Watson & Crick on Radical Feminism

In the latest Bitch issue, there's a fascinating interview with history-minded feminist Vivian Gornick, who offers this excellent answer to a rather broad and ridiculous question:

Q: In the 1990 New York Times Magazine article I mentioned earlier, you wrote, "Radical feminism is not wanted this year, perhaps not this decade." What do you think a contemporary radical feminism would look like, and how might it be galvanized?

A: The thing is, what radical feminism did in our time was put the terms in place. A good analogy would be when DNA was discovered by Crick and Watson. In the 1980s, I did a book on women and science, and I met many biologists, women and men alike, who all said that DNA was the great, astonishing, explosive discovery. They said, after that, it was all just putting the markers in place - the map was there, all they were doing was filling in the map. For some people, that was a way of explaining that they felt cheated at not being able to have won the Nobel Prize for themselves for this; some people felt demoralized; some people felt that now the drones would take over. And other people understood that if you kept on working hard, without the glamour of knowing you could win a Nobel Prize for figuring out DNA, you would make significant discoveries. And that, of course, is exactly what has happened in the past 25 years: All kinds of things have been [done] in science that they never dreamed of doing when they said, "Oh, it's all been discovered already."

That's the only thing I can offer you [laughs], that analogy. What I really mean is, keep on pressing thought to its deepest conclusion. Whatever insight anybody has into how women's rights somehow exemplify the human condition, existentially and politically and culturally, to that extent you do good work and you live a good life. Who knows what will be the next contribution that opens up another few hundered people to deeper thought about all this? That's my idea of radical feminism: Just think as deeply as you can about the usage that inequality for women has been put to. There are reasons for all the anxiety [about feminsim], and there are interesting questions to ask: Why is there such resistance? Why is it so unwanted by so many, men and women alike? Why is it so feared? What's really behind it?

Those are the things that Stanton turned to toward the end of her life when she got bored with suffrage [laughs], like we get bored with abortion.

Dying of Thirst

This is some pretty shitty stuff.

Last week, Col. Janis Karpinski told a panel of judges at the Commission of Inquiry for Crimes against Humanity Committed by the Bush Administration in New York that several women had died of dehydration because they refused to drink liquids late in the day. They were afraid of being assaulted or even raped by male soldiers if they had to use the women's latrine after dark.

The latrine for female soldiers at Camp Victory wasn't located near their barracks, so they had to go outside if they needed to use the bathroom. "There were no lights near any of their facilities, so women were doubly easy targets in the dark of the night," Karpinski told retired US Army Col. David Hackworth in a September 2004 interview. It was there that male soldiers assaulted and raped women soldiers. So the women took matters into their own hands. They didn't drink in the late afternoon so they wouldn't have to urinate at night. They didn't get raped. But some died of dehydration in the desert heat, Karpinski said.

Yeah, Karpinski is the former commander of Abu Ghraib, but why would she lie about this? Or about the lack of support for women soldiers reporting sexual assaults?

"It was out of control," Karpinski told a group of students at Thomas Jefferson School of Law last October. There was an 800 number women could use to report sexual assaults. But no one had a phone, she added. And no one answered that number, which was based in the United States. Any woman who successfully connected to it would get a recording. Even after more than 83 incidents were reported during a six-month period in Iraq and Kuwait, the 24-hour rape hot line was still answered by a machine that told callers to leave a message.

Murder by dehydration, maybe that's their game, hmm?* Seriously, this is messed up. Women afraid to drink water in the desert so they don't have to pee in the middle of the night and face rape from their peers? Ain't the military wonderful?

[*Frivolous M.B.D. reference.]

Top 10 Reasons Why George W. Bush is Responsible for My Drunken State

10. He immediately invoked a true American hero, Coretta Scott King.

9. He severely altered my understanding of world geography -- is the world really only composed of the United States and the Middle East?

8. I'm extremely nervous now that terrorists like bin Laden may "seize power in Iraq and use it as a safe haven to launch attacks against America and the world" or "murder children in Beslan." Boy, that bin Laden sure gets around!

7. I have to re-think my whole life philosophy, as I always thought there was peace and honor in retreat.

6. I am wracking my brain trying to identify the "appropriate members of Congress."

5. He made me fucking scared about U.S. dependency on natural resources from other countries, especially from the Middle East. But, see, I thought in 2003 our fair nation was responsible for 20 percent of the world's production of natural gas. I'd tell you the most current figures for crude oil too, but that page seems to be conveniently absent from the online PDF version of the Statistical Abstract. You'll have to be satisfied with the 2000 figure, when the U.S. was third in the world in crude oil production.

4. I hadn't realized we were only allowing immigrants into the U.S. to take shitty jobs that "real" American's didn't want. Now I have to shift my support away from immigrants' rights to drivers licenses, public education, and welfare benefits.

3. He appears to consider the existence of 45.8 million uninsured Americans to be an adequate "meeting the responsibility" of providing health care for the poor and the elderly. Especially when 24.3 percent of people with incomes below $25,000 were uninsured, I fail to see how Americans are meeting said responsibility. Get me a drink.

2. He credits the reduction in abortions in this country to "support for abstinence and adoption," when every sensible person knows that abstinence-only education is a farce that is harmful to teens' sexuality. The Guttmacher Institute (and Henry Waxman) have demonstrated the falsity of information that is meted out by the nation's most popular abstinence programs. Uh, maybe the decline in abortions is due to more responsible use of birth control, or perhaps to the horrendous lack of abortion providers in certain parts of the country? (Yeah, only 13 percent of counties in the United States are home to doctors who provide abortion services.)

1. My ears will never recover from hearing Bush utter the word "rostrum." Vaguely sexual, vaguely school-marmish, it disturbed me to no end.

Ring Around the Collar

I usually find Jacob Reitan's "Faith in Action" columns in Lavender hokey and boring. But his recent interview with Father Bob Pierson -- the priest who resigned his position as Campus Minister at St. John's University following the Vatican's pronouncement on gay priests -- was actually quite interesting, though mostly due to Pierson's logical responses.

I don’t think that it is healthy for young men, or young women for that matter, to run away from their sexuality. My concern would be that if people start doing that to embrace their sense of religious vocation, we are going to end up with lots of unhealthy celibates, because they are not dealing with their sexuality properly.

Nice that Pierson's finally becoming disillusioned with the Church's approach to sexuality. Wonder why the Church's approach to women didn't get to him first.

Tempting and Blacklisted

I love new music.

Bigger than Roe

As if Alito's potential (and likely) threat to Roe v Wade weren't enough to make any feminist squirm, his other prior decisions demonstrate that he is a threat to much more than women's right to bear -- or not to bear -- tykes. He has proven to be less than supportive of race and sex discrimination claims on the job (Sheridan v E.I. Dupont De Nemours and Company; Bray v. Marriott Hotels); and apparently isn't so fond of the FMLA (Chittister v Department of Community and Economic Development). See the National Women's Law Center Alito Report for the full sordid details.

Sufjan and M.I.A. Be Damned

In writing last year’s Top 10 Albums, I claimed, “I don’t have it in my blood to put anybody above Kristin Hersh.” Well, this year’s list proves that my blood has been slightly tainted over the past year: two albums actually out-ranked 50 Foot Wave’s 2005 release Golden Ocean. And they weren't Sufjan Stevens and M.I.A.

1. Martha Wainwright – S/T
Martha’s long been lost in the crowd that is her talented family. Singing back-up for Rufus and the McGarrigles aren’t bad gigs, sure, but her B.M.F.A. EP and sporadic one-woman performances at Rufus shows indicated that she was after something more. With this debut full-length, she went out and snatched the spotlight by the ovaries. It’s been pointed out that some of her lyrics need work. I agree. But even with some lackluster wordsmithing, this is still the best album released in 2005. From the beautiful songwriting of “Far Away” and “Who Was I Kidding?” to the searing bite of “Factory” and “Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole,” this album fucking rules. Little bro’s gonna have to pull a big one out of his hat to top his sis next go 'round.

2. Sleater-Kinney – The Woods
Am I biased towards The Woods because this is the first S-K album that I’ve purchased within even a year of its release date? Am I biased towards it because I finally saw them live this year and nearly exploded with excitement and love afterwards? Is that why I rank it so high despite bizarrely widespread distaste for the “direction the band has taken”? Hell no, I ain’t biased towards anything. The Woods is rocking - coming through stereo speakers or live in concert - and that shouldn’t scare anyone off. Blast the album, sing along with Carrie to “Modern Girl,” and be happy. I know I am.

3. 50 Foot Wave – Golden Ocean
Ah, the inevitable Kristin Hersh appearance. Infinitely re-playable for sure, but Golden Ocean’s basically a simmering expansion of last year’s six-song EP, which is why I couldn’t rank it higher. Still, “Long Painting” is one of the best songs I’ve ever heard and the rest of the album is blisteringly punky with Kristin’s unmistakable voice topping everything off.

4. The Go! Team – Thunder, Lightning, Strike
Technically a 2004 release, but an expanded version was released in the U.S. in 2005, so I’m keeping it in. Pure, unadulterated dance-joy. For more, check out my earlier review.

5. Antony and the Johnsons – I Am a Bird Now
Like Macy Gray’s voice, Antony’s is one that either grates on your nerves or makes you praise whichever sperm and egg came together to help mold those vocal chords. Obviously, I belong to the sperm-and-egg-praising group. Filled with stellar guest appearances (including Lou Reed and Mr. Wainwright, yet again), Antony leaves no doubt as to whose album it really is. Special thanks to Hot Doorknobs for letting me borrow it initially. Thankfully, I now have my own copy, so I don’t have to travel to Brooklyn to listen to it.

6. Detroit Cobras – Baby
One of the most fun live bands around (see #7 for another one), this album is great at communicating their live energy and sass. “I Wanna Holler,” “It’s Raining,” and “The Real Thing” are particularly fantastic. And stick around for the attached Seven Easy Pieces EP featuring the rambunctious “99 and a Half Just Won’t Do.”

7. Old Time Relijun – 2012
This album kicks off with two heart-stopping tracks -- "Chemical Factory" and "Los Angeles" -- and only gives you a couple songs thereafter that are tame (or ridiculous) enough to get it started again. Those there being filled with saxophonic squawks and mouth organ dilly-dallying. Skip those, love the rest.

8. Kate and Anna McGarrigle – The McGarrigle Christmas Hour
What, a Christmas album? Damn straight. Now that the presents have been opened, I’ve tucked this one back on the shelf. But guaranteed in mid-January I’ll be pulling it out again so I can hear the beautiful opening track, “Seven Joys of Mary,” or Martha’s fantastically bitter “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.” Extra cheers for the traditional French carol medley, “Il est né/ça bergers,” which brought back some bizarre pew-seated memories. And never have I enjoyed “Blue Christmas” more than Chaim Tannenbaum’s (??) version.

9. Juliana Hatfield – Made in China
Boy, does the title of this album's opening track aptly describe Juliana -- "New Waif." She is certainly scarily tiny now. But she still knows how to elicit some big sound out of that guitar of hers. Not my favorite album of the year (right, it's #9, see), but I definitely dig it. Especially "What Do I Care": "What the fuck?/It's a miracle I'm even here" and "My Pet Lion": "I got tricks to keep me in line...Like sitting on my hands." Is there something you're trying to tell us, Juliana?

10. The Fall – Fall Heads Roll
No, this isn’t just a dutiful nod to Mark’s favorite band. This album truly is great. Well, at least it definitely has some great tunes ("Pacifying Joint" and "I Can Hear the Grass Grow" for sure), with a minimum amount of Mark E Smith squealing, and a maximum amount of his rad lyrics and sneers. I mean, who wouldn't enjoy his swaggering nonchalance throughout "Ride Away"? "Uh hey hey!"

Honorable mentions: The Soviettes – LP III; The Hold Steady – Separation Sunday; The Positions – Bliss. And a special congrats to Rufus Wainwright who appears on three of these albums, none of which are his. That’s gotta be worth something.

Happy New Year's, y'all.

Time to Bury the Donut Guy

Everyone's favorite donut maker, Michael Vale (aka "Fred the Baker"), passed away this week. While Vale was a former acting classmate of stars Tony Curtis, Ben Gazzara and Rod Steiger, the Dunkin' Donuts pink and orange never looked better on another. (Though fellow "sleepy-eyed" actor Vincent Schiavelli may be equally missed.)

Miss Seventeen Shocker

News Alert! News Alert! Seventeen Magazine has selected this year's teenage role model, "MTV's Miss Seventeen," and she is... a Skinny, Blonde, White Woman! YAY!

Now, I have nothing personal against "Jen" -- she sounds like an okay person who has been through a lot, what with both of her parents incarcerated and having to work three jobs and all. And yet she remains "perky and happy." Good for her. Oh, and "Jen" was mostly raised by her grandparents -- such a shockingly "different" story for a pretty white girl.

I find it remarkable that competitions which apparently factor in more than beauty still result in conventionally beautiful people making it to the finals. And a pretty, skinny, blonde, white woman winning. What, am I supposed to feel better cause she has braces? If the winner didn't receive a photo on the magazine's cover, would an unconventionally attractive woman have had better odds? Would a woman of color with a similar backstory won? Would a disabled dyke have had a shot?

Sheesh, I don't know why I'm kvetching. I really shoudn't have expected more from a magazine that features a Body Mass Index on its website's homepage -- all in the name of "health," of course. Of course.

Resources for Gremlins

Even though the mythical stork will never deliver a bundle of "joy" on my doorstep (and if he tries, I'll tell him just where he can go), I can appreciate good books for kids and abnormal -- but extraordinary -- approaches to dealing with them. Two such resources caught my attention recently, the first being (Queer Eye) Carson Kressley's new book for kids, You're Different and That's Super! It's for tots who feel different in all sorts of ways -- race, gender, style, class, hobbies, etc. Carson seems sincere in his motivation for entering the crowded celebrity children's book market; let's hope the contents of the book live up to its potential.

Also exciting is GenderPAC's emerging "Children as They Are" campaign, which entails treating kids, er, as they are and not according to any rigid gender stereotypes. It means not telling boys they shouldn't cry or play the flute and not prohibiting girls from joining a game of tackle football or chasing frogs in sewers. The little gender-confident gremlins will thank you for it later.

Corky Jones D. (1991?-2005)

Corkster, you had the personality of a Hollywood maven – you knew what you wanted and when and didn’t take bullshit from anybody. You were selective in your chosen companions, and faithful to the chosen until the end. You were an athlete, a musician, an adventurer, an enemy, an acrobat, a glutton, an imp, an alarm clock, a distraction, a seat warmer, a flirt, a co-conspirator, a nag, a de-upholsterer, a comfort, and a friend. You were my first true love and you will be missed.

#5: Frondeuse Duchesse de Montpensier

The marital history of Anne, Duchesse de Montpensier (and daughter of the duc d'Orléans) appears to be a point of dispute. In his history of Paris, Jones claims she never married. But Wikipedia claims she was secretly married to the duc de Lauzun, "a little man whose ugliness seems to have exercised a certain fascination over many women." This little, ugly man later treated her (and, presumably, the many other women) like shit. Perhaps the answer to the question of her marriage can be found in her memoirs?

Regardless, there is no disputing Anne's diehard support of the Fronde, during which she personally commanded anti-royalist Frondeur cannonfire from the Bastille.

#4: La Pucelle

Jeanne d'Arc -- the coolest woman in French history. Enough said.

#3: Queen Regent Blanche of Castille

Jones writes:

In 1250, while Saint Louis [Louis IX] was away on crusade, the king’s mother Queen Regent Blanche of Castille donated to Sorbon ‘a house which had belonged to Jean of Orléans and the adjacent stables situated on the Rue Coupe-Gueule, in front of the Palais des Thermes’. On this material basis was founded the college of the Sorbonne, for sixteen poor scholars, in 1253.

I can just see Queen Blanche scheming right now: “Hmmm...while the cat’s away, the mice will start a world renowned university. Yes, yes...”

#2: Les femmes de la Rue Pute-y-Muse

Today I salute the women who walked the streets named "Whore-Hides-Here" and "Scabby Whore" (Rue Pute-y-Muse and Impasse Putigneaux, respectively) in 13th and 14th century Paris. These philanthropic women requested to finance a stained glass window in Notre Dame (as had other tradesmen and tradeswomen), but the bishop refused their money. Perhaps he couldn't bear the thought of Church money being laundered through prostitutes only to return once more to Church coffers?

#1: St. Geneviève

Thirty pages into Colin Jones's intriguing book Paris: The Biography of a City, I am inspired to initiate a daily series honoring interesting women from French history. For each day it takes me to read the near-500 pages of tiny print, I'll profile a woman mentioned in my previous day's reading.

Today: Saint Geneviève, patron saint of Paris, police officers, and air stewards. A strict vegetarian, Geneviève was charged by a bishop with protecting the "sanctity" of Parisian virgins. While interesting, that's hardly the most important credit to her name. She also saved the city from Attila's ravages and ended at least one famine single-handedly. Geneviève also lived to be almost 100 (419-512!), which is surely a noteworthy accomplishment for 5th century France. Vegetarian, virginal, and vitalizing. Not quite Jeanne d'Arc, but she'll do.

I Wanna Holler

In French, a “détroit” is what we Anglo-parlant folks call a “strait" -- a narrow channel of water that connects two larger bodies of water. At the risk of being make-ya-wanna-vomit symbolic, I like to think that the Detroit Cobras are a channel for connecting two different eras of sound -- older R&B/soul and newer pop/rock. Their albums are endlessly enjoyable (including their new release Baby) and have introduced a number of people to a lot of songs they probably never would have heard (and all that other sappy stuff). But, for me, one lingering question remained -- which Nagy is more talented in the spotlight: Rachel or Charles?

After Friday night's show at the Triple Rock, I can definitely say that the winner is Rachel. Sure, Charles was a 3-time all star, but did he ever have an audience at his fingertips, ready to obey all commands? If he had told the Indians' fans to stop their offensive tomahawk chop, would they have listened? Probably not.

But Friday night, Rachel was in charge. If the audience started to act up, slamming each other a little too hard for her tastes, she'd quiet us down. If the white male half of a multi-racial couple refused to dance with his "hot latte mama" of a girlfriend, Rachel would have given him hell. And when a tall man in the back of the crowd refused to move a muscle or smile, she called him out on it.

Oh yeah, but the music. Well, Rachel dominated that too. Sure, the rest of the band is pretty rocking, but there's really nothing that took my attention away from Rachel and her voice. (And that décolletage-showing button-down. Ahem.) Much like at the Sleater-Kinney show, there were points where I totally forgot myself and couldn't stop jumping around, especially on "Hey Sailor" and "99 and a Half Just Won't Do."

Plus, it’s rare to find a three-band bill that thrice delivers, but this one sure enough did. Chooglin’ performed their first ever show like the seasoned stage vets they are – apparently most of the band is former Midnight Evils. And Reigning Sound followed with a captivating performance, led by Greg Cartwright, who also co-produced the Cobras' new album and appeared on stage as a full-on band member. Their name is also pretty accurate, as the sound emanating from that stage seemed bigger than what three people could produce. Though perhaps a more apt band name woulda been "Hyper-Vibrato Frontman," as Cartwright's entire body shook while he sang, reminiscent of a clarinet or sax reed being attacked by a stream of hot air.

Yeeha, I had a good time.

From Hell to Z

Since my new employers are forcing me to learn more about comics and graphic novels as part of my job -- I know, they're so mean -- I was excited to see and explore IGN's Ultimate Bookshelf of graphic novels, found via CJ. I haven't read many (probably just one, I'm ashamed to confess), but I hope to improve my batting average soon.

Unsolicited Advice

• Visit my former housemate Sam's new blog -- Unsolicited Advice. Her choice of url (deardepartedannlanders.blogspot.com) hints at the humor that is to be found there.
• Believe Mark's review of last Saturday's show at the Entry. I mostly agree with it, though I may have enjoyed Spider Fighter more than he did -- I thought their departure from the stage was too abrupt, and I didn't necessarily miss Arzu's vocal hysterics.
• Experiment with Linda McCartney's vegetarian shepherd's pie recipe, found below. She's dead, ya know, so making this dish is like paying her homage. Do it. But add a middle layer of canned peas or corn for full tastebud acrobatics.

Ingredients
1.5 lbs. potatoes
6 Tbsp. butter or margarine
1-2 Tbsp. milk
1 large onion, chopped
1 4.5 oz. packet TVP mince or 6 veggie burgers, crumbled
2 Tbsp. soy sauce
1.5 cups vegetable stock or water (3/4 cup if using veggie burgers)
salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Directions
Pre-heat the oven to 400F. (Or not -- why do recipes always ask you to pre-heat before 'tis absolutely necessary?) Boil the potatoes and mash them in a bowl with 4 tablespoons of the butter and enough milk to give a good sticky consistency. Put them to one side.
Melt the remaining butter in a frying pan and sauté the onion. Add the TVP mince, soy sauce and vegetable stock. Simmer for 5-10 minutes. Season to taste.
If you want a thicker mixture, blend a little flour or vegetable gravy mix with some vegetable stock and add to the sauté. Cook until thickened, stirring constantly. Pour the mixture into a baking dish and cover with the mashed potatoes.
Bake for 30 minutes, until the potatoes are nice and brown.

Rolling in Harper Lee's Grave

Yesterday I overheard a pubescent boy squeak out the question, "I'm supposed to have a book on hold -- uh, I think it's called How to Kill a Mockingbird?"

Well, I don't think this is exactly the required reading he was looking for, but here's a Flash interpretation of "how to kill a mockingbird."

[NOTE: Due to technical difficulties, I myself haven't viewed said killing, but all internet reviews proclaim that it's hysterical.]

Aural Double Dutch

In Thunder, Lightning, Strike, their 2004 UK release, The Go! Team created the perfect soundtrack to go alongside memories of schoolyard days filled with sidewalk chalk and kickball. Luckily for those of us in the U.S. who balk at import prices, Columbia released the album in the states in early October -- with two bonus tracks! [Also, check out their U.S. website, which is less annoyingly Flash-based and allows you to download the neat icon to your upper left.]

Though less politically motivated than either Northern State or Le Tigre, The Go! Team inspire the same goofy grin and unconscious head-bobbing. Plus, they're more talented samplers and know how to use vocals sparingly and effectively.

"Get It Together" has lazy sunny day anthem written all over it -- until the last 30 seconds kick in and you're forced to your feet, jumping and chanting along. "Junior Kickstart" is what every '70s cop show theme song tried to be. "Friendship Update" is what every '80s cop show theme song tried to be. And "Huddle Formation" is just damn near the best new song I've heard in years.

I'd definitely be going to see them at First Ave. tomorrow night if I wasn't getting out of work three hours after the show starts. I'm crushed; still, I hope my Minneapolis compatriots will go shake their respective booties at the show for me.

NOTE: Today, I've found that in addition to a perfect schoolyard soundtrack, the album nicely accompanies celebratory dances in honor of Harriet Miers’ Supreme Court nomination withdrawal and/or Cheryl Swoopes’ coming out.]

The Final "Final Solution"

Well, I finally got around to reading Michael Chabon's Sherlock Holmes as old man in the countryside pastiche -- The Final Solution: A Story of Detection. My grade: B+.

The mere facts that Chabon used an actual Doyle story title (The Final Solution) for the title of his own novella, and that he is a Pulitzer-Prize winning, mega-popular writer put me ill at ease. I was prepared to wretch and convulse throughout the mere 131 pages at the slightest hint of snobbery or misunderstanding of Holmes's character. Luckily for me (and the pristine pages of the library book), I found no serious cause to hurl.

This was my first Chabon adventure and I discovered what many already know -- this man can write. Anyone who can use the words "echolalia" and "susurrus" without making you flinch or lose your rhythm doth know how to wield a pen. The tale he crafted was sweet, though the mystery itself was tame and somewhat boring. However, unlike Doyle, Chabon consciously pursued character studies rather than intrigue, so perhaps this lack was on purpose.

Now to the big question: was his characterization of an 89-year-old Holmes pure? I'd say relatively so. While I prefer my Holmes strong and spry, any near-nonagenarian has gotta have his creaky bones and slow habits. Chabon gives his "old man" these qualities with a quiet dignity. The role of solitary beekeeper who doesn't actually like honey nicely bridges Doyle's solitary and ironic Holmes into the land of the elderly. I didn't quite appreciate or believe that Holmes would have abandoned all of his vices though. Not that I expected him to still be shooting up coke, but I doubted his antipathy towards any kind of alcohol. The major qualm I had was his overly emotional response to people and situations, particularly his quick and easy attachment to the German boy at the heart of the story and his near breakdown at the sight of post-war London. Oh well.

Just a couple more notes:
1) I hated those goddamn illustrations. They added nothing to the story, and actually detracted from it. Jay Ryan, you ain't no Sidney Paget, and I'm not reading a children's book.
2) Chabon's attempt to slip in references to real Holmes stories bordered on overkill. You actually read all the stories, we get it and believe you.
3) I am still uncertain about the perspective of Chapter 10, but I'm beginning to think I like it. (You'll have to read it for yourself; I hate people who ruin surprise twists.)

So, anyway, I guess I actually recommend this one. Plus, unlike Kavalier and Clay, it's super short and will only suck a few hours from your life.

Fit for the Godfather

Like Richard Nixon said, "I am not a cook." I love baking, but anything requiring olive oil rather than vegetable oil is usually out of my domain. However, I was inspired to put away my bundt pans (temporarily) by a recipe for baked ziti with seitan from a Vegetarian Times cookbook. I made it last night and it was tasty. Leftovers tonight were equally pleasing. Here's the recipe in case you want to try for yourself.

Ingredients
12 oz. dried ziti
8 oz. seitan
2 cups button or cremini mushrooms (I used cremini)
1 25-oz. jar tomato sauce
1 lb. extra-firm tofu, drained, or low-fat ricotta (I used high-fat ricotta)
1/3 cup chopped fresh basil or 5.5 tsp. dried basil
2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
2 tsp. olive oil
salt to taste
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
1/2 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley

Directions
1. Preheat the oven to 400F. (That's a lie. Preparation takes a while; no need to preheat yet.)
2. Heat pot of lightly salted H2O over medium heat and cook pasta. Drain & set aside.
3. Chop the seitan and mushrooms until coarse and crumbly. (That's the seitan that should be crumbly, not the mushrooms.) Put the mixture in a large saucepan, stir in the tomato sauce and cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and cover to keep warm.
4. Put the tofu, basil, lemon juice, 2 tsp. of oil, pepper and salt into a food processor or blender, and process until the consistency resembles ricotta. If using ricotta, mix by hand.
5. Spread several Tbsp. of the tomato-seitan mixture in a 13x9 inch baking dish, making sure to evenly coat the bottom and sides to prevent sticking. Combine the pasta, tofu mixture, the remaining tomato-seitan mixture and parsley. Fold gently to combine all the ingredients. Spread evenly into the baking dish.
6. Bake for 15 minutes, or until heated through. (Or until you've dealt with the blaring smoke alarm and turned the oven back on.) Remove from the oven, and serve hot to Don Corleone.

Lost Twin Cities

I recently watched the second installment of TPT's "Lost Twin Cities" series from the mid-'90s, based on Larry Millett's book by the same name. (Yes, the same Larry Millett who gets my hackles up whenever I think about his Sherlock Holmes stories.) While the segments about Northwest's Stratocruiser and the downfall of Porky's Drive-Ins were boringly quaint, the series really delivered when it described the tragedy of lost architecture in St. Paul and the racial unity (however brief it was) around jazz at the Treasure Inn.

Treasure Inn sax player Percy Hughes wistfully described the turning point in the Inn's life:

There was an argument. And all of a sudden there were gunshots. And I remember kneeling behind, of all things, my music stand, which wouldn't stop a bullet. No way! And a dear friend of mine was killed. He was shot. And my heart just went out to Dick and Claude and Howard [the club's owners]. But to see a club, black and white and everyone just enjoying, there's a beautiful message there. We need more messages like that right now.

The most heartbreaking segment was about the callous destruction by St. Paul officials of the culture and homes at Swede Hollow on the east side of the city. Tucked away in a ravine that you can only access through an old railroad tunnel -- and towered over by brewer magnate Theodore Hamm's mansion -- Swede Hollow was the home of numerous waves of immigrants who couldn't afford to live anywhere else. Sure, the Hollow probably wasn't the safest or healthiest place to live, but why slash and burn (quite literally, by the way) when you could help the residents build safe homes up to public health standards instead of shipping them all off to apartments?

On the upside, at least Minneapolis' Urban Adventurers, the Action Squad, have found pleasure in exploring the abandoned ruins of Hamm's Brewery. Until the brewery gets razed by the city, that is.

Frankly, Big Papi, I Don't Give a Damn

It’s Oscar time for baseball. Soon, overly muscular men will strut their stuff on the red carpet of the media (or at least sports journalists and the players’ PR reps will) to prove why each one is or is not deserving of the Cy Young, MVP, Rookie of the Year, and Manager of the Year awards. These awards seem as meaningful to me as a juicy filet mignon sitting on my plate -- not very. I can never remember who won the previous year’s awards, nor do I care to.

But I am intrigued by the debate stirred up this year (and in past years too, I’m sure) about the relative merit of giving the MVP award to a DH rather than to a player who participates on both offense and defense. Fans and journalists are pledging their allegiance either to Alex Rodriguez or David Ortiz for the AL MVP; most for Rodriguez are citing Big Papi's less than frequent stints on defense. Despite my Red Sox love, I don't really care who wins. But if pinned down to choose, of course I'd say Ortiz. The argument (thank you Scott Miller) kinda goes like this:

Normally, I subtract points for a designated hitter. I know the argument -- hey, it's in the rules that a guy can use the stick but not his glove -- but a DH still is not a complete player. However, Ortiz has been so money for the Red Sox over the past two seasons -- and particularly this year -- that I believe his summer has been special enough to warrant the award. Of his 47 home runs, 20 have either tied the game or put the Red Sox ahead. As Ortiz himself might say, that's a lot of clutch homers, bro.

Beyond what this discussion means for the MVP debate (cause I don't care, remember?), I'm more interested in the potential implications for Hall of Fame inductions, which I do care about. In 2003, when the debate was raging about Edgar Martinez, I remember staunchly refusing him a ticket to Cooperstown by arguing that as a DH he didn't belong. Now I realize that what I meant to argue was that EdMar shouldn't be in the Hall because of his lack of stellar accomplishments, not because of his position.

If Ted Williams had been a DH and hit in the same way, I would have wanted him to be inducted. Same with Pete Rose. (Oh, right.) Just cause you're a DH doesn't mean you can't be the most valuable player or Hall of Fame caliber. It just means you have to be pretty damn awesome to overcome the fact that you're sitting on the bench for more than half the game. I think Ortiz has it in him to do just that.

[Oh, and since I mentioned it, I may as well officially say on record that Pete Rose has my backing to be in the Hall of Fame. Anything he did while a manager isn't any more greedy or harmful to baseball than any number of moves made by players, coaches, and managers nearly every day. He just got caught. It shouldn't affect his status as one of the greatest players of all time. (In 1999 Sporting News selected him as the 25th Greatest Baseball Player, ahead of Sandy Koufax, Tris Speaker, Rod Carew, Mel Ott, and Yogi Berra, among others.) Hell, they let violent assholes into the Hall, so why not a gambler?]

You Mean I Can't Buy Condoms with That?

Congratulations to Dr. Dora Mills, Director of Maine's Bureau of Health, and Governor John Baldacci for continuing to refuse federal abstinence-only "sex education" money. Their decision has brought the grand total of states that refuse to take such funds to a whopping three; Pennsylvania and California complete the trio.

Unfortunately, Dr. Mills (and future state funding for the Bureau of Health) are now under attack by conservative members of the state legislature:

"First of all, the bureau's director, Dr. Dora Mills, is not a policymaker or elected, like legislators, so I continue to object to policy being made by bureaucrats," [State Sen. Debra D.] Plowman said. "Second, I hope that she's going to find that $161,000 somewhere in her budget to continue the program she has been involved in, because we're not making it up. So she best not be asking for any increases in her budget next year, or the two years after that for that matter. If she can unilaterally turn away money, then she can't be in too difficult circumstances. She, and the governor, should have run that one by the Legislature."

Aside from the petty linguistic criticism of Plowman's contention that one can make a unilateral bureaucratic decision in conjunction with a state elected official (the Guv at that!), this quote is pure schoolyard battle drivel. "She best not be asking me for an Oreo after thumbing her nose at Mrs. Smith's Soft Batch chocolate chip cookie yesterday." What, is Debra Plowman 9 years old?

Of course, I'm anti-abstinence-only funding, so I'd agree with Mills's and Baldacci's decision regardless of the conservative response. But if I were a Maine resident and read Plowman's asinine threats, I'd be incensed that this woman was ever elected to the legislature. Mills wasn't overstepping her bounds as a bureau director by acting in conjunction with the Administration to refuse that funding. She was being smart and principled and demonstrating that not all state officials are out for more federal money to stuff their own coffers.

La Haîne

Here are some folks who recently have received spit-laced invectives for committing various "crimes," some great, some small, and some imaginary. You decide which is which.

• God-and-country-lovin' John Denver fans turn violent when Mark writes a review exposing the irrelevance of their beloved'’s music.
• After implicating teammate Miguel Tejada in his own embarrassing steroid controversy, Raffy Palmeiro is asked to leave the Orioles' locker room and to not return for the rest of the season. Oddsmakers put it that no other team will ask him to ride their bench next season either.
• Police in Ciudad Juarez receive fiery criticism for their gross incompetence in investigating the murder of 350+ women in the city and surrounding area.
  
• New York Yankee Derek "I-I-I-I-I-get-around" Jeter receives more hate mail for dating white women.

Walk, Don't Run to the Playoffs

For other ailing Red Sox fans out there, I have a temporary cure for your playoff worries: the toe-tap inducing guitar-and-drum goodness of The Challengers. It's hard to find an objective history of the band, but check out bassist Randy Nauert's nifty summary and Challengers Cartoon Book.

Though not the most famous of the surf rock bands of the '60s, these guys knew how to play the genre well and outplayed some of the original bands on the very tunes that made them so famous (The Ventures and The Surfaris, to name just two). Seriously, check out The Challengers' version of "Wipeout." It may stave off fears about the Red Sox, who are in danger of doing just that.

You gotta have balls to call 'em

Do you go to a French restaurant expecting the head chef to have been born and raised in Provence? Or are you more concerned that the chef cooks your “moules avec frites” to perfection? According to “Breaking into Baseball: Women and the National Pastime” by Jean Hastings Ardell, the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues (NAPBL) demonstrated its allegiance to pure French ethnicity in a 1968 lawsuit concerning the contract of Bernice “Bernie” Gera, one of the few female umpires to break even the single A ranks of professional baseball:

Leisure [the NAPBL Wall Street-trained lawyer] likened the NABL’s need for male umpires to that of a French restaurant’s need for a French chef or a religious organization’s preference for a salesman of its own creed.

Hmm...isn't an employer hiring based on preferences for her/his own group characteristics illegal (in theory, anyway)? The New York State Human Rights Commission agreed that it was, and Gera eventually did win the battle -- after 5 years of stress and attorney fees. So, how come the situation of female umpires in professional baseball has not improved since Gera’s case almost 40 years ago?

For example, Pam Postema – who had accumulated 12 years of professional umpiring experience, including 6 in triple A – was set for a historical promotion to the majors in 1988. However, after a controversial media attack against her led by born-again Christian/ Houston Astros pitcher Bob Knepper, Postema was “released” from her duties for ejecting too many people and a “worsening” attitude. [Insiders knowingly blamed these foibles on a bad case of PMS, I'm sure.] Postema's fate was sealed by a tell-all expose of major league baseball (which I've gotta read) and questions surrounding her sexuality. She would never call a game in the majors -- and neither would any other woman.

It is true that Postema's goal eluded her and that few women followed in her path. Melvin Driskoll, of Jim Evans's Academy of Professional Umpiring, said they have a hard time attracting women. [Do they even try?] Between 1977 and 2002, thirteen women attended Harry Wendelstedt's school, with only Postema and Theresa Cox making it into the minor leagues.

If professional experts are supposed to reflect their charges or clientele, can someone explain why so many women’s basketball/ hockey/ volleyball/ curling coaches are men? Or why so many gynecologists and obstetricians are men? Cause last time I checked, men don’t have vaginas.

But It's Only 10 Miles from I-80

Since Mark has already brilliantly documented the highlights of our semi-cross country trek, here are the coulda-been highlights -- if we had had two more weeks to make the journey and a shitload of money:

Our first tangential stop was to Wheatland -- "Where Presidential History Comes to Life." Oh boy, and did it ever. I will never forget traipsing through the rooms that once housed James Buchanan.

We then headed west to Altoona, PA to visit the famous horseshoe curve. I had been there before, but wanted to ride that crazy "Funicular" again.

A couple hours into our trip, we stopped at Frank Lloyd Wright's classic woodsy architectural haven, Fallingwater. I bought this T-shirt.

Next, Mark wanted to stop at the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. We spent a couple hours gazing at Marilyn and a bunch of soup cans and then combed through the archives.

In our continuing search for presidential paraphernelia, we had barely crossed the border into Ohio before hitting the McKinley Memorial Library and Museum. We even got to sit next to McKinley, who was daintily perched on a red velvet couch.

After leaving McKinley behind, we hightailed it to Cedar Point Park, where two full days were spent riding roller coasters. We probably felt a combined 500 G's pushing and lifting and generally propelling our bodies in all directions. I left a happy woman.

At this point, we decided to make a beeline for Minneapolis, and only allowed ourselves one more (ridiculously expensive) stop -- at Taliesin, the Wright house and compound located in Spring Green, WI. Super pretty and worth the money if you happen to have it bulging out of your wallet.

Aaahhh...then home once again.

Tennis Rocket Battles

Dear Lord. And to think Andre Agassi used to be at the top of my "I hate you" list.

Agassi over Blake 3-6, 3-6, 6-3, 6-3, 7-6 (8-6).

I sure wish Pete were still playing, so we could compare their mid-30s tennis capabilities. And their adorable schlockiness:

At 1:15 in the morning for 20,000 people to still be here, I wasn't the winner, tennis was.

Stalled at the Start

How is a person supposed to start boxing up books and clothes when the fascinating U.S. Open match between Rafael "I-can't-decide-if-I-prefer-black-or-white-capris" Nadal and James "Thank-God-my-face-is-no-longer-paralyzed" Blake is taking place?

Blake's currently serving at 5-4 for the first set after having just broken Nadal. Oh, what I wouldn't do for Blake's inside-out forehand.

Blake just won the first set. Please let him knock that pretty Spaniard out.

Hometown Pride

In honor of the anniversary of the first day of the Great Textile Strike in Woonsocket (Sept. 1, 1934), take a look at this Illustrated Timeline of Woonsocket Labor History. Those fiesty Canucks!

I am also proud to report that the University of Minnesota library has the book published by the Industrial Trades Union of America that is pictured at left.

Snoozin' Song Tag

Okay, so Bob Mould didn't exactly tag me personally, but I've visited his Whole Foods a couple times in the past week and maybe I touched a nectarine that he gently nudged with his knuckle while reaching for the grapes...

Here's the deal: List ten songs you currently are obsessing over -- any genre, any format, etc. If you have a blog, do it there; if you don't, do it here. Then tag five people or so. Here are my songs, in no particular order:

Arcade Fire: Wake Up
Kleenex/Liliput: You
Rufus Wainwright: One Man Guy
Bikini Kill: Feels Blind
Will Smith: Switch
Imperial Teen: Teacher's Pet
The Go-Betweens: Heart and Home
Missy Elliott: Lose Control
Guns N' Roses: Mr. Brownstone
The Positions: Back to Me

Okay: Mark, Eli, Jon, Ezra & Alex, Kate & Eden, Emily, CJ, Ross, and Liz -- consider your nectarines gently nudged by my knuckles.

Ride Again, $4 & Stall Humor

While I didn't exactly approach Michael Boodley's Bastille Day, 1975 record-setting performance of 1,000 consecutive rides on the Coney Island Cyclone [pictured left], I did experience the historic wooden coaster's brilliance twice in a row this past weekend. Who knew that a coaster that began operating in 1927 could be so damn exciting! I guess I would expect nothing less from "perhaps the most famous roller coaster of all time."

The Cyclone's notorious first drop (of 85 feet at a ridiculously steep 60 degree angle) was phenomenal. Then, for a blessed one minute and 50 seconds (covering 2,650 feet along the way), you're whipped around six 180 degree turns, 18 track crossovers, and a whopping 27 changes of direction. I left with bruises and the next day woke up with sore muscles. Of course, I wouldn't have my wooden roller coasters any other way. I feel perfectly content with skipping Cedar Point now.

Also while in NY, I ran across the funniest bathroom stall graffiti conversation I've seen in quite a while:

Drunk woman #1: I hate those damn Red Sox, except for that Mike Timlin, who is H-O-T.
Drunk woman #2: I'm with you, except mine is Brian Daubach. Woo hoo!
Drunk woman #3: The Red Sox rule! MLB Champs 2005!
Drunk woman #4: The Red Sox can go fuck themselves! Yankees rule! They were just throwing the Red Sox a bone!

Wow, where to begin? First, I love that there was a drunken baseball debate happening in a women's bathroom stall. This makes me happy.

Second, I need to point out that Yankees fans have, uh, interesting taste in men. Timlin and Daubach? These certainly can't be the same fans who drool over Jeter.

Third, just throwing the Red Sox a bone? Then what are they doing this year? Setting a big juicy steak in front of us? Cause it sure looks to me like the Sox are going to win the Division, and that the Yankees are in a 3-way tie for first in the Wild Card race. Red Sox rule!

Throwing Asymptosy

Umm...take a look at the new Throwing Music Blog. Now, I know there are blogger templates and all that, but I distinctly remember screwing around with different color combos before settling on this design.

Also, note the hip new TM home page, as well as the exciting news about more "Free Music" in the works. Plus Kristin's working on a new solo album AND a 2nd edition of "Murder, Misery and then Goodnight". What a way to start my morning. I love this woman.

Hatching and Strippling

After my weekend trip to the National Building Museum, I am convinced some part of me was an architect in the 18th or 19th century. Their current exhibition, Tools of the Imagination, made my blood pressure rise, my eyeballs explode, and my latent kleptomania emerge. You can see some of the beautiful instruments as part of an exhibition flyer. Here are the tools I especially wanted to swipe:

1) Four-layer magazine case: Who doesn't want to keep all of their architectural implements in a nickel silver bound burr walnut case?

2) Beam compass: Or, in this case, a "microscopic" beam compass.

3) Ellipsograph, or trammel, if you will. If you get really skilled with it, you're even allowed to join the Elliptical Turning Association. No joke.

4) Perspectograph: Which can be used to make fancy perspective drawings of houses, such as this or this.

5) Volutor: That Andrew Kay is a genius.

Buckeye Battle

Mark nicely summarizes a current debate we are having over Ohio cultural attractions. Though it is kinda lopsided, in that he has choices 'a'-'e' and I'm left with meager old 'f'. My mom has already told me she's with Mark on this one, despite those presidents being "the most boring ever." Which would you pick?

Crisis at 357 Park Place

I attended Woonsocket Middle School from September 1991 to June 1994 -- and they were the three happiest years I spent in school. One would think middle school would be absolute torture for tomboyish, corpulent, adolescent girls, but I loved my time there.

It's amazing how much things can change in a mere 10 years. The descriptions of the school's current state in 2005 from this Providence Journal 5-part series do not ring true to me at all. I guess I sensed things were changing at the middle school when I was in high school and heard stories from my friends' younger siblings. But this?

Woonsocket Middle School -- New England's largest -- has been called a labyrinth, a jungle, a danger zone, and even a haven.

The complex, which covers a city block larger than a football field, is full of snaking hallways, storage closets turned into classrooms, and shadowy stairways known to disorient even the heartiest visitor.This year alone, faulty intercoms, broken bathrooms, corroding pipes, and cockroaches have disrupted learning and eroded morale.

School days are frequently interrupted with arrests, fights, and violent confrontations. Three months ago, a teacher was arrested for hitting a student. Last year, 13 students were suspended for assaulting teachers and 170 students were suspended for assaulting each other.

In 1998, a student was raped in a stairwell. In 2001, another student was sexually assaulted by a gym teacher.

The school is so volatile, teachers feel it is more important to take 10 to 15 minutes out of academic time twice a day for escorted bathroom breaks rather than risk what might happen if they allowed children to tackle the bathroom trips on their own.

Now, sure, there really is nothing unique about this situation. There are bad schools around the country, many much worse than this. Woonsocket surely isn't the only community where parents are yanking their kids out of public school to go to uptight Catholic ones. And teachers clash with an ever-changing repertoire of administrators everywhere. So what's the big deal?

Well, I guess what really disturbs me is how fast the school became an absolute quagmire. To me, it epitomizes the complete disinvestment in public schools that's happening around the country, particularly in urban settings that have experienced recent waves of immigration and only seem to be getting poorer. (According to this article, 32% of Woonsocket Middle School students live in poverty and 61% come from low income families.)

In a recent conversation with someone familiar with urban New England school settings, it was agreed that investment in schools alone is not enough. The ailing schools are merely a consequence of a community that's suffering in a myriad of other ways. So do you start trying to repair the city's economy before the schools? Do you attempt a simultaneous fix? I guess that's what I went to policy school to try to figure out, but hell if I know.

Perhaps the one concrete recommendation that jumps out to me is to build another school -- this structure is clearly too small and old to hold all these kids. Woonsocket is far from being the largest city in New England, so there's no reason for it to have the largest middle school. Split the school in half, have smaller class sizes, you know the drill.

Fat 6th graders who like to wear plaid blazers should feel comfortable at Woonsocket Middle School, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't in 2005. Kids who hate going home at night should have a reprieve during the day at Woonsocket Middle School, and it sure sounds like the nightmare only continues.

Teachers, administrators: learn to get along and friggin' figure out what the hell to do with the students. Mayor, City Council, community leaders: you're no longer a mill town filled with Canucks, Italians, and Irish folk. The population's changed, so get with the program and serve your constituents -- yeah, even the ones who don't have money.

Andy Roddick's Jaime Yzaga

I'll never forget the 1994 U.S. Open because of a Peruvian tennis player named Jaime Yzaga. My favorite netsman, Pete Sampras, had had a rough year and ended up losing to Yzaga in the fourth round. I was devastated. How could Pete lose to someone I had never heard of before? My friend (and 6th grade crush) Carlos sensed my distress and taunted me with the name Jaime Yzaga for years. (Little did I know that Yzaga also had dealt Pete his first ever U.S. Open loss -- in 1988!)

This devastating memory was jogged tonight as I watched Andy Roddick lose rather handily to Paul-Henri Mathieu a mere two days after Roddick won the Legg Mason here in D.C. Mathieu's performance was incredible, culminating in a scrambling point on his serve that ended with Mathieu running down a Roddick volley for a desperate forehand winner. It was amazing.

I like Roddick enough, and I loved Pete Sampras. But I imagine it being infinitely more satisfying to walk onto a tennis court and beat someone who everyone is expecting to kill you than to walk onto a tennis court and fulfill everyone's expectation that you're going to win.

Guaranteed Roddick will come out firing in next week's tournament. No one likes to learn the Yzaga lesson.

FunNY

Eli has already posted about this on Expecting Rain, but I like to brag about highlight the talents of my friends. Check out the last paragraph of this NY Times article by Robert Strauss.

[Update: You now have to purchase the article to read the last paragraph. Basically, the article describes the award for humor fiction writing that Strauss established at Carleton, and that Eli is the only winner of the award he has ever met. And that Eli won two years in a row. And that one of Eli's winning stories pondered whether or not dogs could be Jewish.]

Design Like You Give a Damn

Thanks to a profile in the Washington Post, I've discovered one of the neatest non-profit organizations ever -- Architecture for Humanity. Co-founded by practical idealists Cameron Sinclair and Kate Stohr, AFH is committed to promoting "architectural and design solutions to global, social and humanitarian crises."

AFH is working on tsunami reconstruction in Asia, improvement of "tent cities" for refugees and internally displaced persons, and construction of soccer pitches in South Africa with a focus on the pitch as a place of community gathering for HIV/AIDS prevention.

These folks ain't after the Gehry or Calatrava glamour -- they're not making much (if any) money. But they understand that not only wealthy people deserve thoughtful, ecologically sound, aesthetically pleasing design. Hats are off, guys and gals.

There Go Those Liberal Colleges Again

Who knew that since 1986 Hampshire College has been home to such a valuable resource as the Population and Development Program? In a cursory glance at their online materials, I've already explored "10 Reasons Why Militarism is Bad for Queer People" and "Why the Hispanic Challenge Should Be Discredited." Take that Samuel Huntington (whose incendiary article "The Hispanic Challenge" is available online if you register for free at Foreign Policy).

Hampshire is also home to yet another phenomenal center -- the Civil Liberties and Policy Program. CLPP hosts an annual reproductive rights conference and organizes a National Day of Action that sounds pretty damn cool. Those lucky kids...

He'll Flip Ya For Real

Sometimes, but not often, Hollywood does pick the right movies to sequelize. Several reports indicate that Kevin Spacey has signed on to reprise his Keyser Soze/Verbal Kint stint from The Usual Suspects!

It appears as though an Australian barista started the rumor. I guess Kevin trusts her to make his coffee, so she must be telling the truth, right? Right? Don't burst my bubble. My team of monkeys can beat your team of monkeys.

Spinning Wheel

• In high school, I won a WBRU radio contest and the prize was a poster and soundtrack for the movie "High Art." Since then, the film has always had its own little niche in my heart (right next to "Bound"'s little niche), and I finally actually watched the damn thing on Monday. Ally Sheedy and Radha Mitchell were stunning. But the truly incredible performance was by Patricia Clarkson as the drugged out German actress Greta. This woman's filmography is incredible! Glad she's finally getting her due.


• Do I really agree with D.C. Mayor Anthony Williams about something? ESPN's inexcusable snub of D.C. in its "50 States in 50 Days" excursion needs to be challenged! Here's the web form you can use to do so. The Washington Area Frisbee Club also produced their own press release. And I thought WAFC only obtained field permits for us Ultimate players -- who knew they were political activists too?


• One of my favorite Minnesota Women's Press columnists, Susan Raffo, wrote a sassy response to the bogus research about male bisexuality that was recently released.


• The Made in Hong Kong Film Festival is back on at the Freer! "Love Eterne" is mine on Sunday.


• Will someone please explain what our House Democratic Leader is doing podcasting?


• Well, I guess deregulation of energy companies works really well, doesn't it Michigan? It led to such low-cost energy, that you ran out of funds to help poor folks not get their electricity cut off. Seems as effective as the deregulation of the airlines!


• Since I was earlier chastised for having nothing to say about the John Roberts nomination, I'll direct you to the National Women's Law Center Nomination Watch blog. There, I've said something.


• So not only is Wisconsin attacking its gay university system employees, but Hawaii is maintaining gender identity discrimination. Yeeha!

No Bugs Sucka!

This is one of the best pictures of me ever taken! I wish I could have protective netting surrounding me 24 hours a day, so no evil spiders ever invaded my personal space. Thanks, Ross!

DTWOF: The Blog

Comic genius Alison Bechdel (whose Carleton book-signing I staffed!) has her own blog! Check out Dykes to Watch Out For: The Blog -- the new hot spot loaded with super-cool dyke talk and previews of new DTWOF strips. [Found via Blogs by Women.]

Egg Cream

I am at work at 8:19 p.m. and desperately craving an egg cream. Apparently, people spend their time theorizing about the origin of the egg cream or about the origin of its curiously innacurate name. If I only had my hands on the proper ingredients, I would make this recipe, or this recipe, or this recipe, or this recipe...

United Feminists of America

According to a Washington Post article published in today's edition, feminists long ago formed a union and created a "Code of Conduct for Honorable Feminists." Well, that's not exactly what the article said, but it may as well have.

Surely your average successful lawyer has faced this dilemma: give up a career or take care of the family. But not the Chief Woman Lawyer of America -- she shouldn't quit to take care of her family, should she? What kind of message does that send? "I was on a radio show and someone called in to say, 'Would we ever see a man retire to take care of his spouse?'" says Suzanna Sherry, a law professor at Vanderbilt University who has written about O'Connor. "This is why she's never been considered a feminist's feminist. A feminist would say: 'Well, why would she do that?'"

Rule of the Code #1: Care about no one. Feminists (even 75 year old ones) are not allowed to leave their jobs to take care of any family member. Thou shalt maintain your professional standing until you die.

Corollary to Rule of the Code #1: Men never care about other people, so why should we? Men would never retire from their jobs to take care of an ailing family member. Remember that.

Her public persona in Washington was maternal, nurturing, genteel, soft. She let her granddaughter write a book about her featuring a picture on the cover of the two of them holding a teddy bear. On her clerks' door she left a Xerox of her hand with a note that read "For a pat on the back, lean here."

Rule of the Code #2: Hate stuffed animals.

Corollary to Rule of the Code #2: Be hard; do not support anyone else.

Now, I am certainly not the softest gal on the block, but I would like to think I could keep my feminist union card if ever I chose to leave a job to take care of a lover in ill health. I also would like to maintain that card in the highly unlikely event that I had a grandchild and decided to pose with it and a teddy bear. Insinuating that O'Connor would never be embraced by feminists because of loving her husband or grandchildren is ridiculous.

Not all feminists are harsh, single-minded, and selfish. Sticking with one's job is also not harsh, single-minded, and selfish. Not all men are harsh, single-minded, and selfish. Articles written from such a perspective (even if in the Style section) perpetuate unhelpful stereotypes.

And if you believe that all feminists think alike and would define feminism in the same way, I invite you to my office some time. It's a supremely blissful environment with absolutely no conflict ever.

0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,89...

Pure love =

• Fibonacci
• Alcuin's
• Beatty
• Carmichael
• Giuga
• Sheffer
• Steffensen
• Ulam
• Appell
• Asymptotic
• Stirling's
• Fourier (Now that's deep)
• Laplace
• Eisenstein
• Ballentine's
  

And the beautiful harmonics of the "Book Stacking Problem."

Modern Girl

Dear Carrie:

I just wanted to let you know that the perfomance of Sleater-Kinney last night at the 9:30 Club was one of the most intoxicating, high-flying concert experiences of my life. You own the distinction of being only the second musician to ever cause tears to well up in my eyes upon first glance or first guitar chord. No joke. I've understood the fervor of S-K fandom ever since first buying your records; now I truly get why you, Janet & Corin are idolized.

From the opening riff of "The Fox" to the blistering closing rendition of "Dig Me Out," you were stellar. And I can't thank you enough for the cathartic experience of watching you spit out the lyrics to one of the band's all-time greatest songs, "Modern Girl." It was vitriolic and I needed that.

Other highlights included chanting "Oh, you've got the darkest eyes" during "One More Hour" and getting slammed around during the energetic cover of Danzig's "Mother." And no doubt "Rollercoaster" is bound to become one of your concert anthems for years to come. Other tracks from The Woods played well live too -- "Wilderness," "Jumpers," and especially "Entertain." That song rocked!

One thing sure needs to be said -- you and your bandmates were definitely in finer form than the lackadaisical crowd (with the notable exception of the shaved-headed lass and short 40-yr old man who entertained [and pushed] me throughout).

Please make sure Janet's snare and Corin's vocal chords are okay. They both took a mighty beating last night. And tell Janet I'd like her arms.

-Sarah D.

P.S. Also pass on to the boys who opened for you that they were fully loud and semi-compelling, but need to understand that they haven't reached the realm of "jam-ability" yet. They should stick to their discrete, linear songs (which alternately sounded like Metallica, Jimi Hendrix, and the Clash -- sometimes even within the same tune) rather than waste the audience's time with jamming that grew to sound lazy and was stiflingly boring. Maybe you should give the preppy twins and the erstwhile pirate (Redbeard!) a lesson on how to jam without putting the crowd to sleep?

Orgasm Addict

Now that I have your attention, my monthly excursion to Revolution Records turned up a couple treasures:

1) The Buzzcocks: Singles Going Steady -- I bought the cassette tape of this compilation from a Coconuts record store in Franklin, MA when I was 17 or 18. It was a little too hard for me then, but it's just damn perfect now. (Hey, I was coming off a year or two of listening solely to classical music.) Between "Orgasm Addict," "What Do I Get?" and "Noise Annoys," I am in aural heaven. [Orgasm, aural, get it? Sometimes I'm so 14-yr old boy-ish.]

2) Me'shell NdegeOcello: Plantation Lullabies -- After reading a Washington Post article about this hot maven of the bass, I had to get an album. I was initially turned off by the sticker exhorting the buyer to pronounce her last name ("say it: 'n- DAY -Gay -O -CHELLO'") but decided to get over it. The appealing song titles overcame my initial hesitation: "I'm Diggin' You (Like an Old Soul Record)," "If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)," "Shoot'n Up and Gett'n High," and "Dred Loc."

Turn it up.