Gracious What Fresh Rabbit Hole is This

Hello! Thank you for your email inquiries regarding my new cooking blog thing. I appreciate the effort many of you have gone through to create a sort of “application,” which was not necessary, but very nice. We are always so busy I really do want this to be a fun and undaunting project. I will reply to you via email this week. Busy or not, I NEED this project. I am very excite.

I went to Vancouver last weekend. If Canada was a girl, I would take her behind the gym and get her ass pregnant.

In other news, I have a very sick child who has a gluten flare-up plus a flu bug. I spent all day at the Childrens’ Hospital yesterday getting tests and x-rays. Franny is fine, but I am looking forward to getting that final rubber stamp that says “X is wrong with your kid.” Not that it will stop grandparents from stuffing her full of sugar cookies late on a Sunday night. I am thinking of going with “ATTENTION WELL-MEANING FAMILY: Franny is allergic to wheat and will DROP DEAD if you give her a piece of chocolate cake.” The reality is that she misses school, I miss work, and I resent the fuck out of everyone who is not taking this shit seriously, you can die in a fucking fire while I sit up with my kid who is twisting and holding her guts at 2 a.m.

TL;DR: I am busy and you will be hearing from me shortly, all of you, if I do not combust.

xoxo, have a good day/fuck off and die (depending on who you are)

Call for Writers/Home Cooks; Dilettantes Preferred

Hello, I am starting a group blog for 2010. It will be a focused project on the subject of cooking a particular cuisine. I will be posting (for certain) weekly the results of my experiments, with pictures added. I may post more often. If you have an interest in cooking and photographing your cooking, writing, and (loosely speaking) Victorian England, this might be for you. You will not be paid, but hey, you cannot get fired, either. You can post weekly (or more) but I hope you will check in monthly at least. Humor’s great, and so is serious historical wankery. Let’s learn something together while we entertain the masses.

Drop me a line for more details if you are interested. I am OOT this weekend, but I will get back to you next week. sj@ this domain. Thanks!

It Are December Post Some Fucking Lipton

Do I sound bitter lately? Do I come here just to be bitter? I am not, I assure you. In the spirit of updating you on Creeps Bothering Me, this morning on the bus I was buried in Girl Genius #8 with my teal earbuds in (very noticeable) and this guy started talking to me. I kind of genuinely missed it, because I was Billie Holiday and Agatha Heterodyne and he POKED ME ON MY SHOULDER. Who does that? He got the frowny brows and I popped out an earbud.

“What kind of shoes are those? I have never seen shoes like those.”

“I dunno, it’s the guy who designs for Ed Hardy.”

“Huh, those are cool.”

YEAH YOUR MOM’S COOL.

Okay, I am going to Canada this weekend, but I am podcasting before I go. I posed this question to the FYCL Facebook group, but I will ask you here: If you are a lady, and you consider yourself a feminist, what is your feminist hypocrisy? What is the one thing (or more) you do/say/think/buy/feel that contradicts your identity as a feminist?

Also I am enjoying the pudding out of this today:

Fangsgiving for Farging Iceholes

Happy Fangsgiving! I hope your day is going well. I am up to something! That something is bacon-infused bourbon for old fashioneds.

So far I have poured bacon grease into the bourbon, which I poured into a big pitcher first. Then I put it in the fridge overnight, because the pitcher did not fit in the freezer. This was a mistake. The grease did not congeal enough, really. I strained the grease out and bumped the bourbon in the microwave so the fat would remelt, since it was all in separate little globs. I am hoping it makes one big lump this time around. I may have to pick up some cheesecloth when I go out to get oysters.

I am not making Fangsgiving dinner this year, for the first time in eons. I will tell you why, straight up. P. and I had a row last week in which he told me that he was “not really into Thanksgiving and all the trimmings.” This is like telling a devout Catholic that “that Pope guy is okay, I guess.”

It wasn’t really spite that made me pull the plug, honestly. It was more an overwhelming since of “meh.” Why bother? I said this aloud. My feelings were hurt that my dinners that I work three days on with scratch broth and stuffing and the brining…that they were so take-or-leave. FNIF. ~dramatic violins~

“I will just make whatever then, and treat it like any other day,” I said. I had a notion of getting half a turkey breast and just slapping a couple of things together like a normal weeknight.

“I have always thought we should make something besides turkey,” P. declared.

“If it is not a turkey meal, then it is not really like Thanksgiving,” I said. “It is another fancy meal that you can have any day of the year.”

“Oh, well, if you are not going to cook, I will,” P. declared. And it was on like Donkey Kong.

“I think I will make a brisket,” he announced a couple of days after the Incident. I don’t even know what animal that comes from.

“Okay,” I said, resignedly, and with some attempt at actually being supportive. I tried not to think of gravy and cranberry and stuffing. I tried not to think about how much I enjoy planning menus and CHOPPING and getting the timing just right.

A couple of days after that, and it was a different story again.

“I’ve been thinking,” P. said. “It is just not Thanksgiving without a traditional meal.”

“Oh,” I said. “What a completely original thought that I have never heard come out of anyone’s mouth, especially not mine four days ago.”

“Yeaaah. So I am making a turkey.”

And he is. I am sitting on my ass. The world’s gone mad, I tells you.

Also, Halloween pics are finally up, if you’re interested. And Egg and I are podcasting tonight, if you have a last-minute question.

Get off Your Knees and Start Juggling

So, last night I took my sister to Warren G, which, who knew what that was going to be like? I had to know. Before one of the openers even started, this guy came by and sat next to us and was all HELLO LADIES. He began explaining his shirt, because there were some things that were important for us to know.

“This shirt cost $30,” he said. “Who pays $30 for some COTTON, I said?”

“You?” I ventured.

“I did!” he said. “I have had four shots of Patron and three long island iced teas. This is my third. Do you want a drink?”

“No thanks, I have to work early,” I said.

“AHHHH if someone offered me a drink I would say, ‘HOW MANY? THREE?”

“You’re very kind,” I said.

“I had to get this shirt, though, because it says 1984 on it, and that is when I was born, and there are UNICORNS and I am a Sagittarius, so it’s PERFECT. Do you want this?” he asked, offering me the rest of his tea.

“Oh no,” I said. He gave us the eyeball.

“Are you two…a couple?” he asked. This happened again later after some drunk girl was hanging on me as support, she asked me if my sister and I were a couple as well. Please don’t touch me. I don’t get out much.

Morgan was flipping out about it a little bit.

“WHAT’S THE DEAL?” she asked. “I’M A MARRIED LADY.”

“Oh,” I said, looking around. “We are not wearing tube tops. There’s just not enough flesh showing. I mean, you’re wearing a scarf.”

“I’m cold,” Morgan said.

“Look at these hip hop bitches,” I said. They were all with doofy looking guys who were wearing three times as much clothes as they were. “I could get some of these hip hop bitches if I had a few DUIs, a penis, and a couple baby mamas.”

“Well, you’re close,” Morgan said. “All you need is the penis.”

Grynch was the best part. We’re going to see him when we can. They Live! was pretty good also.

In Which We Present One Way to Get Rid of Lice Without Using Pesticides

Hello. It has come to my attention that some of you are interested in how I get rid of lice. Will I tell you? Yes. Will I cite my sources? No. Can you post your own remedies in the comments? As if I could stop you. Please, be my guest.

Anyway, I am going to tell you that you can kick lice without going into lockdown and sterilizing your whole house, but focusing on what lice need, which is your head, and not worrying so much about the rest of your house.

Step One: Don’t get lice. I managed this for 31 years. Goooo Team Assmittens.

Step Two: Get Lice. Fuck Salt. (Optional step.)

You needa:

1. “Original” Listerine. Amber color. Off-brand is fine. The issue with the other flavors is that they can get sticky, I hear.
2. Plasticky drug store shower caps.
3. Fingernails or comb. I prefer fingernails, whereas my friend V. swears by this comb.
4. Beauty supply-type squirt bottle for Listerine. Again, optional, but I think it helps.

Out Out Damned Spot

Good news for you, the afflicted: lice are crawlers, not leapers, hoppers, or flyers, so they won’t get terribly far. Thing two is that they cannot live long off one’s head.

You are going for a two-pronged attack here.

Prong one is getting rid of the nits (eggs). These live between 1-3 inches from the scalp, on individual strands of hair. People say they look like little oil drops or tiny sesame seeds. They cling to the shaft of the hair with ass glue or something, I dunno.

I grab them with my fingernails and drop them into the sink when I find them, to keep them contained. I look through every bit of hair in a pretty unscientific way–I just sort through an inch or so at a time. I do this for about a week and then do a glance every day for about a week after that, and then periodic checks throughout the year. If you get rid of the eggs, then, duh, no more hatching, and you end the cycle. A serious infestation may take an hour or more to pull, or as little as 15 minutes if you are checking weekly or so. Don’t shit bricks if you need to take a break or you do not get them all at once on the first night. Persistence is the key here. Give it a few days and you will get them all.

Prong two is the bugs themselves. YUK. If they get big enough to see and pull out (St. Jude pray for us) then just rinse them down the drain or drop them in the toilet. The little ones will have to be poisoned with delishus delishus Listerine.

I spray this liberally all over the head with the squirty bottle. Avoid the eyes, as it will burn like a bitch. Do not drink, unless you are a hobo. Well, are you a hobo? Get the hair pretty wet to the ends so there is nowhere to run, and then cover with a showercap for a half hour or so. Imagine tiny screaming holocaust all over your head, and feel smug. You may be drippy, so grab a hand towel for your neck. Rinse and shampoo as normal, knowing that you have destroyed lives. I do the Listerine cycle for about a week as well. I hear the Listerine smell repels reinfestation as well, but if it is between death and your delicious head blood, I bet they will hold their noses.

Optional stuff:

1. Change sheets. Why not? I hear they can live a day or so off the head, so why not have a fresh start the first night?

2. Vacuum. I bet your house could use it, right? Well, mine could. Unless you have lice on the floor and your kids are rubbing their heads on the floor, this won’t matter too much.

3. Coats, couches, other pillows, etc. I wouldn’t go crazy. Think about it: if you are killing whatever clings on that day every evening, and they can only live off the head 24 hours or so, and you are breaking the laying cycle, then you do not need to sterilize your house.

DO make sure you check everyone in your house, though–why pass it around over and over? When I get paranoid I give myself a few squirts as well.

DO NOT buy that overpriced bullshit from the drug store with the shitty plastic comb. This operation should not cost you much more than $10 for the whole family, and you keep the shower caps and squirty bottle for next time. Generic Listerine is like three bone.

DO NOT panic. This is rather simple and their advantage is that they are TINY, not that they are terrifically pernicious.

Good luck.

“I Think Wendy Ho Is Pretty, Mom”

Today I went to Puyallup, YES all the way to Puyallup with my brilliant friend who goes there to get Sonic. Sometimes you just have to do the short road trip. Then we ended up at his favorite pub, where there ratio of dudes to ladies was me, to, well, many, and I was very happy. I wonder about “intruding” on men’s space like that.

A couple of years ago I went to the Dory Alley Fair in San Francisco and I hoped it was okay that I was there. I was very happy, anyway. It was so crowded that at certain points I felt I was being carried along like a salmon by a bunch of giant, (mostly) strapping, seriously gay men. I don’t want to be where I am not wanted, but at the same time I felt so safe and happy and invisible there. I felt like I was Nuala at some kind of fairy ball, yes, pun intended.

Speaking of which, how is project Reclaim Your Fucking Space coming, you ask? After leaving the pub, I decided to head downtown to catch a bus that would slingshot me straight to my house, rather than wait for two. I walked past a coffee shop I walk past every day on my way home from work and I passed a middle-aged white man who was futzing with his bike. As usual, I had my giant earphones on and was walking purposefully with my eyes straight forward.

“Nice hair!” he said, as I passed. I did not blink, speak, or break my stride. “YOU’RE WELCOME,” he called out as I continued on. I moved slightly to slide one of my headphones back, an ace move if you are evesdropping on the bus or whatnot.

“Fucking bitch,” he said, more quietly. I disappeared into traffic.

So. Did I tell you Franny got lice again? We dispatched them pretty quickly. Looks like the vector was SeaFed’s house. Franny came back and told us stories of her other sister being lousy with, you know, LICE, and also pink eye and for some mysterious reason her toe was green. GANGRENE? DOES THE CHILD HAVE GANGRENE? I am so pleased to hear hear her mother is spawning again.

I am having a cooking epic tomorrow. I will finally post pics. Here it is almost Fangsiving and I have not even posted Halloween pictures. Ay yi yi. See you tomorrow.

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In Which We Name and Shame

For a year, Cornerhost provided me with server space and hosted my site. When the year was up, the owner, Michal Wallace, sent me a bill for this year, which I paid on time, and was cleared by the bank. Wallace pulled the plug on my site and apparently did not notice that it had happened automagically, and I moved to a different server.

Weeks later I received an email with a tepid apology about “stuff going on” and an offer for discounted service for a month. I asked for my money back for this year, since I have not used his service and would not. I have asked about four times now for my money back. Adding insult to injury, I am starting to get monthly “paid” notices that I owe nothing for hosting I do not want due to bad service.

Do not sign up with Cornerhost: “Hosting with a Human Touch.” I am out a hundred bone, but I hope you don’t have to be.

Personal Space and Being a Lady

[Trigger warning–something I don’t usually include at the beginning of my posts since my whole blog is a trigger for some people.]

AHEM. Hey remember me? NO? Fuck off! Just kidding. I love you, even though the thing you got me for my birthday broke 45 minutes after I opened it and I know you took a second piece of cake before everyone even had one.

SO. What I really want to say! The other day I read this article and it really grabbed me: Schrodinger’s Rapist: or a Guy’s Guide to Approaching Strange women without Being Maced. That’s a mouthful, eh?

In a nutshell, the author, Phaedra Starling, claims that women, to varying degrees, constantly assess their personal risk of harm when confronted with men in daily life. This is everywhere–on the street, in the workplace, on the first few dates and even with men you have known for years if things go south suddenly. It’s not a new idea in the realm of feminist thought and discussion, but I think it’s worthwhile in the sense that the Starling takes a really matter-of-fact, non-hostile tone without cajoling or pandering. I feel like it’s the best possible way to present this idea to men who are genuinely good guys. A chance to say, hey, this thing that you may not be aware of–women’s fear of men–is real and takes up a significant part of women’s daily lives and energy. It would be great if articles like this were published in men’s magazines, wouldn’t it? AH HA HA HA HA, oh, I think I just hurt myself there.

The article is a good and essential read for a lot of people, men and women alike. Here is a snippet that gets at the essence of the problem:

Now, you want to become acquainted with a woman you see in public. The first thing you need to understand is that women are dealing with a set of challenges and concerns that are strange to you, a man. To begin with, we would rather not be killed or otherwise violently assaulted.

“But wait! I don’t want that, either!”

Well, no. But do you think about it all the time? Is preventing violent assault or murder part of your daily routine, rather than merely something you do when you venture into war zones? Because, for women, it is. When I go on a date, I always leave the man’s full name and contact information written next to my computer monitor. This is so the cops can find my body if I go missing. My best friend will call or e-mail me the next morning, and I must answer that call or e-mail before noon-ish, or she begins to worry. If she doesn’t hear from me by three or so, she’ll call the police. My activities after dark are curtailed. Unless I am in a densely-occupied, well-lit space, I won’t go out alone. Even then, I prefer to have a friend or two, or my dogs, with me. Do you follow rules like these?

So when you, a stranger, approach me, I have to ask myself: Will this man rape me?

I shared this article with a couple of men in my life–men I consider to be allies of feminism and pretty aware and cool guys. Men who would not stand by if they saw or heard women being slagged or hurt in cases where they could not defend themselves. Men who are aware that there are inequalities, and try to act in ways in their daily lives that move men and women closer to being equals.

“What do you think about this article?” I asked, in what I hoped was a neutral tone of voice that said, “There is no carrot for the ‘right’ answer.”

“I think it sounds pretty extreme, like an overreaction,” one of the men said. “But I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman,” he hastened to add.

I paused for a moment and tried to think if there were any women I knew who didn’t think in these terms to varying degrees, and this friend characterized the thesis of this article “extreme” and an “overreaction.” This extremely unscientific survey confirmed what I suspected, which is that these sorts of articles and discussions are absolutely critical.

It also made me think about how I live my own life, especially since having children. Before I had children, I didn’t pull any punches. If a man talked to me and I was uninterested I would ignore him or tell him to leave me alone, either neutrally or harshly, depending on my mood and the situation. Having children put a chink in that armor, and instilled more fear of strange men in me. If I acted in ways that come naturally to me to curtail unwanted conversations with strange men, which is coolly or with hostility, would the situation escalate? Could I risk some man getting angry with me because I wasn’t cooperating and watch the consequences unfold in front of or possibly to my children? Better to smile and play along.

This bleeds over to my life when I am without my children, too, which is, of course, when most men make unwelcome advances toward me. In the past, when I was only responsible for myself, I would tell men off if I indicated I was disinterested and the situation escalated. If things got ugly, it often ended in me being called a “fucking bitch” or a “cunt” or something equally charming. Now I feel I have an obligation to my girls to make it home in one piece, and so I nod and smile at whatever inanity/sexism/grossness is tossed my way.

Thinking of these compromises I make on a daily basis made me also think about the concept of rape culture, and of an excellent article I read by Melissa McEwan on Shakesville recently on the topic.

As the title of the piece promises (Rape Culture 101), McEwan provides the reader with a good background in different aspects of rape culture. Among many other great points she addresses what I think of as the perception/behavior problem.

Rape culture is 1 in 6 women being sexually assaulted in their lifetimes. Rape culture is not even talking about the reality that many women are sexually assaulted multiple times in their lives. Rape culture is the way in which the constant threat of sexual assault affects women’s daily movements. Rape culture is telling girls and women to be careful about what you wear, how you wear it, how you carry yourself, where you walk, when you walk there, with whom you walk, whom you trust, what you do, where you do it, with whom you do it, what you drink, how much you drink, whether you make eye contact, if you’re alone, if you’re with a stranger, if you’re in a group, if you’re in a group of strangers, if it’s dark, if the area is unfamiliar, if you’re carrying something, how you carry it, what kind of shoes you’re wearing in case you have to run, what kind of purse you carry, what jewelry you wear, what time it is, what street it is, what environment it is, how many people you sleep with, what kind of people you sleep with, who your friends are, to whom you give your number, who’s around when the delivery guy comes, to get an apartment where you can see who’s at the door before they can see you, to check before you open the door to the delivery guy, to own a dog or a dog-sound-making machine, to get a roommate, to take self-defense, to always be alert always pay attention always watch your back always be aware of your surroundings and never let your guard down for a moment lest you be sexually assaulted and if you are and didn’t follow all the rules it’s your fault.

[Links from this passage omitted but available at original post.]

(As an aside I should say that I am aware that I am a participant in rape culture, to some extent, and I actively educate my daughters in the tenets of it. This is something I have been considering writing about in the near future.)

So I have been thinking about this a lot since reading the Schrodinger’s Rapist article. Do I give my energy to being pleasing and compliant to the wishes of strange men who actively pursue conversations and interactions with me that I don’t want to have? Or do I go back to resisting: unsmiling, ignoring, intolerant, which is another sort of energy drain?

I walked out of my building, which is smack in the center of downtown, with a half-formed resolution in my head: for a month I would try the old way. I would not dial things up to defcon 1 the minute a man said “hello,” but if I didn’t want to talk, I would not. Something that is important to know about my typical demeanor is that I walk fast, avoid eye contact, and have giant can-style headphones that block everything out except the most annoying leafblowers. I am not sending the message that I am available for casual conversation.

I approached the corner and immediately there was a man standing next to me, trying to get my attention. I deliberately turned my head away, waiting for the light to change. A couple of times I turned my head forward, and saw him in the corner of my eye attempting to get my attention to speak to me again. I looked at him and watched him take a breath to speak and turned away again. He attempted to speak to me, even after this. This made me think of a passage from Starling’s article:

Women are communicating all the time. Learn to understand and respect women’s communication to you.

You want to say Hi to the cute girl on the subway. How will she react? Fortunately, I can tell you with some certainty, because she’s already sending messages to you. Looking out the window, reading a book, working on a computer, arms folded across chest, body away from you = do not disturb. So, y’know, don’t disturb her. Really. Even to say that you like her hair, shoes, or book. A compliment is not always a reason for women to smile and say thank you. You are a threat, remember? You are Schrödinger’s Rapist. Don’t assume that whatever you have to say will win her over with charm or flattery. Believe what she’s signaling, and back off.

[….]

So if you speak to a woman who is otherwise occupied, you’re sending a subtle message. It is that your desire to interact trumps her right to be left alone. If you pursue a conversation when she’s tried to cut it off, you send a message. It is that your desire to speak trumps her right to be left alone. And each of those messages indicates that you believe your desires are a legitimate reason to override her rights.

Did this man on the corner scream at me, pinch me, light my hair on fire? No. What he decided was to try to initiate conversation with me four times, after I deliberately and pointedly ignored him, with my body language and with my headphones.

There are exceptions to every situation, of course, but when the light changed and I walked away, I realized that women DON’T do this. Women do not interrupt people wearing headphones unless they need something. I pick a woman to interrupt, and I see other women at places like bus stops do the same. If a woman interrupts me, there is a good chance that she needs directions, the time, change for a dollar. If a man interrupts me, nine times out of ten it’s to say he likes my hair color. That’s nice; I don’t care.

Starling is right: if you behave like this, “your desire to speak trumps her right to be left alone.” Put another way, a man engaging in these behaviors is not treating a woman like an equal. Would this man make four attempts to pay a compliment to a man on a corner who was also keeping to himself? If I had to guess I would say no.

So here I am, resolved to “reclaim my space,” as one of my friends said. I am letting this little experiment run at least through the end of the month. I will let you know how things shake out.