Thursday, September 30, 2004

Jeebus! Debate Madness!

Alright, alright. OF COURSE I just watched the debate. For the record, I thought Kerry kicked some ass!

Why, you say? Because he had answers while Bush shuffled around. Because all Bush had was "you can't support the troops while you change positions" (rearrange twenty times & you'll have all of Bush's rebuttals.) Because Kerry came off like a smart man while Bush came off like a jackass. Yadda yadda. Do we want a Jackass leading the country? No. THAT'S why I think Kerry kicked some ass.

Yet, I did an informal poll around the hood (let me tell ya, that's fun to do on the beer run following the debate.)

Total, in my working class (not welfare class, WORKING class) nabe in the Bronx?

5 Kerry, 1 Bush. 1 admitted non-voter. 1 whom I suspect is a non-voter (i.e., I don't think he has citizenship. My friendly local Pakistani 7-Eleven merchant.) That makes three Kerry, one Bush. Two were hollaed at from my fire escape.

"What, me?"
"Yeah! Who you like, Bush or Kerry?"
"For President! Bush or Kerry!"
"Yo, gimme Kerry."
"Word. Have a good night!"

One on line at the 7-Eleven (on said beer run).

"Did you watch the debate? I'm doing an informal poll."
"Naw, I was working."
"Who do you like? Bush or Kerry?"
"Aw, gimme Kerry. Defnitley Kerry. Anybody but the other guy."

And the lone Bush supporter, the first that I asked:

"Hi, I'm doing a highly informal poll. Do you like Bush or Kerry?"
"Why is that?"
"Well, you know the other guy, you don't know where he stands. Bush can take out the terrorists."
"Okay. Did you watch the debate just now?"
"I did. I can't trust Kerry."
"Okay. Thanks for talking to me! Have a great night!"

Three beers in her Katie is outgoing Katie.

In other news, I haven't posted lately cause I've been busy as a motherfucker.

Dog walking? I have a new client. He's the gay Thurston Howell the III. WASP to the hilt. Thoroughly annoying - talks to me like a child, assumes I'm incompetent. Jesus Christ. Calls me three times a day to make sure I'm not shutting his dog's tail in an elevator. But he's paying me a couple hundred a week. Worth the trauma. Actually told me, during our first meeting, that he uses the Village Voice to clean his dog's shit because that's all it's good for. Chahhhhhrrrrming.

Tim? We're all good. I was a little bit PMS-ey, I think. Sorry. I'll forgoe PMSing blog posts from now on, much like the Mormon blog posts. So unsexy. Eeeee!

Sunday, September 26, 2004

Oh, and Bill O'Reilly was a slick move, too....

So, did you know Bill O'Reily supports:

- Gay marriage? Rather, civil unions for everyone, hetero OR gay?
- Gay adoption? (In the worst case, kid's goin to foster care, scenario?) Wait -n doesn't everyone beleive in that? He actually said "a loving gay family, as opposed to the system".

And disputes:

- The war in Iraq?
- The lies and/or misinformation regarding WMD's?
-The automatic christening of George W. Bush?

The Bill O'Reilly interview on 60 Minutes was unexpectedly flattering. I was surprised.


Oh, and lest you think this is a girly, "my boyfriend did that bad thing.." blog...

Way to save face, 60 Minutes! The whole "AL Zarqawi is bad. Forget those Bush Nat'l Guard memos..." was way smooth. You even got Powell in there, telling the U.N. that Zarqawi is bad in IRAQ. Good call. Make the conservatives dig you again. So many smart producers... except for that one, FEMALE one, 'cause everyone knows she sucks for the lack of fact-checking...


Remember that quiz I was so psyched up about? The one that said I was a firebrand? According to that quiz, our problems are mostly my fault. That quiz was so right. Here are Tim's results.

You are a XPIT--Expressive Practical Intellectual Taker. This makes you a Manager.

You are cool, thoughtful and intelligent. Your approach and your sense of humor are under-the-radar, your charm is undeniable. You keep everything under control. You have distinctive vocal mannerisms. You may not have much interest in approaching strangers, but when you do, you are successful.

You will probably end up with someone beautiful, fascinating and off-balance. While your partner may steal the limelight, it's you that keeps things running smoothly and provides stability in your relationship. If you are with someone as contemplative and hard-headed as you, you can have a tough time.

Your greatest asset is that you tackle conflict as it rises -- you don't ignore it and let it brew. If you have a partner that *does* let it brew, it will make you crazy! You can find yourself fighting for two -- trying to anticipate your partner's needs and draw their feelings out -- which is exhausting and, well, not your job.

You would never cheat. You would make an excellent spouse. When your spouse's friends met you, they would think, "Crap, why couldn't I get that one?"

Of the 107668 people who have taken this quiz, 6 % are this type.

Man, why the fuck am I such a girl?

Sexless In The City

I've added a couple of new things to my blogroll. (Actually, I constantly add new things to my blogroll. I just wanted to talk about these.)

Kinky Bitch


Dear Buster

Why do I want to talk about these? 'Cause they're sexy. Oh, and I'm lacking the sexy.

I went out and had a few beers with an old friend a few nights ago. It was fun. He told me I have the brain of a man trapped in a woman's body (which makes sense, considering that fucking gender genie thing - did I mention that before? That stupid gender genie thing that everyone's linking to is convinced I'm a man. It's like the Christina Aguillera SNL, in the Sex & The City final episode sketch, and she's Samantha, and all "I'm a maaaan..."). But, uh, I don't have the brain of a man - at least, it's well-tempered by estrogen. Because I freak out like only a girl can freak out.

This particular old friend also happens to be an old flame, so to speak, even though we still hang out and have a good old time as friends (without any specific benefits other than general friendship). Friendship notwithstanding, I spent most of that night fending off perceived sexual tension, mostly by talking about Tim a lot.(if either of you are reading this, it's ME! All me! Because I'm crazy and perceive sexual tension in the strangest of places! So, don't feel weird. or bad. or jealous. Or whatever. That's the ticket - just feel 'whatever'.)

So, the thing with me & Tim? It's been a few years. We're tired out by the usual things you must do to maintain a decent standard of living. You know, work and dishes and helping with the homework and cooking the dinner and so forth. All of our friends, wise enough in their younger years NOT to have gotten accidentally pregnant, are childless, and still have time to go into drama mode over a new boy, or to go to the bars at night and try to get laid with new girls. Or whatever it is single people without children do - I can't remember.

We don't have time for any of the above. We also fight a lot, mostly because we're both really stubborn and both like getting our own way just a bit too much. We don't find each other particularly sexy anymore. Sometimes one of us is sad and the other doesn't get it and gets kind of angry because the other thinks it must be something they did, but they're so tired form DOING all of the necessary things that they can't figure out what else they possibly COULD do so that the other wouldn't be sad. We love each other - very much - but sometimes we forget and say mean things, things like "I don't think this relationship is going anywhere - I don't see us doing anything like getting married - and we fight all the time, so maybe we ought to just forget about it." It's not much like a new, young people's relationship at all.

So, uh, all this old people relationship stuff leads to not-as-much-sex-as-Katie-needs to function like a normal human being. Trust me, it's a lot. I think the longest I've ever gone without was when I was single and pregnant (what, you wouldn't want to hook up with the single pregnant chick? You're kidding!) and even that was only about five or six months. I realized the other day that I haven't been single since Kiernan was six months old - he's eight now. (oh, and if that sounds weird, you have to know the back story. Mom & Dad didn't start operating as Mom AND Dad until a few years ago.)

Alright, alright, enough with the kvetching. Back to the old friend. This particular old friend ALSO happened to bring along a gift - a finely rolled parcel of mind-obliterating Jamaican ganja. Tim & I haven't smoked any pot in a LONG, looooooonnnnggg time. We're responsible parents & all of that. (Mostly, that just means we don't have any connections or extra cash anymore. It was a very nice gift.)

I came home. We smoked it (only half - we had to put the thing down without finishing...)

And for that night and the next, SEXFEST! Yay! The world has never been so at ease as when a certain two people were able to forget all of the anxiety causing, life-sucking stress and debt and crap that we try to wrap our poor tired brains around every single day and just get to fucking. Oh, and their fat bellies. They were able to forget about their fat bellies as well.

But the joint is gone now, and it's back to sexless in the city. Because we love each other, but we're tired, and stressed, and in debt, and too busy doing dishes and taking the dog out to pee. Blahrg.

So, then another, different, old friend calls, and she's all a tizzy about this new boy that she met on the internet who came to see her. And I'm all, "That's great! Aren't you happy?" And she's all, "Ooooh, I don't know..." and I couldn't carry on the conversation because I had to leave and go see a dog walking client, but I kept thinking about it for the rest of the day. I kept thinking things like, "Wow, that didn't make her happy? Why not? She'd probably die if she had to live in this house..." and other assorted negative crap. I'm very good at highlighting otherwise forgotten negative crap.

So, this morning, Tim crawled out of bed and climbed on the train at some un-godly hour, oh, five a.m. or so? (Do you wonder why he's not doling out the attention? That's why.) And he went to work while I snuggled in our big empty bed, with all of the pillows and blankets all to myself and the dog curled on top of my feet and keeping them nice and warm. And at 9:30, the phone rang, and I leaned over to answer it because I was just starting a slow, weekend awakening.

It was Tim. For no other reason than that he was thinking about me curled up in bed.

And what kind of asshole am I? I'm sitting there second guessing the poor guy.

"Why are you calling? For no reason? Huh?"

Tim told me, rightly so, that I have to stop projecting other people's negative perceptions about their relationships onto my relationship.

I just think I'm flat out, no holds barred crazy, and I don't understand. Do I need a shrink (uh, yeah, that goes without saying.) Do I need something beyond that? What? AAArg!

This is the real answer. I would have been with Tim for three years this Thanksgiving. I am a serial monogamist. Three years is my limit. I've kicked every man who's ever lasted that long to the curb within a month (give or take) of the three year anniversary. This one has a child with me. This one is a lot harder to just ditch. I think I'm scared shitless, but I'm not quite sure. Insight, anyone? Non-objective third party advice? Stiff slugs of whiskey? Or maybe more of that Jamaican stuff?

Any of the above would be appreciated. Yikes, what a crazy bitch.

Thursday, September 23, 2004

Peace Train

Cat Stevens:

Pacifist singer / songwriter. Performed a gazzilion floaty mellow happy hippy songs, including Peace Train, Wild World and the soundtrack to Harold and Maude.

A.K.A. Yusuf Islam, widely feared international Islamic fundamentalist terrorist honcho.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Did you see what all this Mormon talk did to my ads? Dear God...

Brooks commented on the last post:

Mormons kind of creep me out.

Ha! As well they should.

No, seriously, Mormons - and this is not my independent opinion, but also that of several friends who have spent significant time out on the left coast - are some of the friendliest, nicest, most sincere people around. The nicest people to be found who also consider caffeine consumption to be a sin to be reckoned with.

Ex-Mormons will tell you how creepy they are. Born agains will tell you they worship the devil. I'll tell you I'm an atheist, but it's not because of them (I blame the liberal arts degree in philosophy. It'd be tough to make it through as a believer unless one had a serious stranglehold on one's faith which, needless to say, I did not.)

I've also noticed a big ex-Mormon presence in the blogosphere lately. Dooce, of couse, and her fine husband Blurbomat; I've heard This Fish is on the same page; hell, even Tony Pierce is talking about his friend's motorcycle riding ex-Mormon roomate.

I have to qualify my Mormon experience by saying that we were East cost Mormons, part of a congregation full of converts, as opposed to West coast Mormons, for whom belief in the Book of Mormon and the imbibing of Sprite and 7-Up with every meal is akin to a genetic code. East coast Mormons are like garden variety Sunni Muslims; West coast Mormons are more Wahabi jihadists with blond hair and a smile.

So, I started seeing through the "a woman's place is to make a comfortable home and to stand by the decisions of the head of the family (preferably while happily married and pumping out babies by, say, 25)" and the tithes as extortion (you're supposed to give 10% of all your income to the church, much like a collection plate. Only you have to put it in a little envelope with your name on it and if the Bishop notices yours has been a little light lately, well, no youth Temple trip for you!) at a relatively early age.

The political agenda kind of bothered me, too; as I said, we were converts, and my parents were good old fashioned New England liberal academics. They had me pretty indoctrinated at an early age -- I could recognize Jimmy Carter by sight in 1977, when I was, what, three? It stands to reason that a church so enamored of family values, pioneer spirit and apple pie at the pot luck dinner would have a natural affinity for the Republican party, but to spend the tithe money on lobbyists to block gay marriage in Hawaii? (For one - and that was a long time ago. But it bothered me that my personal income was going that way.) I distinctly remember one afternoon at church ( and let me tell you, you spent ALLLLL afternoon in Church - being Mormon takes a serious time commitment) listening to one very sweet lady's testimony on how we were all so lucky to have such a great man of God leading us, President Ronald Reagan. I was very confused. Around our house, Reagan was Satan himself.

That wasn't all of it. I was the smart kid that tried to get something out of Sunday school, rather than sneaking in to the woods at the back of the building and smoking cigarettes. I got pissed off when adults who were supposed to be teaching me the basic tenets of our mutual faith couldn't come up with answers to my most basic questions, and then shushed me with "It's a matter of faith. Maybe you need to work on your faith." Faith, my ass. I really wanted to feel something; for a time, I convinced myself that I did. But that faded, and I started to pretend I was sick on Sundays, and then to openly declare that I didn't believe anymore and was no longer going to attend church marathon. That was around 13 or 14. Caffeine soon followed. Ah, caffeine, you bastard gateway drug.

So, the kicker? The nail in the coffin kicker? My dad's excommunication from the Mormon church.

As I said, I ceased Mormon activity at around 13 or 14. Meanwhile, my father was asked to serve as Bishop of our congregation. The Mormons have a weird process for their clergy: the higher ups pray to God, asking who would make a good Bishop or Church Librarian or what have you. Once they have a decision, they ask, and you don't decline, because who are YOU to question GOD? Aside from your free time, it doesn't affect your life - Bishops can have a family, and so forth; in fact, a family (a LARGE family) is almost a prerequisite. They asked my dad. He accepted.

Only, thing was, my dad was a closeted gay man. A gay American, if you will. So God made a dilly of a pickle out of that one. And as the years passed, my dad finally concluded that he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't be married (at least not to a heterosexual woman) he couldn't keepn pretending, and he certainly couldn't be Bishop of a congregation that hated his very kind. So, my courageous badass dad pulled a McGreevey on the whole chapel one Sunday afternoon, and he never went back.

(Aside: a few years later, I found myself in a psychiatric ward for a week [if you want to know why, see this post]with a fully believeing, yet gay, young Mormon. I think my dad was able to help him out a lot - every time he visited me in the hospital, he wound up talking to this kid for the whole time. In a good way. My dad's so cool.)

So, a couple of years run under the bridge, and here's 20 year old unwed preganat Katie. The Mormon CIA somehow found out about it and the Relief Society (sort of like the Junior League, but Mormon) started sending me handmade baby quilts and casseroles and doing the whole "take care of your own" thing for which the Mormons are rightly admired. No judgments, no sex out of wedlock adultery lectures, just nice people trying to help out. Mind you, it didn't sway me, but it was sincere and appreciated.

A few more months? My dad received his Mormon divorce papers in the mail. That is, they held a court (do other churches have court? it sounds so sinister...) and decided that all evidence pointed to my dad being an adulterer, and that since that's such a big sin, they were excommunicating him - reserving him a special place in Mormon hell (Mormons don't believe in hell - only "outer darkness".)

Thing is? He never commited adultery. Even when my parents were separated, he never dated or touched another soul, not until the divorce was legally final. And the other thing is? I surely did. I had the homemade baby quilts to prove it.

So I had to conclude that the Mormon version of God doesn't hold women to the the same standard as men, and that the Mormon God gets really pissed when his congregants embarass him by proving that he has pretty bad judgment, at least when it comes to picking Bishops. And that was the end of me ever considering faith in the Mormon God again. Especially when the Mormon God sent out the troops to convince my little brother (but not me or my sister - cause, you know, girls can't turn gay) that he shouldn't talk to our dad anymore because he was obviously one of Satan's minions. That's about the time my brother turned heathen, too.

These days, we're all heathens - even my mom ("you know, the church just doesn't work" Guess she needed to work on her faith, too.) I don't think we're any the worse for it. So don't worry about us. At least, not until judgment day.

Monday, September 20, 2004

9/20/82 (or, Happy Birthday, Adam!)

Dooce -- a fellow recovered and radically reformed Mormon -- just reminded me of the time the Mormon missionaries from our church (two fine young corn fed Iowans, if I remember correctly - not even 20, so my brother is actually older now than they were then)came over for dinner, before our sister was born and Adam couldn't have been older than 2 or 3.

Missionaries coming over for dinner were not a huge deal. It's kind of expected among Mormons that you help these guys out, take them under your wing, cause gosh golly they sure don't know how to cook for themselves! (That, after all, would be women's work. The Mormons are very big on sex roles.) So, once every couple of weeks or so, we'd have a pair of gangly, earnest young men over to dinner.

This particular night must have been some kind of brought-to-you-by-Ortega tex-mex theme, because there were black olives and hot sauce on the table.

Adam, at 3, had a special passion for black olives that I can only compare to how adult Mormons must feel about their holy underwear. One of the elders -- I have no idea how anybody called the midwestern gangly still battling teen acne missionaries "elder" without guffawing all over their proffered Books of Mormon -- noted Adam's zeal and did what you'd expect some gawky 19 year old from Iowa to (not, however, what you'd expect someone referred to as "Elder")do. He dipped an olive in the hot sauce and gave it to my brother.

Now, my brother was a quiet, mellow, stoic kid. Still is. He wasn't one of those whiny crybabies; he sucked it up when he got hurt, and he couldn't care less if mom & dad left us with a babysitter. But this hot-sauced olive from hell made his little face contort into a magenta tinged replica of "The Scream", a position he held for a full ten minutes at least before he sucked in sufficient air to release THE LOUDEST HIGHEST PITCHED WAIL THAT EVER MADE A MORMON MISIONARY FEAR THE THREAT OF OUTER DARKNESS. And Adam has never enjoyed spicy food since.

Happy 22nd Birthday, Adam! Ain't it great to be a heathen?

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Tim is a radio star

Dear lord.

Tim is currently ranting live on WABC.

Somehow the guy started talking about Starbucks with him. He's advertising his actual store.

He does this - he'll call local talk radio, and they know him. It's bizarre. He's apparently been doing this since his teen years in Orange County, NY (at least he's not stoned on the air these days). He's smart enough to say something witty & interesting, and to give it right back to the hosts in a lucid enough manner that they don't just hang up on him. The last time was when Martha Stewart was sentenced - he called some radio guy to say just how happy he was, celebrating schadenfreude. He was a communications major in college; his big unrealized ambition was to be a sound guy for some front line war reporter for the BBC or NPR or Christian Science Monitor or whoever.

Back to Tim's current 15 minutes... Are we going to get to the political point? It apparently has something to do with McCain and Kerry - he burst into the room and turned the radio up really loud, without letting me know what the topic was --

Oh. It's this - Kerry is vague. We don't know what he stands for. These are Tim's thoughts for the New York metropolitan area (and Tim's no Bush fan.) He's going off so much that the host can't even cut him off.

The host just told him he's right to be cynical about both candidates. And imploring him to listen on Saturday nights (ha!)Oh, and told everyone to go to Tim's particular Starbucks. Which can only be good, I guess.

Oh, to be a psychotic news geek extrovert. At least I can be the mother of a psychotic news geek extrovert's child.


Have I mentioned that it's really fun to finally root for a winning team? Uh, Curtis Martin anyone? Yeee-ah. And little Mr. Pennington is shaping up nicely, as well. Jets over Chargers, 34-28 (though that last minute desperation Flutie doin' the touchdown by himself was pretty impressive. Make the most of your two minutes in the game, buddy.)

Oh, the non-winning team part... I haven't even paid my beloved Mets any mind since the All Star break (r.i.p, Art Howe) because they make me sad.

Sooo, GO SOX! (Love Mets = hate Yankees = love Red Sox. New England roots don't hurt - it's fun to talk baseball with my 86 year old rabid Sox fan grandma, too.) Yeah, they got pounded (11-1 Yankees) today, but they're still only 4 1/2 games back. If I can't have a Mets series (and the way they're looking, that's gonna be a few years), as least I might get a Sox one if they pull a few tricks.

I can say a lot of things about Tim, but one of the most telling would be that he's made me a sports fan. I can't wait 'till hockey season. Rangers, baby, Rangers. Or Sabres. I can't totally reject my Buffalo upbringing.

Saturday, September 18, 2004

Free Free Free! Gmail Blowout! INSANE!

Yeah, as if I hadn't mentioned it before, I have about 37,000 gmail invites lying around if anybody wants one. You don't even have to amuse me. That's how cool I am.

Pornolicious Politics

Originally uploaded by Katie Courtney.
Fun, fun, fun. Look close - if you don't get it, think Seurat. Found at NO BUSH IN '04.

Oh, wait. You can't enlarge it. I need to practice. Tutorial, anybody? This computer dumbass needs help. Anyway, that was my rainy Saturday experiment with Flickr. I think I dig it. And the Gashcroft thing? The picture is composed entirely of porn shots. It's fun. Check out the original at NO MORE BUSH IN '04

Yeah, they said "Firebrand". That's right.

I've been thinking lately that I rely a little too heavily on quizzes when I'm too lazy or disheartened to post anything else. You'll note that the last several I've used have been incorporated into something more substantial.

However, this one was really fascinating. It's me - to a motherfucking tee (well, I see the unflattering parts more clearly than the flattering ones). Oh, and I emphasized the nice bits. So you'll rilly rilly want to read the words of such a fascinating creature (snort).

But seriously - take it if you like that sort of thing - it's pretty cool. I found it at Seriously Random.

You are a XSYT--Expressive Sentimental Physical Taker. This makes you a Firebrand.

You are volatile, sexy and sexually driven. You're magnetic and fascinating, but you don't really enjoy playing the field -- it makes you nervous and preys on your insecurities. But when you fall for someone you fall hard.

You tend to over-analyze things, so the slightest comment or action from your significant other can send you into a tailspin. You crave attention and validation from your loved ones, so if your friends don't like your partner or your partner doesn't like your friends it makes you suffer. Unfortunately the two are often in conflict -- you have excellent insight with your friends, but in a relationship you are blind. Trust your friends!

You blow hot and cold, with big highs and big lows. This makes the bad times very bad but the good times very good, so you tend to stay in a problem relationship much longer than you should. But when a relationship fails, you hold a grudge. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but make sure your grudge doesn't cloud your vision the other way.

What would help you most in your relationships is confidence. You need someone who can help you feel good about yourself and not worse.

You can be needy and jealous. Fortunately you are cute as hell.

Of the 86046 people who have taken this quiz, 5.8 % are this type.

I'm one out of eighty-six thousand, baby. You heard me right.

Friday, September 17, 2004

Hey, Ho

Sorry I'm so slow... catching up from slow time, getting up to speed...

BUT I missed this story till today.

Johnny Ramone died yesterday at the age of 55, apparently of prostate cancer. Only one Ramone left (Tommy).

Who wants to go down to Joey Ramone Place by CBGB's and drink one for me... one for my homies?


Last night, I had the rare pleasure of explaining something to my dear friend of many years, one Miss Jen.

It's a rare pleasure because, well, Jen knows a lot. She's got degrees up the wazoo and an unhealthy obsession with current events. But this, my friends? This bit of pop culture had eluded Jen. And if it eluded Jen, it may have eluded you too.

The question?

What is a WASP? (She thought it had something to do with Judaism. Ooooh, no.)

A WASP is a white anglo saxon protestant. You probably knew that part. A WASP is old money, connected to MA, NY or CT, north eastern liberal. A WASP may tend toward the uppity; certainly not toward the touchy-feely. Think George H.W. Bush (41). Does he look particularly hugable? No? That's what I mean.

I admit that I'm a bigot. A WASP bigot. I don't like those cold teutonic people (I know - I used to be employed by one). They freak me out, what with the flat-assed skinny women and the men in dress shirts even on the weekend. They're crawling all over Manhattan, and they disturb me in a deep down primal way. Worse than roaches. Oh, and did you ever read Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Wolfe? Don't get in a WASP's way. They sting. Ouch. Scary.

So Anyway...

This is kind of old news, I guess. But over at Eden's place, back around Sept. 8, there was a stir which resulted in a "Don't respond to my political opinions in my comment section - keep it in yer blog" policy. Now, I say Eden can do whatever she damn well pleases with her space; that's why I'm talking about it here, not there (and I must add that if you're NOT reading So Anyway, you should. Because I told you so.)

The post:

Vote for W or people will DIE!

"It's absolutely essential that eight weeks from today, on Nov. 2, we make the right choice, because if we make the wrong choice then the danger is that we'll get hit again and we'll be hit in a way that will be devastating from the standpoint of the United States." - Vice President Dick Cheney

Jee-zoos Christ.

Can someone please explain to me how W is ahead in these polls? Who are they polling? I hear people talking out in public and they hate W. I read blogs and people hate W (except for Jen). Where are these ignorant asshats who say they're planning to vote for a drug addict perjurer elitist?

Let's put the Vietnam issue to bed already. Anyone who was in the shit (Kerry, McCain) has every right to talk about who was & wasn't there and what they did. Anyone who wasn't in the shit (W, Cheney, etc.) should be ignored. Period. Besides, was this not 30 years ago? Bush's drunk driving arrest was more recent than that and no one likes to bring that up in a character debate.

Speaking of which, when are the debates? I can't wait to see W try and string together a sentence.

Well, definitely partisan, definitely full of piss & vinegar, but since when did THAT put anybody's panties in a twist? Um, Kids? It's a BLOG. Expect unqualified opinion, 'kay?

What really got me - and , apparently, Eden - was this comment by one Renee.

Re: Kerry and Vietnam - he's the one who keeps bringing it up. W has noted that Kerry was a reservist who happened to get called up and went where he was told. Good for him. It's a dead issue except to Sen. John "Reporting for Duty" Kerry.

The reason certain people (myself included, duh) think that Bush keeps us safer is that it's a known fact that most Dems including Kerry don't really think anything else will happen. If we let our guard down, it will. Bush won't let his guard down. Simple as that. I honestly don't think that you think anything else will happen. If you did, you most certainly wouldn't have the Bert and Ernie scale. It's not a joke. Please remember that on Saturday.

As for the debates, I personally thought W kicked Gore's boo-tay last go 'round (anyone remember that ridiculous "lock box" that wouldn't go away? VP Gore, what day is it? Lock box!!!). Leftist media saw it differently, of course. I expect to see the same results this time.

Renee, you are entitled to your opinion, like every other red blooded American. But for God's sake, woman! Do you honestly believe that "it's a known fact that most Dems including Kerry don't really think anything else will happen" ? Wha? WHO put that particular lump of shit into your pretty little head? I think a lot of Democrats (and others) oppose Bush precisely because he hasn't kept the defenses up in ways that matter (uh, Bin Laden, anyone?). You seem to be speaking in that doublespeak favored by uncritical Bush supporters: Iraq makes us safer. Diplomacy is bad. Terrorists hate freedom. Democrats are pussies. The economy is good.

And the rest: "I honestly don't think that you think anything else will happen. If you did, you most certainly wouldn't have the Bert and Ernie scale. It's not a joke. Please remember that on Saturday." (This was posted on 9/8; Saturday was the third anniversary of 9/11.)

Sweety, how, exactly, does mocking Tom "If it's yellow, it must be Tuesday!" Ridge's pathetic excuse for results translate to making a joke of 9/11? It's the Bush administration's handling of post 9/11 policy that's a joke, in my view. Probably Eden's, too, not to mention the hundreds of people besides she & I that overuse that particular button. I think it's called satire. Try it, you'll like it. Yarg.

Oh, and since it's Eden love fest day, I had to also include this rockin' "What kind of freaky mama are you?" quiz that she found. Cause we're both freaky mamas. And I looove me some crazy Generation X parents that make me feel like I'm not such a freak, afterall. Eden was a Power Puff mama. I'm....

Activist Mama
You're an agitator! Your kids have grown up on the
front lines of rallies and pickets, and chances
are that you boycott at least one company for
its bad business practices. Your kids are
learning what matters to you and how they can
change what matters to them.

What kind of a freaky mother are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Disturbingly accurate, no?

Wednesday, September 15, 2004


I'm humbled. Seriously.

I'm touched that a bunch of people care about how I feel, especially since a lot of you are strangers. That's unbelievably affirming. Also, I'm slightly shocked and awed that you would come here and read my self indulgent crap in the first place. Yet, grateful. Hmm.

I've been flirting this "depression" thing for over 15 years. I remember a two week episode in the seventh grade when I just. Wouldn't. Leave. My bed. Classmates thought that I had moved away. I wasn't sick, or lazy, or horribly willful (though my bewildered parents tried calling me all of the above to make me just go to freakin' school). I was simply broken, and needed to curl up in the fetal position for awhile to fix myself.

In my late teens, I started to become really, frighteningly self-destructive. I drank too much and tried all kinds of crazy loopy drugs. Samantha from SATC had nuthin' on me. I was in college, but I didn't really go to college; I knew the truth - classes are for sleeping through. Within three years, I had made four suicide attempts, always by consuming vast quantities of medication (it got to the point where my shrink didn't want me to take anti-depressants, since I might use them.)

I'm not proud of all of that. It's hard to write it down - there are very few people out there that know the first thing about my story, and yet here I am, publishing it on the internet. I'm writing it down to illustrate how far I've come.

I'm 29 now. In the past decade, I've grown up a lot. I've figured out that my sadness comes from a long, long time ago, and that I have to figure out how to be now as opposed to how I was then. I've had a child and gotten him through eight years. That in itself kicked my ass enough to permanently end any two-week-fetal-position in bed ideas I might have harbored. I've gone through a long string of very nice men, picking and choosing what I thought would keep me happy and healthy, both at the time and for the long term.

I've also gone through a shit load of therapists, some touchy feely and terribly ineffectual, and others all "your life is your responsibility" tough love and oh-so-effective. I don't have one now, but I like to think I learned enough from the last one to last me a few years.

So, I know it comes sometimes. I know I'll get through it. It just gets kind of frustrating, especially when I can't find a trigger. That is, if I can't point to what set me off, it seems that much more uncontrollable, and I feel that much less adequate (vicious circle, that one), and this was one of those times.

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks to the people who commented, and to the people who emailed (I'm sorry I never answered you, but yes, I'm feeling much better)...

AND, what says "Thanks" like an appropriately morbid Edward Gorey quiz??!! I love this stuff - so dark and dramatic, yet at the same time so silly. Kind of like a goth kid. Oh, and thank you for the inspiration.

Being sucked dry by leeches isn't so bad.
You will be sucked dry by a leech. I'd stay away
from swimming holes, and stick to good old
cement. Even if it does hurt like hell when
your toe scrapes the bottom.

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

Monday, September 13, 2004

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Yes, folks, it's that time of year again. That's right. The first day of school. The day that my little munchkin becomes a part time ward of the state, and I get to have a life again -- for free, even.

I'm pleased by this. I'm also pleased by the fact that my dog walking service is starting to bring in some decent money, and by the fact that Tim just took a week of vacation and cleaned and reorganized lots of heinous corners of our apartment, and by the gradual shift in climate from "not that hot but stickier than Paris Hilton after a night at Bungalow 8" to "nice crispy snappy autumn sleeping weather". These developments are good.

The thing is, I'm not really excited about any of this. I'm not enthusiastic about much, truth be told. I'm irritable and cry at any perceived slight. In fact, my eyes are puffy from my last jag. I don't feel worthwhile or loved, to the point where I yell at those poor souls who try to tell me otherwise. I'm healthy and strong and beautiful, but I feel like doody.

I'm depressed.

I don't think medication would help - I think it's strictly personal emotional and psychological history, rather than a chemical imbalance - and it's really fucking with me and my family. This needs to end.


Friday, September 10, 2004

Top Ten Things I've Learned From Dog Walking

1. Upper East Side women invariably have very flat asses and very thin lips. (No offense, Upper East Side readers. I'm sure you're the exception.)

2. Men in Harlem love me because I (don't have a) very flat ass or (very thin) lips. The catcalls serve as proof of this fact.

3. Everybody, no matter their borough or "help" affiliation, loves a cute puppy.

4. Dogs on the Upper East Side tend to be little whiny pussies who can't complete a walk around the block.

5. My Bronx dog (who can complete walks around twenty blocks without tiring) is much better behaved these days since I'm such a hardass from walking all of those little pussy Upper East Side dogs.

6. I aspire to be a tourist story (e.g., "I saw this crazy woman screaming at a cab that ran a red light, since he almost ran over her dog. Only in New York!")

7. Doormen are really cool people.

8. I am one with doormen since I am one of the "help".

9. Dogs don't give a shit whether you're the "help" or not, as long as you have treats (ohmygod ohmygod she's got TREATS!) and you are willing to take them outside.

10. If they say the veiny dildo chewing never happened, the veiny dildo chewing never happened.

Tucker... Unfiltered

Christopher Hitchens (socialist cum hard-right conservative cum Vanity Fair Editor[?]) just made Tucker Carlson frown with respect on PBS. Hmmmmmm.

Dan Would Rather Not...

... be vetted by a bunch of bloggers, I'm sure.

Can anyone help me with the details of the problem here? I'm not sure I understand. And no, that's not sarcasm.

As you may have heard, Dan Rather did a piece on George Bush's National Guard service on the most recent edition (Wednesday, Sept. 8)of 60 Minutes II. Apparently, part of the segment (I saw a few moments of it, but didn't pay so much attention)dealt with documents from Bush's advisers in the Guard, and were none too flattering.

Today, The New York Post published an article about the army of authenticators examining the documents.

- They're in Times New Roman 11. That's not right for a 70's era typewriter.
- They have all the marks of a Windows word processing program - i.e., the type is spaced so as to read fluidly (unlike a typewriter), the superscript in "187th", and so on. Again, 70's typewriters weren't commonly equipped with such features.
- One of the guys quoted in the Post said it looked to be the most obvious forgery he'd ever seen.
- BUT, 60 Minutes also had the documents authenticated - and they were given a pass.

So, none of the above presents any real challenge to my comprehension skills, although I've admittedly done next to no homework on the issue (walking other people's dogs keeps ya busy, don'tcha know!)

The thing I don't get is this: are the images shown onscreen during the segment - the ones that were suspiciously Windows era - claimed by CBS to be the original documents? Couldn't have 60 Minutes had some intern type them up in Word so that they'd look prettier on screen? Again, I'm not trying to be flip. I really don't know.

Part II of my discombobulation has something to do with the sordid journalistic nature of the New York Post. It's not, if you hadn't heard, the world's most reputable news source. It wouldn't surprise me at all if some Post reporter parroted the claims of an anonymous right-wing blogger and called "scandal!". Is the story bigger than that? Other news outlets, anyone? I'm trying to get a snapshot of whether this is just another NYC tabloid field day, or a real, live scoop (a la Abu Ghraib).

(And yeah, I know I'm lazy. You don't have to tell me.)

Since I haven't posted in three (?!) days...

What pair of panties are you?

I found this at Her Own Invention.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Doggy Style Sex Toys


Name: Katie
Occupation: Sole Proprietor, Dog Walking service

It's always a little trying the first time you open up a new client's door. Will the dog be super protective and freak out? Will a puppy have lost all control and left piss and shit all over the place? You never know.

Today was a new one.

I started walking an adorable eight month old Boston Terrier today.

I unlocked the door to find Baxter in the middle of his living room, surrounded by puppy toys and the chewed up detritus of definite un-puppy toys. There was a bottle of shoe polish leaking on to the carpet, as well as a handily demolished brush. I followed the plastic trail to the bedroom.

There, all over the floor, were Baxter's mommy and daddy's

adult people's toys.

A pair of handcuffs. A big, veiny, penis shaped dildo. In pink. Feathers. Other stuff.

'Nuff said.

I debated whether or not to pretend it had never happened. He got into it in the afternoon. Right?

But I couldn't. After all, there was shoe polish on the floor. That's noxious - no good for young puppies. The other stuff (photographs, ziploc bags, other shoe maintenance paraphanelia) probably wasn't that great for him either.

I picked it all up and put it into the basket from whence it came. I put the basket on the dining table, out of Baxter's grasp. I put the shoe polish in the sink, after rinsing and removing their dirty dishes (what am I, a cleaning service, too?)

When we came home from the walk, I left a note:


We had a great walk! But...

Baxter got into a little bit of trouble before I arrived. I've placed the things he got into on the table, out of his reach. You'll find a bottle of shoe polish in the sink.

May I suggest that you get him some "puzzle toys" ? You know, a stuffed Kong, or one of those food cubes. They help distract lonely puppies when their regular toys become boring.

Looking forward to tomorrow's walk!


I pray they're not so mortified that they never call me again. I could use the cash.

Shit, what would you do?

Hey, Mikey Likes It! But He Hates Everything! *

* Free Gmail to anyone who gets that reference. Yeah, you'd have to have been born in the 70's, like me.

It won't be a surprise to many of you that I get Michael Moore's irregular newsletter.

Huge Discaimer:

I'm generally pretty far to the right of Michael Moore (who isn't, honestly?) Hell, I haven't even seen Farenheit 9/11. Is it out on dvd yet? If so, I haven't even rented it, and I'm a dvd kind of girl. I think he's a bit extreme and plays loose with the facts; lack of context, lack of background, and so forth.

That said, God bless him for being the lefty counterpart to blowhard assholes like Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Michael Savage (well, I actually listen to him - he's more of a libertarian - but he's still pretty much an asshole blowhard), Laura Ingraham, Monica Crowley, and all the rest. He, Franken, and the limp Paul Begala are pretty much all we've got over on this side of the fence.

Here's the latest:

Why I Will Not Seek a Best Documentary Oscar
(I'm giving it up in the hopes more voters can see "Fahrenheit 9/11")

Dear Friends,

I had dinner recently with a well-known pollster who had often worked for Republicans. He told me that when he went to see "Fahrenheit 9/11" he got sodistraught he twice had to go out in the lobby and pace during the movie.

"The Bush White House left open a huge void when it came to explaining the war to the American people," he told me. "And your film has filled that void -- and now there is no way to defeat it. It is the atomic bomb of this campaign."

He told me how he had conducted an informal poll with "Fahrenheit 9/11" audiences in three different cities and the results were all the same. "Essentially, 80% of the people going IN to see your movie are already likely Kerry voters and the movie has galvanized them in a way you rarely see Democrats galvanized.

"But, here's the bad news for Bush: Though 80% going IN to your movie are Kerry voters, 100% of those COMING OUT of your movie are Kerry voters. You can't come out of this movie and say, 'I am absolutely and enthusiastically voting for George W. Bush.'"

His findings are similar to those in other polls conducted around the country. In Pennsylvania, a Keystone poll showed that 4% of Kerry's support has come from people who decided to vote for him AFTER seeing "Fahrenheit 9/11" -- and in an election that will be very close, 4% is a landslide. A Harris poll found that 44% of Republicans who see the film give it a "positive" rating. Another poll, to be released this week, shows a 21-point shift in Bush's approval rating, after just one viewing of the movie, among audiences of undecideds who were shown "Fahrenheit 9/11" in Ohio.

My pollster friend told me that he believes if Kerry wins, "Fahrenheit 9/11" will be one of the top three reasons for his election. Kerry's only problem, he said, is how many people will actually be able to see it before election day. The less that see it, the better for Bush.

But 20 million people have already seen it -- and the Gallup poll said that 56% of the American public has seen or plans to see "Fahrenheit 9/11" either in the theater or on home video. The DVD and home video of our film, thanks to our distributors listening to our pleas to release it before November, will be in the stores on October 5. This is very good news.

But can it also be shown on TV? I brought this possibility up in this week's Rolling Stone interview. Our contract with our DVD distributor says no, it cannot. I have asked them to show it just once, perhaps the night before the election. So far, no deal. But I haven't given up trying.

The only problem with my desire to get this movie in front of as many Americans as possible is that, should it air on TV, I will NOT be eligible to submit "Fahrenheit 9/11" for Academy Award consideration for Best Documentary. Academy rules forbid the airing of a documentary on television within nine months of its theatrical release (fiction films do not have the same restriction).

Although I have no assurance from our home video distributor that they would allow a one-time television broadcast -- and the chances are they probably won't -- I have decided it is more important to take that risk and hope against hope that I can persuade someone to put it on TV, even if it's the night before the election.

Therefore, I have decided not to submit "Fahrenheit 9/11" for consideration for the Best Documentary Oscar. If there is even the remotest of chances that I can get this film seen by a few million more Americans before election day, then that is more important to me than winning another documentary Oscar. I have already won a Best Documentary statue. Having a second one would be nice, but not as nice as getting this country back in the hands of the majority.

The deadline to submit the film for the documentary Oscar was last Wednesday. I told my crew who worked on the film, let's let someone else have that Oscar. We have already helped to ignite the biggest year ever for nonfiction films. Last week, 1 out of every 5 films playing in movie theaters across America was a documentary! That is simply unheard of. There have been so many great nonfiction films this year, why not step aside and share what we have with someone else? Remove the 800-pound gorilla from that Oscar category and let the five films who get nominated have all the attention they deserve (instead of the focus being on a film that has already had more than its share of attention).

I've read a lot about "Fahrenheit" being a "sure bet" for the documentary Oscar this year. I don't believe anything is truly a "sure bet." And, in the end, I think sometimes it's good for your soul to give up something everyone says is so easily yours (ask Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps why he gave up his spot in the last race to someone else equally deserving, and you'll know what I am talking about).

I have informed our distributors of my decision. They support me (in fact, they then offered to submit our film for all the other categories it is eligible for, including Best Picture -- so, hey, who knows, maybe I'll get to complete that Oscar speech from 2003! Sorry, just kidding).

Don't get your hopes up for seeing "Fahrenheit 9/11" on TV before the election. In fact, I would count on NOT seeing it there (you know me, I'm always going after something I probably shouldn't). Get to the theaters soon, if you haven't already, or get it from the video store in October and hold house parties. Share it with everyone you know, especially your nonvoting friends. I have included 100 minutes of extras on the DVD -- powerful footage obtained after we made the movie, and some things that are going to drive Karl Rove into a permanent tailspin -- more on this later!

Thanks for all of your support. And go see "Super Size Me," "Control Room," "The Corporation," "Orwell Rolls Over in His Grave," "Bush's Brain," Robert Greenwald's films and the upcoming "Yes Men." You won't be sorry!


Michael Moore

P.S. If you want to read my dispatches for USA Today from inside the Republican Convention, go to

Remeber his "win" last year? Ranters not welcome.

Monday, September 06, 2004

Ad Slut

Yeah, you're right. I'm such a sell out. That's so not punk rock. Blah, blah, blah.

Yes, that's google ads that you see to the right side over there. It's basically unobtrusive, and any time you click on it, they throw a few pennies my way. If you love me, you might give it a few token clicks, just for shits and giggles.

I figure it's less blatant than a "Donate" link; I don't think there's anything wrong with that, per se, but I just don't feel comfortable asking people who are probably just as broke as I am for their money. I wouldn't ask in person, so why would I want to on my blog? Again, if YOU do it, I don't care. I'm not sending you my cash anytime soon, but I don't care. It doesn't offend me. But I'm happier with it this way - instead of sending me your cash, why don't you send me the man's cash? That works for us both, no?

In other whoring out news, anybody want some more Gmail? I swear, these invites are coming out my ears. You don't have to do anything special. Just ask, and ye shall receive. (oh, wait - since it's whore day - maybe if you have a blog you oughta link me to get one. That'll do.)

Prison Bitch Name Generator

I found this pretty damn amusing. Maybe that's just me. The Tush Taster had it on his site. Check it out.


Back Room Baller

Really Shameless Hit Whoring

(hell, it worked for Jen!)

Jennifer Hawkins thong Jennifer Hawkins thong Jennifer Hawkins thong yow!

Go Flop Yourself

"He was for the war, then he was against the war. Then he was for it, but he wouldn't fund it. Then he'd fund it, but he wasn't for it." - George Pataki

"With 64 days left, he still has time to change his position at least three or four more times." - Rudolph Giuliani

"Flip flopper..." - Zell Miller, Dick Cheney, Mitt Romney

"...He said he was proud of that vote. Then, when pressed, he said it was a complicated matter. There is nothing complicated about supporting our troops in combat." - George W. Bush

"If telling that joke could create a job, they'd only have to tell it 1.6 million more times before George Bush creates his first one."

- Phil Singer, Kerry campaign spokesman

From the New York Times Week in Review, Sunday, 9/4, "We Repeat Ourselves" by Jodi Wilgoren

Sunday, September 05, 2004


So much darkness out there.

This is old news. If you don't know or haven't heard about it, you really need to pick up a newspaper.

Last week a group of Chechen separatist (Chechens, Arabs, Africans - every flavor of Islamic fundamentalism) rebels in Beslan, Russia held an entire primary school hostage on its first day in session after the summer break.

Dozens of children were forced to stand in the windows as human shields.

Children and adults were penned in the middle of classrooms that had become literal minefields.

The hostages had no food or water for three days and resorted to drinking their own urine.

Children - some as young as four and five - who cried or whimpered with hunger were threatened with automatic rifles.

Many of the same children eventually got their little heads blown to smithereens because Putin and the Russian government were not appropriately prepared for the crisis and didn't have adequate special ops personnel, helicopters, or contingency plans. Only a handful of emergency vehicles arrived on scene once the crisis broke. Children and teachers that managed to survive were driven to the hospital in private cars. Over 300 dead, including 30 terrorists of varying nationalities. On strechers, covered in sheets, on the lawn of the school. Estimates of 700 wounded. This ended Friday. New numbers are still coming in.

I haven't mentioned it yet because it's too close to home.

The photographs of the parents circling the school, wailing, keep killing me a little more every time I see them.

I have an eight year old son who's first day of third grade is Monday, September 13. He is adorable and brilliant and sometimes tiresome but above all, innocent.

I don't give a shit how noble you think your cause is, or if you think god is personally motivating you to these extreme measures. Targeting children proves only one point - that you're a monster and that you deserve nothing but a slow, torturous death. (But do I think the state should mete out that kind of justice? Not on your life.)

Hard retaliation isn't working - Putin learned that the hard way. Invading loosely geographically affiliated nations isn't working - ask the troops and civilians being targeted daily by motley, disorganized factions of suicide bombers in Iraq. Call me cynical, but I have a hunch that shuffling all of our bureaucracy so that we can have a new "Terror Czar" and bigger, better intelligence agencies doesn't sound like much of a solution either. Aren't we being targeted NOW? Then why does it matter if the system works better decades down the road? If we want to BE here for decades, we'd better figure it out a little quicker.

I'm a big believer in finding so-called "root causes". I don't mean appeasement. Bin Laden declared publicly on several occasions before 9/11 that his issue with the U.S. was our presence in Saudi Arabia and the Middle East in general. Our interventionist policies in Iraq have, in my opinion, exacerbated the terrorist threat. Why are we there? "To fight our enemies and bring democracy." Why do we have enemies there? Because we're there. It's this political catch-22 clusterfuck and it seems like the candidates aren't offering any new solutions.

It's debatable whether or not the Iraqi people are better off; in some ways, absolutely. In others, they are perhaps less secure than they were under Saddam's terror regime. I don't think it's debatable whether or not WE are better off. We've never been so hated. And it ain't because of our freedom. Do you really believe anyone hates us because we're free?

We haven't found Bin Laden (though, if we did, there would be another and another...). We've stirred up the mother of all hornet's nests in Iraq - and to what end? We've alienated any other nation that might want to help us. We continue to hear the ol' "chatter" about proposed attacks to affect our election.

(And again - how do they want to affect it? For Bush? Do they like him better? I had this conversation a few months back. My view then was that surely the people would take it as a massive failure on Bush's part and vote in Kerry. My friends set me straight - "Fuck dem peacenik dems! Let's blow Al Quaeda to the stone age! USA!". And they're quite right.)

All I want right now is a leader that can keep us sane and safe.

I know it's highly unlikely that the Beslan school scenario would play out here, but I especially want a leader to keep my child safe (subway suicide bombers? Indian Point? Anthrax? Haven't we caught the anthrax guy yet, either?)

I know that we enjoy some of the most elite defenses available to the free world. I also know that our system is vast and cumbersome and has great trouble responding to a small, coordinated, flexible attack. If Afghanistan had sent a Taliban army to attack us? No problem. Nineteen guys with boarding passes? Not so much. Have you been to an airport lately? It's more of a pain in the ass, sure. Safer, I couldn't say.

We need a broader vision. We need imagination. We need to ditch the neo-cons and their "No attack can happen without state backing" (last I heard, Osama had more wealth than a lot of states) bullshit.

Even if Kerry can't fix all of these problems, he'll at least try to avoid making them worse. Go Kerry Go.

Luc, ya Stinkin Frog... (I'm Part French, So it's Still P.C. for Me to Say That)

I just finished watching The Professional on Bravo and remembered why it's one of my favorite movies.

Young Natalie Portman? Dear God.

Gary Oldman? Yeah, any time you get tired of Isabella Rosellini (or, are you tired of her already? Hmmm?) just give me a call.

And that next to last scene, when Jean Reno takes one in the back from Gary? For Natalie? And shoots him in the face and says "This... is for... Matilda..." Awww, man. It almost makes the weird unacknowledged pedophilia aspect worthwhile. Sweet, even. But hey, that's Luc Besson.

Gmail, she-male (oooh!)

So, I got's me a bunch o' gmail invites (STILL - oh, wait, AGAIN). Anyone out there want me to pay you to take one? (That was a joke. What, you think I'm made of money? Sheesh.)

Fun Fun Fun

Tony Pierce just posted via the Daily Kos:

Gossip maven (isn't that a great word? Almost as good as "doyenne") Kitty Kelley is about to release a fabtacular tell-all, unauthorized, thoroughly unsubstantiated biography of the Bushies that includes homosexual sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Well, not so many drugs. But some murder. And not so much rock and roll, but illegal business deals.

Let the rumour mill roll!

Friday, September 03, 2004

Two Things

1) I decided to forego the anti-Bush post that's been roiling in my skull since last night (you can thank me later). Suffice it to say that I'm calling it - he wins by five points or better come November 2. Unless, that is, Kerry finds himself a charisma before then. Electable, my ass (Dean... Dean... Wherefore art thou, Howard Dean?) I'm still voting, definitely NOT for Bush, but maybe not for Kerry, either. I'm afraid if I mention Nader the N word someone will find me and burn down my apartment building. Before you start sending me vitriolic emails proclaiming that a vote for anyone but Kerry is a vote for Bush, keep in mind: I live in New York. It doesn't really matter who I vote for - the electoral votes are clearly going to the Democrats.

2) Six degrees of blogination update:

Last week, Spike Lee brought his kids in to Tim's store to use the bathroom. And he gave Tim a dirty look when he overheard a customer say to him, "Hey! Spike Lee just went in to your rest room!"

Two weeks ago, Tim met Dr. Ruth Westheimer in the street. You know, the little good sex munchkin? He shook her tiny little hand and marveled at her itty bitty voice.

That's all.

Only in My Dreams...

Yes, you can thank me for that Debbie Deborah Gibson moment. Let the deluge of DG related hatemail begin.

No, no, seriously! Have you ever had those dreams that make you angry at someone for something they did in your dream? Then, you hold a grudge over a completely imagined occurrence? I am fully aware that this is unreasonable, border line behavior. But it happens to me all the time. Clearly, I need therapy.

Last night, for instance. A peaceful, temperate, spooning-conducive late summer night, spent in blissful slumber curled up with the love of my life. And the cursed dream machine sabotages it all by making me dream that Tim cheated on me with a hooker and gave me an STD. Wha?

Let me be clear - Tim's not the cheatin' kind. I have no doubts whatsoever regarding his fidelity. Even if I did, the man's so full of recovering Catholic guilt that he couldn't do it anyway, and certainly not with a lady of the night. And obsessive enough about personal hygiene, cleanliness and a healthy New Yorker-ly sense of paranoia that there would certainly be no STD's involved, even if all of the above were in question.

So I wake up at four a.m., the dream so clearly entrenched in my psyche that I'm not quite sure that it didn't happen - and if it did, hey, why is he here and not on the couch?! And TOUCHING me, no less! The gall! And I want to cry, but I want to kick him even more than I want to cry. So instead of resorting to violence, I get up, get some water, pee, and go back to bed. Resume the spoon position. It's PMS hormones talkin', I'm sure.

Don't fuck with the hormones, people. Do not. Fuck. With the Hormones.

He Shoots... He SCORES! Bush Wins in a Tie Breaking Last Minute Save!

I promised not to write any more about the convention. I PROMISED. And, well, you should probably know that I promise a lot of things. At least I always mean it at the time. But last night, that slippery ol' Dubya opened his mouth and poor little politically addicted masochist Katie just had to listen. Gah.

May I start by reiterating how much I dislike George W. Bush? He's baaaad, real bad, either in an "I'm not fit too rule because I'm so damn clueless way" or in an "I believe you're so clueless you'll buy my stupid-act while I destroy decades of progressive reforms and diplomacy. Ha ha on you" kind of way. I think it's more likely the second.

No, no, I don't really think he's evil - but I think he's almost always wrong! AArgh!

Which is why it's remarkable that, I, Katie, queen of the Bush haters, got all misty eyed before the damn speech even started. During the part of the montage when they showed him throwing the first pitch at the 2001 World Series & Jeter tells him "In New York, you pitch from the mound" and America keeps pitching and blah, blah, blah... I'm a pathetic tear-jerk susceptible sucker.

Oh, and maybe I'll vote for him? 'Cause he said everyone's going to get a new house and free college and free training for a fabulous new career? Oh, and permanent tax cuts too? Yay, now we can all enjoy the benefits of democracy just like they are in Afghanistan and Iraq right now! I love you, W!*

(* a.k.a. sarcasm)

Of course, there's lots more disturbing, disingenuous, borderline lies that really perturbed me. (I know, I know, I promised not to go into it...) I'll probably post a diatribe on those later this afternoon. But not quite yet. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

Happy Blogiversary!

Today is September 2nd. I've been blogging (serially) for one month, today.

Thanks, Jen, for wasting hours and hours of my time! I mean that in the nicest way possible. :)

Comment Turns to Post (But I need to go to bed soon...)

(To a recently divorced young woman, looking for true love)

Hey, HOI,

My blog is named Serial Blogonomy (monogamy) for a reason. I've been with a lot of guys for 2-3-4 years at a time, but haven't given in to the old marriage yet. Here's three things I've learned:

1) When you give your number and mean it, make sure part of the meaning is physical chemistry. Seriously.

2) Make sure you're not so terribly different that you can't work through it.

3) Make sure the guy loves you (of course, you know that if you're looking at MARRIAGE) but not for the future you, rather for the current you. No matter how crazy & difficult you may be. (I say this because I am both crazy and difficult. So is my current [hopefully future always] man.)


There IS a reason this blog is called Serial Blogonomy - mostly because I consider myself a serial monogamist. Lots of years-long loves. Lots of years-long unrequited loves. Forget it. I don't think I've been single in my adult (post 18-22; I'm on the razor's edge of thirty right now) life.

I'm extremely happy with my man & my family. That may have something to do with the man actually being part of the family - Kiernan's dad - I don't know. But, for the record, I had the crazy-chemistry-Darwinian hots for this man years before Kiernan came in to the picture. Hell, even months before I met him in person (I'll tell that some other time.) I think part of my decision to bear and to raise Kiernan had to do with chemical inevitability (I don't believe in God, and chemicals seem like a good alternative in this case. Damn complimentary DNA/ hormones.)

But, beyond that, I've seen good in several men who were, in fact, quite bad for me. When I broke it to them, they got all fucked up and needy. No fun at all.

Those that didn't get all fucked up were the ones that didn't see fit to be with me in a "girlfriend/boyfriend" type scenario.

My best friend Chris Fox, for one (beautiful, beautiful black Irish man. Damn. He used to babysit Kiernan for me when I had a big jones to get out and see the world. Good guy. He's in Montana in a ranch with his (several years long) girlfriend LaResa, last I heard.)

My high school crush / winter prom date, Greg Wollaston (who I shared with All things Jen - the crush, that is, not the date -) who recently (two years ago) had his gay wedding announcement in the times. What a sweetheart - his husband, included. Hell, they say a girl likes a man who reminds her of her daddy, eh?

Oh, and Ursus. I was a 19 year old college girl. He was a 20 year old college boy. It was love at first sight, except for his future - and later, ex- wife. She was awfully cool, by the way. Too bad the timing was never, ever quite right.

In lieu of that, he & I became lifelong friends. And we're going to have a few drinks (Courtesy of his Vegas winnings) tomorrow night. Yay! More to come later on.

Colors, anyone?? Colors?! Why are the colors on my blog going nuts? Damned blogger...

John Kerry Loyalty Quiz... ( see George Bush Loyalty Quiz)

Your score is 7 on a scale of 1 to 10. John Kerry is your man. He may not be perfect in your eyes, but next to the smirking idiot who occupies the White House right now, he looks like Abraham Lincoln.

7? I wouldn't say seven. More like three. But the description is pretty accurate.

Oh, and thanks to Jen for re-directing me and inspiring the second post on the matter ;)

Wednesday, September 01, 2004


This was posted on my theater department alumni listserv (yes, in a former life, I was a theater major. Before becoming a philosophy major. There's no denying my talent for sniffing out marketable, career enhancing interests... not.)

Do my eyes deceive me, or did the Yankees LOSE yesterday to my beloved Tribe??? Was the score really 22-0???? Has Georgie-boy brought in grief counselors yet? There's just nothing like a record-breaking game, is there? Especially on hometurf. Hang in there, Prozac is on it's way!

Ha ha ha. Stupid Yankees.

Umm, Never Mind

Okay, so I fixed them. Sort of. Not so much. Suffer anyway.


Those colors in the last two posts are pretty gag-a-licious, no? And yet, I am too lazy to change them. Suffer.

Political Blogging Be Boring

Okay, okay, I'm finally burned out. I didn't watch the stupid convention last night, because my incoherent screams and unpredictable hurling of foodstuffs at the television screen have been kind of off-putting to the other people who live here. I'm done with it (except, of course, Indecision 2004. That's fake news. It doesn't count.)

As my final salvo in the blog battle against Bush, I present this lovely little quiz I found on An American Parrothead in Canada's blog.

The George W. Bush Loyalty Quiz

Your score is 0 on a scale of 1 to 10. You hate Bush with a writhing passion. You think he is an idiot, a liar, and a warmonger who has been a miserable failure as president. Nothing would give you greater pleasure than seeing him run out of the White House, except maybe seeing him dragged away in handcuffs.

Children's Books You Will Never See Published

I ganked this mighty funny list from Jake. Enjoy.


"You Were an Accident"

"Strangers Have the Best Candy"

"The Little Sissy Who Snitched"

"Some Kittens Can Fly!"

"Getting More Chocolate on Your Face"

"Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her"

"The Attention Deficit Disorder Association's Book of Wild Animals of North Amer...Hey! Let's Go Ride Our Bikes!"

"All Dogs Go to Hell"

"The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking"

"Garfield Gets Feline Leukemia"

"What Is That Dog Doing to That Other Dog?"

"Why Can't Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?"

"Bi-Curious George"

"Daddy Drinks Because You Cry"

"Mister Policeman Eats His Service Revolver"

"You Are Different and That's Bad"

"Dad's New Wife Timothy"

"Pop! Goes The Hamster....And Other Great Microwave Games"

"Testing Homemade Parachutes With Nothing At All But Your Household Pets"

"The Hardy Boys, the Barbie Twins, and the Vice Squad"

"The Tickling Babysitter"

"Babar Meets the Taxidermist"

"Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence"

"The Boy Who Died from Eating All His Vegetables"

"Start a Real-Estate Empire With the Change From Your Mom's Purse"

"The Pop-up Book of Human Anatomy"

"Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will"

"The Care Bears Maul Some Campers and are Shot Dead"

"How to Become The Dominant Military Power In Your Elementary School"

"Controlling the Playground: Respect Through Fear