Three Years -- That's A Mighty Long Time

So I finally got around to posting new blog post, and LO!, it's been three years since I posted last.

Yes, I procrastinate.  I make no apologies.

But in any case, I'm suffering from insomnia, and I've been awake since Saturday.  This being Monday, I'm a bit punchy.

That's it.  Three years, and that's my post.  The wait was worth it, though, wasn't it?

A Minor, And Nerdy, Complaint

I would love it if my text editor could run through my code and flag variables that are almost, but not quite, spelled the same. For example, if the variable "$submissions" appears 30 times in my code, this handy-dandy feature might flag the variable "$sumbissions" in line 237 'cause it's kinda like a previously used variable and yet not quite.

*sigh*

For those of you who don't program, please pretend I said something charming, or interesting, or both. Thanks.

My Day So Far

New Stove!
Best Buy™ delivered a new Whirlpool™ stove to the Den of Sin this morning. The delivery men were so friendly and efficient that I thought I'd died and gone to Minnesota. You betcha!

Almost Hit By SUV
On the way to buy coffee at Starbucks (we all have our moments of weakness, myself no less than others), I crossed the intersection and was almost struck by an SUV. As she sped away, the woman driving either waved at me in apology or flipped me off for thinking that stop signs applied to such noble personages as she. So, to her, either "Hey, you missed me, no problem" or "Fuck you, you reckless menace!" as appropriate.

Super Hero
Moments after the near miss SUV experience, a masked superhero said to me "CRIME DOESN'T PAY! NEITHER DOES BEING A SUPERHERO! SPARE ANY CHANGE?!" I didn't, and when I returned from Starbucks having broken a twenty, he and his trust sidekick had disappeared with a swish of a cape into the mystery of The City.

It's REALLY Cold Tonight!

Brrrrrr!

Bring me space heaters, my minions! Space heaters!!!

Republican Moral Leadership

Amazing.

Read The Wolf and Goat Show Right Now!

As usual, Kane has written something stunningly good.

I've been mulling over gender issues for a while too, for other reasons, and Kane's post made me realize that I've always identified with being male, but that my idea of "male" seems to be so different from everyone else's that it almost doesn't matter -- I would describe it as Responsibility Centered Gender®™

I also chuckled a bit over I only look female because my hair is long for a change because I got my gender ideas from my parents, and the more I think about it the more it seems that for them the difference between men and women is the length of their hair.

As always, I may be misinterpreting my parents.



®™ Those of you familiar with fads in public university accounting management schemes might recognize that term in part

My Job Is Like Taking The GED Eight Hours A Dayorwhy I want to punch someone right now

My job is like taking the GED eight hours a day -- if taking the GED involved random two hour Amway seminars, Jehovah's Witnesses walking in to ask insistent questions about automobile repair*, and convincing a whole classroom of the mentally retarded to not, repeat, not rip up the answer sheets.

Another difference is that instead of having three predefined sections, my own special GED test has an arbitrary number of sections assigned every day. I then have to convince the people handing out the sections that I should actually be able to work on them instead of just talking about how important is that I work on them right away as they hand me stack after stack after stack.

If only all of this were leading to more money, a better job, getting into a good graduate program or a sense of accomplishment instead of gallon upon gallon of existential angst**.




* In case I give anyone the wrong impression, neither my company nor my job within it has anything to do with automobile repair.

** speaking of which, I have have closets full of the stuff. If you need some for your next production of Godot, give me call. I can help you out, cheap.

THE GOOD TIMES ARE OVER!

Just so I can use this catchphrase in reference to future events, I direct your attention to:
Bug in Mouth Disease
I especially like the concerned eyebrows.

"It's Not Too Flattering Is It?"

So I'm sitting here in my SOMA apartment, drinking wine with my hot artist girlfriend letting my 15 year old self revel in his every adolescent desire being reality, when I ran across a post by my kick-assedly popular ex-girlfriend*. Immediately after reading it, I hear from my girlfriend's friend** in the other room (working on an online personal ad) the phrases "this is all because we need a man" and (regarding the picture on her profile) "it's not too flattering is it?"

At the risk of being accused of disparaging women because they don't live up to my expectations*** ****, women spend way too much time obsessing over the fact that men might not find them attractive or desirable or lovable. Yeah, this might be part of the human condition, and men might feel the same way but cover it up with ESPN*****, but women seem to be overwhelmed by it******. It defines too much of what it means to be a woman in America.

And, honestly, I've never met a man who's worth the fuss. Me included. We're not worth it, and it's not necessary. Men are going to be there, and they're gonna want women*******. It's just the way it is.

-----
* Who is also hot. Did you know that men in cars stop, stare and proposition her on the street? Stopping traffic is supposed to just be a saying...
** Again, hot and smart and talented.
*** To which I say, "why should women be any different from the rest of creation?"
**** and thereby negating this post's entire stock of legitimacy
***** Yes, some of those men think that because they're certain that the girls somehow know they're gay, but let's just ignore the reality of homosexuality for the length of this post. If America could do it for 200 years, then please allow me set it aside for ten minutes to prop up my sad-assed rhetorical construct.
****** I blame the Republicans for this. Disagree? Well, then let's talk about who opposed the Equal Rights Amendment. The Eagle Forum never endorsed a Democrat.
******* Again, we're ignoring homosexuality for this post.

Help My Friend Say Goodbye to San Francisco

UPDATE: My friend completed her project, and her degree!

My friend is moving, and would like some help with an art project to commemorate this event. Go on! Giver her a call!!


Hello...

I am an artist who has been working in San Francisco for the past few years. I've loved every minute here, but I will be moving to the East Coast in just 3 weeks. I would really appreciate your help with one more piece. Please, help me say goodbye.

Call this number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

When the answering machine picks up, tell me what you would miss most if you had to move away from San Francisco. If you'd like, wish me good luck in Philadelphia.

We may not know each other, but we've shared this city. I would like to have my final project here be a group effort, too. Thank you.

Home Fries in Earle Arkansas

I was sitting, looking all 18 and punk rock, in a roadside diner. It was early, maybe seven in the morning. I was looking through the menu to find something without meat or eggs1. This was taking some time. There were about five or six farmers finishing up breakfast at the next table, talking Arkansas farmer stuff. Their conversation turned to head injuries2, and one of the farmers spent the next twenty minutes detailing all the times he'd been hit in the head by things. Heavy things. It was an impressive list, including a tractor and ending with an iron skillet. He said it hadn't done him any harm. I don't think even the other farmers believed that.

After breakfast, driving south, I watched a biplane strafe cottons fields with herbicide. It was one of those May blue sky mornings. Everything was still crisp before the day's heat set in. The plane dove in long sweeping arcs like a flying fish laying down milt on the fields. The fact that the plane was leaving puffs of poison to drift across the highway made the beauty of it all just that much more surreal.

1No meat because I'm a vegetarian. No eggs because I don't like them much.
2Which explained so much about being a farmer in rural Arkansas to my 18 year old self.

For you aging punk rockers out there...

Henry Rollins

Death Race 2005: Goat Cheese Derby

I went to Whole Foods today, and I bought my typical two bags of urban hipster feed -- goat cheese, basil, whole bean coffee, organic vegetarian tamales -- the kind of things that convince Midwesterners that something happens to people once they move to San Francisco1.

While it's not true that this something is, at the very least a precursor to if not a full blown case of, rampant homosexuality2, something does happen to people here. Especially when they drive. Malignant Asshole-ism.

There's a stop light outside of Whole Foods, between Folsom and Harrison, solely to allow pedestrians to cross the street. There is no intersection at this stop light, just a crosswalk that leads between Whole Foods and a seniors' center on the other side. I was waiting there at the light until it turned green3. As I started to cross, a minivan full of gesticulating, striped shirt wearing, rubber-necking white people4 blows through the stop light without even slowing down.

The stop light put there to allow shopping mothers to cross the street with their family size soy milk, the stop light likely to be used by someone's grandfather who suddenly gets a hankering for organic chocolate chip ice cream, the stoplight where parents herd their gaggle of giggling daughters to get healthy all fruit frozen juice bars, the stop light where aging sarcastic hipsters stagger home under the weight of hangovers and organic cherry tomatoes, this is the stoplight that Mr. Stripey-Shirt doesn't even pretend to slow down for because he's too busy gabbing and pointing out the sights to his, obviously, morally bankrupt kin folk5.

Fucker.

1I like to encourage this type of thinking as it cuts down on wedding invitations and suggestions for family vacations to the Wisconsin Dells.
2Here's the secret, as disturbing as it may be: The City doesn't turn people gay, they were gay already. Just trust me on this one.
3I'm not an enthusiast jaywalker even when I'm not laden with goat cheese.
4I'm vainly hoping that this description will lead to these people's eventual public exposure and humiliation. The minivan was silver, by the way. Just in case.
5Well, ok, the passengers could have been completely innocent and screaming "Jesus H. Key-Rist watch where you're going!", but a little guilt by association can be fun.

The Golden Book of news.

Here's a headline from the sfgate home page:

Synchronized Bomb Blasts
The nearly simultaneous explosions in London suggest a level of sophistication, say authorities. AP

Really? You don't say? It certainly would never have occured to me that coordinating explosions to go off at the same time during rush hour in a major city implied any sort of sophistication. I assumed it was all just a coincidence. A lucky break for the otherwise utterly incompetent bombers. Might that also mean they're not led in their evil efforts by this guy? Who knew those little brown people had it in them?

A Jammy English Muffin and Coffee on a Lazy Saturday

One of the things I love about my girlfriend is that not only does she hold the same ideal of toastiness that I do, but she can implement said toastiness with offhand competence1. English muffins, toast and jam, pita bread, or even grilled garlic toast, she can toast them all to a perfect crunchiness2. In fact, I'm crunching on an amazing English muffin with apricot jam as I write this post.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have another cup of coffee. Meanwhile, read my latest list.

1Shevis flagrantly skillful -- one of the most self-reliant people I've ever met. You've probably already gathered that about her from reading her site.

2Very crunchy, quite browned, but not burned unless it's called for, e.g. sear marks on grilled garlic toast. Light inside, but not at all doughy.

A Blueberry Muffin and TeaWhile Reading the Paper

God help us all.

No Wonder He's Synonymous With Frothy Fecal Lube

From Capitol Buzz

This man is a U.S. Senator. A SENATOR!
What was Pennsylvania thinking?

Those Slutty Women! (Happy Birthday Kristy)

Anonymous said...
K - I just read the list you posted (on another blog - The List List) of all your sex partners. Seriously, you need help. I like your writing and I think you have talent..please have more self esteem.
3:19 PM, July 01, 2005

(A comment in response to a post by Kristy on TheListList)

Twenty men. Kristy has had sex with twenty men. At the age of thirty. Twenty men! Six of those men, SIX, have been one night stands. That averages to about one and one third men per year since Kristy began having sex with nearly one entire one night stand every other year.

What can I even say about a woman who is that sexually active? Further, what does it say about Kristy,?

Well first, if I, El Gallo, had listed twenty women I'd had sex with, I'm certain the overwhelming response would have been "DUDE! Rockin'!"

Because I'm a man. And the more women I have sex with, the more of a man people think I am.

For Kristy though, each one of those twenty sexual partners have obviously taken something away. Each one is a mark against her self esteem -- a mark against her value as a person. Each one has somehow subtracted from her column of womanhood in the great moral balance book that keeps track of us all.

Because women shouldn't like sex. Because women certainly shouldn't like sex so much that they have sex when they want. With whoever they want.

Secondly, sex is bad. Somehow. Someway. It's corrosive to the human spirit. (Well, at least to the female spirit...). It is not an expression of what we are as humans. It is not a connection with another person in the same way that loving them, or talking to them, or hugging them or even emailing them is. It's a vile act that distances each of us (well, at least each of us that's a woman...) from everyone else. It's a force so harmful that we must resist it, deny it, corral it behind laws of marriage, rules of reputation, and book after book of pop psychology -- and do it as little as possible.

The more you think about it, the more that burkhas make sense.

Lastly if someone (some woman) has decided that that's all a load of bullshit, if they (she) decides that sex is a good thing, if they (she) goes so far as to live their (her) life in a way that every man has taken for granted for recorded history, then we need to point her out. We need to knock her down, shame her, shut her up and close her legs before this whole sex thing gets out of hand.

Otherwise, women might stop hating themselves for who they are.

And if women stop hating themselves for who they are, it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to take advantage of them.

The Face of the Republican Party

Karl Rove is a bloated, lying, pasty faced son of a bitch.


(The pasty faced son of a bitch in question, lying his flabby ass off to shift blame away from his owners' miserable failure of a needless war, pauses to show the audience how purty his lips are.)

I'm tired of being slandered by these mendacious tubs of guts.

Yes, I know this has nothing to do with breakfast.

A Muffin and Tea on the Solstice

The summer solstice was always my favorite day of the year. The morning started so early. I would wake up near dawn and be happy that the daylight would last almost till bedtime. I've been looking forward to today for the entire month of June.

This morning I bought my usual blueberry muffin from my usual neighborhood bakery, sat down at my desk and ate it with two cups of tea. My email was sparse and dry -- Marlin Perkins would call in Jim to deal with this email while he stayed back in air-conditioned Omaha. The internet depressed me with the rehashed bits of people's stupidity and meanness. Work was at least as pointless as it always is. Its only appeal: it's less boring than reading the same headlines over and over again.

Now my tea is gone. I have five and a half hours sitting at my desk until I can go. If this were first grade, I'd be hoping for a game of "Heads Up 7-Up". Now, I'm just waiting for tomorrow to start the long slow slide into winter.