Again with the Pumpkins

There’s been a lot of this sassypants business lately. I kind of jokingly corrected Franny, reminding her to keep the guts over the pot. Then the other one chimes in with “I’m not doing that.” If I correct Strudel, then the other one says, “It wasn’t me.” I KNOOOW. Sheesh, meddlers.

Quite a difference from two years ago, in some ways.

I carved my pumpkin for a contest for an online game with a first prize of ten million meat. I hope I place, because even second and third place is good, and there are two of each place. Bonus points if you know what this is! Where my fellow nerds at?

Well, At Least We Won’t Get the Plague, Probably

Ugh, what a drag, we have a flea infestation up the ass.

I am fighting the big fight right now, doing pretty much every recommended thing under the sun to be rid of them. The cat is NOT helping at all. We treated her with Frontline on the nape of her neck, and she cleared up in a couple of days, but she is not helping by being a mobile poisoning unit because she figured out where the fleas were and avoids those areas now! Frontline is supposed to work by allowing fleas to jump on your cat and ingest the poison in their blood. Sadly, Nietzsche is now spending all of her time on the kitchen stepstool, a sewing machine that for some reason lives in the kitchen now, and an end table in the living room. She refuses to set foot in the girls’ room, where she dropped her big load of fleas in the first place on their little rug.

I have tried shutting her in the girls’ room for short periods of time, trying to get her to sleep on their beds in the sun, and she cries and paws the door. Useless thing!

So I am vacuuming, putting their blankets through the dryer on hot, washing things, sweeping, and spot-spraying with Knockout ES. One morning we wake up and the girls have no bites, and the next morning they wake up with twelve. Of course they have no self-control, so they scratch and scratch, and end up all scabby. They insist on showing me this repeatedly: “Look, this one burst!” Ugh, lovely.

This morning I was stretching before my run when I stopped to slap some of the bites on my ankles, rather than scratch them. I have tried to teach the girls to do this as well, but when Strudel gets mad at me or tired, she claws herself raw. That will show me who’s boss.

Franny noticed I was itchy and said, “Mom, do you have flea bites too?” All amazed.

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“I didn’t know!” she said.

“Well, I don’t complain about them.”

It was like you could see the hourglass turning over. I love these moments where there’s a little glimmer of realization that adults have problems too. Sometimes it takes her a couple of days to discover that I have the same cold she does. She is always amazed. I am not playing momtyr, but I was raised not to complain until I am half dead, so generally I don’t. That’s what this place is for. Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

In Other News: The Wall, I Have Hit It

Oh my heartbreak this morning as I was out, dashing happily around the lake, when I was taken out by shin splints. I was so angry I thought the top of my head was going to pop off. I NEED this running right now.

I slowed down and stopped to rub my legs. “FUCKITY FUCK FUCKLOAF ASSBURGER FIDDLESTICKS COCKTOAST…Oh, hello, ma’am, I did not see you and your stroller full of impressionable preschoolers there.”

The lake is kind of a funny place to run, since I kind of fall into myself and pretend I’m invisible when I’m doing it, and it’s full of people. This morning the center of the lake looked dead white, like it was the gateway to the edge of the world or something. I saw herons and falling yellow leaves. I am so happy that I can’t see shit generally, except, er, when I’m driving at night. People’s faces are a blur. I pipe music in through big ass cans instead of ear buds, which always hurt. This makes the world even more muted. Today I was listening to A Night at Birdland, and with Art Blakey’s wet cymbals you can’t even hear the gabbling, latte-swilling stroller moms.

So I hit that wall and walked until they settled down. I think I need to change a few things: more stretching, and new shoes. I think I am resting enough. I also need new jog bras. My currents are from before Strudel, and they are not quite doing it. They fit around, but the cup…it is a little like putting a small egg into a regular egg carton. It just rattles around and looks sad in there.

By the time I got to “Night in Tunisia” my shins felt okay again. That’s gotta be one of my all time favorite songs. I think I have a dead musician crush on Lee Morgan. I have almost all of his albums and a few of Blue Mitchell’s. I think trumpet is my favorite. Rock N Rolla!

There Will Be Blood, It Might Be Yours

How to Make a Horse Ears and Mane Headpiece, Shabbily and In a Hurry!
Approximate time: 3 hours
Difficulty: BWUH? I can has make a needle threaded.
Cost: $10, for ears, felt, and yarn, with loads of yarn left for another project.

Well, as I have mentioned, Strudel decided she was going to go as Bad Horse for Halloween this year. Display and Costume could give me no love on the plain brown horse ears or a mane, so I was forced to make my own. This is very bad, because I am the shoddiest seamstress in the world. There’s no quality control, no pride of work. Only “CRANK THAT SHIT OUT, YEAH.” I am conversant with the deadly art of the sewing machine, but I prefer to handsew. I sew fast as HALE, too, WHAM WHAM sewing ninja!

Bad Horse is just some brown horse that Joss Whedon rented from somewhere in Hollywood, so my main objectives were to provide brownness, in the form of suit and ears, with a black mane and tail. I am going to paint her face night of, if she holds still.

I started with these ears because they looked the horseiest in shape. I decided to use them as a “frame” so I didn’t have to stuff ears (buy fluff) or attach them to a headband. Plus they were like two dolla.

As you can see, I already started sewing brown felt to them. I sewed white triangles to the inside of the ears and WA-BAM, done. If you look too close, though, it looks like Horse Ears of Frankenstein, so, err…don’t look too close.

Then it was time for the mane event. HO HO HO, Lame Giant. Okay, I was puzzling how to make the mane. I wanted something that would kind of cascade, but not just be strings hanging down from the headband. Ultimately I decided to cut a piece of brown felt to about 12″x3″. I made black yarn loops to sew onto the felt piece. I left a space on the felt piece for the headband, which I would need to attach when I was done.

Yarn loops!

I cut the yarn about 14″ long.

I was doing this part while I was watching Dexter, so I was sitting on Hester Prynne. Please admire caps lock, the most used BUTTON ON MY KEYBOARD!

Then I doubled the yarn twice…

And tied it in the middle with a piece of yarn that was the same length as the loop. Yarn Loop! This means that some ends were loopy and some were straight. I liked the texture, but once sewn on you could cut all the loops in half to make all the hairs straight.

Then I took the loops and sewed them to the felt by their middle knot in rows of twos and threes, alternating rows until it was jammed and your couldn’t see the brown. About a half an inch seemed like enough room between rows. I made sure that I was securing the knot by sewing it down well.

Then it was done, lurking like an unholy keyboard mirkin!

I sewed it to the headband, and voila! Quick and dirty horse ears and mane! I sewed the felt to the underside of the headband, and then sewed in a couple of rows of yarn loops on top of the headband so it was not a brown gap in the middle of the mane. I did not make the length of the yarn loops shorter, though the headband stuck up in the middle. It didn’t seem to matter.

I hope she will use it for dress up after Halloween. Pictures on the kid later.

Now go kill someone!

Signed, Bad Horse.

Two Things, But Maybe Three

Holeee shit I got wicked acid stomach yesterday after goofing around with my system like that. I have to think the scotch set it off. Also, waiting to have breakfast til eleven a.m. WTG, assgenius. Anyway, it finally settled down around ten. Sometimes nothing works! I tried a whole cornucopia of things yesterday, and the only thing that worked was time.

Today on Blogher I bring you crack journalism about miracle berries, and I am enjoying the sweet potatoes out of this imagining of the presidential candidates (and more!) playing D&D. Just wait til Ron Paul shows up. Oy. Via BK.

In Other News: HOW IS ERROR FORMED?

Et tu, toolbar?

Lunchtime Scotch with Notwist

What a fun afternoon! My musically-omnivorous friend Ruby invited me along to this cool lunchtime concert thing KEXP is doing at The Triple Door. I felt like such a flaneur, drinking Laphroaig before noon, people watching, and then seeing this band I’d never heard of (the last part is unsurprising, I think). The sets range from 30-45 minutes, five songs or so. I think they played for a half hour. That is exactly the size of my rock show attention span nowadays. Ruby says she will go see hippity hop shows with me since I have no one to go with. Woot! I can’t remember the last time I was at a rock show, let alone enjoyed myself at one.

Pictures by Ruby, who has a nicer camera, a better eye, and actually remembered to bring her camera.

This certainly made up for this morning when I was at the dentist being savaged by a strange hygienist, since mine was out of town. She got out this thing called the Cavitron (I am not making that up) to blast off my nasty teeth and I thought I was going to go through the roof because the cold water it was blasting me with was so painful. And then it was my fault because my gums are receding a little. I did not enjoy my lunch today, because I could tell it was just reheated Monday’s dinner, and the server made like it was just me, since customers usually clean their plates. Today it is my fault. Feel free to let me know what you blame me for. However, Ruby was nice and blamed me for nothing.

Uppity Womens

Hey Team,

Just a quick note to say that one of my internets BFFs, whatladder, started a message board on current events, general discussions, etc, as they relate to feminism and Lady Issues. We are kind of tentatively hoping it will fill the void left by Twisty Faster’s message board, RIP. I don’t think it will be the same, but I think there is a desire and need there.

It is called Uppity Women, and please join us. I’ll be there, I needs my BBS fix. Unsurprisingly, I am Assmitten there, which I have been since what, ’03 now? You know what they say, always an Assmitten, never an Assglove.

Brigid Keely, Dorrie, Changepaluda, and MORE, I am looking at you. (Serious eyebrows.)

Life on Mars: A Crazy Mixed Up Jumble That Works, Mostly

It’s fall; what better time to retreat into the house and melt your brain and grow your ass at the same time? As you may know, the new show Life on Mars is a remake of a perfectly good British show that won a bunch of awards and crap. Even though it is in the same language, American TV executives had to steal it and translate it from British language to Amurican. I find this to be a brilliant money-making scheme. I’m going to rebuild the Segway, paint it purple, add an espresso machine, and call it the Transitshun. I’ll make MILLYUNS.

To give you a little background, the show is about a detective who gets bonked by a car in 2008 and wakes up in 1973. We’re not given much more explanation than that, because, you see, it is a mystery. The show is part standard police procedural, where cops run around solving shit (or not), and partly the detective, named Sam Tyler, trying to figure out why he is in 1973 and he pines for his 2008 girlfriend, who is played by Denise Huxtable. (They are even hiding her behind furniture a la The Cosby Show pregnancy, because lo these 19 years later, The Bonnet is pregnant again!) Because of the time travel, there is also a science fiction aspect to the show, where Tyler has visions of 2008 and weird little robots that resemble the Mars landers plague him (there are allusions to the Mars landing as well, since it was historically current).

Anyway, new Life on Mars. The first episode was a somewhat disjointed mess, with Tyler being thrown back into time and spending most of the episode going WTFBBQ, and trying to integrate into his new police department and apartment. The cops there are told he’s a transfer, which makes his arrival more plausible, and prevents Tyler from having to pretend he’s someone he’s “been all along.” I enjoyed Freaky Friday back in the day (mmm, beetloaf), but I’m glad they didn’t go that route. I watched the second episode this morning, and I think I’m going to stick with it, although there are some hinky parts that are bothering me.

Because it is set in a roughy-toughy New York police precinct in 1973, it is important for the viewer to know that the “real” cops, who are all men (more on this in a minute), are very dirty and do not follow approved procedures. Your first hint anvil that this is a sketchy place manned by sketchy mans is that Harvey Keitel is the boss! Well, that settles that. If they couldn’t have gotten Keitel for the role, they could have just hung a picture of him on the wall for a similar effect. But of course it is fun watching him act his face off. He punches people and calls his drawer-of-illegal-crap-to-pin-on-recalcitrant-perps “Aladdin’s Cave.” Keitel swigs out of his flask and puts his shoes up on the desk, and spends what seems like half of the second episode beating the poo poo out of Tyler. What’s not to enjoy? After his time travel mystery, this is conflict number two for Detective Tyler: having to work with a den of rogues who majored in evidence tampering and minored in gleeful face-kickery.

So Detective Tyler spends a lot of time saying, “You can’t DOOO that!” and “This are a crime scene!” while the other cops look at him blankly or like he’s simple. Tyler is also hampered, of course, by a lack of technology. He boggles when he hears that they will get the results back from the lab “really fast now! Only two weeks!”

Unfortunately, this is the end of his boggling and protesting. I feel conflicted yet fascinated by the female characters on the show. Of course, they are held to the yardstick of 1973 standards (or what the writers imagine 1973 was like), and this was well before Cagney and Lacey. There is a “lady police squad,” who is represented by Officer Norris, played by the pretty, blonde Gretchen Mol. In the first episode, Officer Norris tells Tyler that her job as a lady cop is to rescue kitties and calm down hysterical girlfriends.

I want Officer Norris to be a prototypical feminist in the series, and in a way she is. The cops call her “No-Nuts Norris” and she accepts that she is given almost nothing to do, despite the fact that she has a college degree and a quick mind. Tyler calls on her for help in the first episode in one of those police pow-wows where everyone gets assigned leads and people share information (can you tell I don’t watch a lot of police shows?) and the male cops look at Tyler like he just declared that he wants to make sweet love to Spiro Agnew, and Officer Norris looks horrified and embarrassed to be called out. This is the only moment in the two shows so far that a female character has been shown as complicit to her circumstances, which I think is actually pretty realistic.

However, Officer Norris still shows up for work every day. She is still there, plugging away, a fictional representation of all the ordinary women who broke boundaries back in the day. It irks me that in episode two she is shown tittering with another boss cop guy from brass or somewhere. Tyler is interested and the viewer knows at that moment that Officer Norris will be the love interest that will replace his 2008 girlfriend, and there will be conflicts over the triangle, pushing her from the role of capable, if constrained, cop, to sexual tension and a prize for the main character. What I really want is for Officer Norris to work with Tyler to solve cases and such, even if it’s on the DL.

(I had this vision of Norris fleeing the force and marrying the cop she was talking to, and really, who could blame her? What would her future be like? Years of being called No-Nuts while the cops around her get promoted up and the respect they deserve?)

It all makes the subtext of the show complicated, and at least as interesting as the plot itself. The writers kind of hit you over the head with how “backward” everyone was in Ye Olde 1970s, with Detective Tyler in the center of it all, taking it all in. It’s fun to compare and contrast the cop shows that were made in the 1970s, which in many ways Life on Mars strongly resembles; you do have dudes running around shooting at each other, climbing fences in skeezy alleys, and kicking aforementioned faces. (This is FUN to watch. I kind of feel like I’m getting away with something even more deliciously mindless that usual.)

The difference is this overlay of self-consciousness about how bad the time was for people, and it results in a tediously moralizing tone from the script. The squad chases a perp through the park. Detective Tyler runs the fastest because he is hella fit and does not smoke, because this is a virtue in 2008. They catch up to the perp and Keitel pushes him into the water (“HEY! You can’t DOOO that!”). None of the other cops can swim, of course, because they are just not as good as Tyler, so Tyler must rescue the perp from drowning. You get the impression that even if Tyler wasn’t there, and the perp wouldn’t have been rescued, they would have called it a job well done and nicked off to the bar.

What’s missing from 1973 New York City is racism and diversity. Every female character is minor, unempowered, a caretaker, or all three. This and police corruption (thank goodness we’ve abolished that!) seem to be acceptable targets. My point is, if the show had a diverse cast, then the writers would have to tackle the casual racism of the 1970s. That’s touchy.

None of the main characters appear to me to be anything but white. The police station is white. The street scenes are white. This is supposed to be NEW YORK CITY, for crying out loud. There are a couple of brown perps at a big warehouse bust scene, but blink and you’ll miss them. Is it that the writers decided not to touch this at all, so as not to alienate their audience? We, meaning the white audience for this show (who presumably does not want to be racist or be perceived as racist), are thrown the small diversity bone of knowing that Detective Tyler’s 2008 self was in a relationship with Lisa Bonet’s character, who the audience understands is black. Does this somehow negate the fact that there are no other non-white people on the show? I think it fooled me for a little while.

I can’t say for sure, but I would think viewers who are non-white would notice the lack right away, and so perhaps would not become part of the audience for a show like this. I admit it took me two episodes to notice this, so perhaps the audience is people who either don’t think of themselves as racist or don’t want to be racist, and yet don’t notice a lack like this. Perhaps it doesn’t affect the realism for the writers and the audience the show may develop, similar to Seinfeld Syndrome. It also makes me ask, why is it okay for the characters to call the strongest female character on the show “No-Nuts,” but then to completely exclude non-white characters?

I think it’s complicated, but in part because the inclusion of racism and racial conflicts would make the white male cops completely unsympathetic. It would have the same effect on Detective Tyler, who remains likable though he mostly stands by while the 1973 women are treated in a sexist fashion. To watch the main character remain silent in the face of racism would be too much, as it has nothing to do with the manliness of the cops. The message we get from these rough-and-tumble cops that they are manly, and though misguided, are still tough, cool cop guys who are to be admired on some level.

But back to the women! A few lines up I mentioned that all the female characters are weak (or at least unempowered), minor, or caretakers. Another thing they are, all across the board, is Good.

Officer Norris is the good, long-suffering lady cop who worries about Tyler’s mental state and covers up his lunatic ravings about how he misses his universal remote (okay, kidding about the remote part). A precinct secretary sets up a crime using her resources at the police station to help her criminal boyfriend. But she was a GOOD person at heart, just lonely and in need of some attention from a smooth-talking lawbreaker. Out of nowhere, hey, there’s a crazy free love hippie girl that Tyler meets in his apartment hallway. Hippie girl is starkers and since we are constantly reminded that Tyler is a nice guy, superior to his 1973 brethren, he discreetly looks away. The naked hippie girl is good, innocent, and harmless, and serves to loosen Detective Tyler up by making him dance and caring for him by feeding him marijuana lasagna. There are no female criminals in this world, not even some bedraggled police station hos. Women in this world do not even have the power to commit crimes or perpetrate evil in their own capacity in this 1973 world.

And the men, except for Mary Sue Tyler, are Bad. They are lazy, sexist, corrupt, condescending, drunken, cannot swim, one cop is gunning for Tyler’s job, they all call Tyler a rat (because he has a hunch about the crime involving the precinct secretary, follows procedure, and investigates leads.). Tyler is completely good and blameless like the women, and though he will treat them respectfully and as equals one-on-one, he is not their ally. The viewer must never forget that he is just a visitor to this crazy, messed up 1973, when in Rome, etc.

So. Life on Mars has its problems, but not really more so than every single other show on television. I admit I am sucked into the mystery and I find the main characters compelling, and the maintext of the writing isn’t awful. I like that it’s complicated–that’s one major thing, of course, that a ’70s cop show does not having going for it. I’m going to stick with it for now.