect with the pork. I guess that’s kind of obvious: the whole Hawaii thing? But the onion-and-cilantro relish was perfect, too. And that’s also boring and obvious: “hey, onion, whatever,” but the thing is, all three things were so perfect together. Like, regular homemade salsa just wasn’t as good as the cilantro-and-onion relish. And mango wasn’t as good as the pineapple. The recipe really was pretty much perfectly balanced to be together, and substitutions were not welcome.

(Which is not to say that things like tomato-based salsa and guac were not delicious with the pork, but they were best separately, without the pineapple. It was sort of an almost-opposite of the “greedy bite” phenomenon: you had to search out and find the correct bites to take together; their sums were not necessarily greater than their parts.)

Old GrillPerson - what did you think this time around??

I dunno. Ultimately? I’m still not super-duper-best-ever thrilled with this dish. The coals were still less than perfect, even the second time around. What I really wanted was for the sauce and also the meat itself to be blackened, and it never got that way. A nice black firey crust would have vastly improved the taste of the meat. It was fiiiiine as is, but…meh. Obviously not the way it was intended, I think. Worked great with the pineapple and relish, though. The tastes were right, just not, like, perfected. Still. Tacos. I don’t think I’ve met a taco I didn’t desperately need to devour, you know?

<ian>  Agreed.  The seriouseats post also mentions the desire for crusty-burned bits in every bite, and it seems we agree.  We need more heat on the barbie.  I trust you with this task, new Grillmaister! </ian>

Mission humbly accepted.

Ooo ooo ooo!

I totally called it, you guys!!!