Of Cannoli and Hornets

Two books that are more than satisfactory for entertaining oneself on 4-hour bus rides:

Take the Cannoli by Sarah Vowell
- An entertaining series of essays on a range of subjects: performing as a combination tuba/bells player in a high school marching band; driving lessons with Ira Glass; love affairs by mix tape; the Trail of Tears; her dad and his cannon; visiting Disney World as a cynical adult; and, yes, cannoli. Better than her buddy Sedaris.

Black Hornet by James Sallis
-Sallis' Lew Griffin series must draw the inevitable comparisons to Walter Mosley and his Easy Rawlins novels, and if it does, that's a shame and lazy book reviewing. These characters, both fascinating, intelligent, and likeable despite their flaws, are remarkably different, as are the authors' styles and angles of attack. Sallis is much more overtly political and knows how to divert from the current action to allow Griffin to offer up anecdotes from his past and/or future. [Um, was that just comparing the two?] Check out an excerpt from the first chapter. Good stuff.

Ignite

Each time I peruse the CDs at Revolution Records, I'm intrigued by a used copy of Northern State's All City album. I've never bought it because somehow the cover picture led me to believe that it would be a feeble attempt at hip hop. Perhaps I was turned off by the fact that one of them was wearing a pink one of those long sleeveless shirts that is tight on top and wide on the bottom. (Check out the album cover to see what I mean. Plus she's wearing flip-flops.)

I admit that's a lame excuse not to be a CD in support of a female hip hop group, but there you go. After reading an interview with N.S. in this issue of Bitch, however, I'm beginning to think I was guilty of succumbing to immature superficiality and that I should scoop up their album the next time I visit Revolution, if I'm lucky enough to still find it there. With assistance from producers like Cypress Hills' Muggs and the Roots' ?uestlove, as well as a guest performance by Har Mar Superstar [yup, that's him in the above pic], the album may be a surefire hit. Has anyone heard it?

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Check out the new Women Teaching in the Sciences website, co-hosted by Women's Prerogative and the National Women's Law Center. They only evaluate science faculty at some of the big research universities, but the results are telling nonetheless. Read the entire report or check out how your favorite school stands on the main website.

Here are the results for the U. of Minnesota:

Astronomy/Astrophysics
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 17% (2 out of 12)

Chemistry
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 10% (4 out of 39)

Civil Engineering
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 13% (4 out of 31)

Mathematics
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 3% (2 out of 69)

Physics
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 3% (2 out of 68)

Chemical Engineering
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 6% (2 out of 35)

Computer Science
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 10% (3 out of 30)

Mechanical Engineering
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 10% (4 out of 41)

Electrical Engineering
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 10% (1 out of 10)

Biological Sciences
Percentage of Professors Who Are Women 26% (33 out of 125)

Pathetic.

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Maureen Dowd's op/ed on the white male network news anchor paradigm raises some interesting points. I think she shot herself in the foot by ending her otherwise decent column with her ridiculous friend's comment:

Women like to read books about men and go to movies about men. But men don't like to read books about women or go to movies about women. The only way this is going to change is if women refuse to watch men. And the problem is, women like watching men.

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Finally, read some of the absurdities that are being taught as part of "abstinence-only" curriculum around the country in an article from today's Washington Post.

Long Voyage Home

Roger Angell's latest article in the New Yorker on the Sox' World Series win gave me chills. My favorite line was his description of Varitek shoving his catcher's mitt into Jeter's "famous phiz." [Thanks to Eli over at Expecting Rain for the heads up play.]

Shameless Consumerism

If I had all the money in the world to supplement my already ridiculous T-shirt collection, I would begin with the following purchases (after ending poverty, of course)...





[OK, I actually did just purchase this one, but come on! Also check out the awesome video for "Clara Bow."]




Believe you me, I could have kept on going for hours...

Eye Candy

• Howard Zinn on Optimism:

There is a tendency to think that what we see in the present moment will continue. We forget how often we have been astonished by the sudden crumbling of institutions, by extraordinary changes in people's thoughts, by unexpected eruptions of rebellion against tyrannies, by the quick collapse of systems of power that seemed invincible.

• Bloggers in Washington State go nuts:

They are glued to their computers, wearing out the “refresh” button on the Secretary of State’s Web site, creating color-coded spreadsheets to predict the outcome, and generally obsessing over every twist and turn in the ballot count.

• Barbara Ehrenreich on 'The Faith Factor':

Where secular-type liberals and centrists go wrong is in categorizing religion as a form of "irrationality," akin to spirituality, sports mania and emotion generally. They fail to see that the current "Christianization" of red-state America bears no resemblance to the Great Revival of the early nineteenth century, an ecstatic movement that filled the fields of Virginia with the rolling, shrieking and jerking bodies of the revived. In contrast, today's right-leaning Christian churches represent a coldly Calvinist tradition in which even speaking in tongues, if it occurs at all, has been increasingly routinized and restricted to the pastor. What these churches have to offer, in addition to intangibles like eternal salvation, is concrete, material assistance. They have become an alternative welfare state, whose support rests not only on "faith" but also on the loyalty of the grateful recipients.

Take from the Poor to Give to the, uh, Poor

It is not very shocking that a Chicago Sun-Times article reports:

Connecticut ranks first when it comes to making money -- but joins New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Rhode Island at the bottom of an annual index of charitable giving. The Catalogue for Philanthropy's 2004 Generosity Index showed Mississippi -- the nation's poorest state -- as the nation's most giving state for the eighth straight year. It was followed by Arkansas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Alabama and Tennessee.

Anyone who has done any canvassing door-to-door can vouch for the fact that the giving percentage in poor neighborhoods is much higher than that of wealthy (or even middle class) neighborhoods. While one $60 contribution from a wealthy donor may more than equal ten $5 contributions from poor donors, which would you rather have? [OK, maybe some of you would say the $60, but you obviously know nothing about organizing...]

The only thing that makes me curious, after looking at the list of leading "generous" states, is how much of this Southern charity is going to support evangelical churches? Hmmm...maybe generosity isn't such a good thing.

Crypto-strength Randomness

• The woman who saved my life is now Minneapolis Fire Chief. [OK - my building wasn't even close to burning down, but she did lead the fight against that small fire on our back porch. I could tell from that one brief encounter that people everywhere would one day be saying "Chief Bleskachek." Everyone, say it now - "Chief Bleskachek."]
• You know if hottie doorknobs at Slang Editorial is posting about the Red Sox, the link's gotta be cool. I'd give anything to see late night TV stars Johnny D. and Kev Millar lean back. [hug mug, are you going to allow this to stand?]
• Ethiopia's ruling party implements quota for women candidates.
• Sign a petition to encourage Sorrento to help end sexual harassment and discrimination at Threemile Canyon Farms in Oregon.
• You know you want to join the Cardinal Ratzinger Fan Club. [Link courtesy of my Mom.]
• Who is as excited as I am to witness Mr. Spacey's triumphant return to the big screen as Bobby Darin in "Beyond the Sea"? Kevin acting, singing, AND dancing - the movie may be too much for me to handle.

RIP: No School Foster-Glocester!

As if today weren't already depressing enough. Goodbye, Salty.

Night o' Poetry and Queer Optimism

Who needs little costumed runts hopped up on candy when you can spend your Halloween night with queer (*hot*) feminist artist-activist Alix Olson?

Last night at Black Cat, Olson (accompanied on guitar by Pamela Means) put on a high-energy, election-inspired performance. Charging onto the stage with similarly rainbowed-out boa and 80s rock wig, Olson declared she was dressed for All Hallows Eve - a pagan holiday that she felt justified in celebrating - as a "Queer Optimist." Combined with stunningly red pants, a belt featuring a Bush-on-a-dollar-bill buckle, and stickers covering clothes and bare arms, Olson's optimism-infused outfit almost had me convinced that those of us pulling for Kerry had nothing to worry about - almost.

Declaring herself in the "Anybody but Bush, Left with Kerry" camp, Olson repeatedly made reference to the necessity of voting "Skeletor" into the White House (or would that be into Snake Mountain?). Olson's strategy: get Kerry into office and then work on moving him to the left, cultivate other lefty/socialist candidates, and fight to get a multi-party system (good luck). She explained her choice of belt buckle (which placed Bush oh-so-close to her crotch) as an attempt to remind him of her reproductive rights. Seeing as how she was forced to strip off the belt mid-set, she resignedly declared that the President must not be interested in such things.

In addition to witty political banter, Olson also delivered in her spoken word part of the show. Personally, I was thrilled that she included the rad crush song "Unsteady Things," as well as the beautifully sad break up piece "8x10," both found on her sophomore release Independence Meal. Luckily for the audience, she did the hilarious "Cute for a Girl" from her debut album, which is a song for Catholic school girls just waiting to come out. Her set also included some moving tributes to her parents and the "Womyn Before," during which she encouraged a shy audience to yell out the names of their own heroines. [To be fair, the D.C. audience - while surprisingly much smaller - was braver on this front than the crowd at a show I saw in Minneapolis.] I've heard so much about "Armpit Hair [Mammally Factual]" that I was hoping she would perform it; but, no.

All in all, an entertaining show that alternated between hilarious bouts of Olson-brand sarcasm and moments of the audience's mesmerized disbelief at the sheer talent this woman possesses.

Never before have I wanted to celebrate any aspect of the He-Man saga, but after seeing Olson, all I can say is "Go Skeletor!"

Sheer Bliss

To all of those who know and appreciate the meaning of Red Soxiness*, I can only hope that last night you had a hand to reciprocate your high-five; lips to accept your kiss; arms waiting to embrace you in a hug; ears to hear the blasting of celebratory car horns; cameras and VCRs to record the moment; a Sam Adams to swig while watching your team swarm the field; and a heart that swelled as much as mine.

*Much thanks to Judy for introducing me to this rad term.

Pre-Game Warm-Up

1. Dan Shaughnessy on the Sox connecting generations - Yes, it is true - I have been communicating with select people more frequently than usual due to Sox excitement. I just wish he had included "grandmother" in the list of possible relatives that the Sox remind you of...
2. Ex-teammates host Garciaparra love-in - The unofficial "26th Man" called up Varitek and Nixon to wish them luck. You've gotta feel bad for him, missing out on this trip to the World Series by a couple of months.
3. Current teammates (and coaches) host Pedro love-in - I'll admit, I'm nervous about his start tonight. I don't care about his woeful batting stats; I just want the man to pitch well. And for Francona to yank him as soon as he reaches the dreaded midnight-hour, coach-into-a-pumpkin 100-pitch mark.
4. Everyone participates in a Keith Foulke love-in - And deservedly so.
5. A comment on the newly realized Red Sox Planet - Does that mean there are no Yankees fans in Paris or Bangkok? I doubt it.

A Brief Respite

Since you have no baseball scores to check, go look at the rest of Mikhaela Blake Reid's political cartoons and her blog. [NOTE: Click on cartoon for a larger, easier-to-read image.]

Don't Call It a Comeback

OK, call it a comeback.

So, what's it going to be? A repeat of the '67 matchup? A Massachusetts v. Texas duel to mirror the election? (Would that make Roger Clemens the Zell Miller of the Series?) The Cards and Astros will decide it for us tonight.

Not to be a pompous jerk or anything, but I invite you to go back and read the last paragraph of my post yesterday. The man - and this team - certainly did not disappoint.

Game 1 of the World Series to be played at Fenway Park Saturday night. A pronouncement too long in coming, but one I will savor for a mighty long time.

The Ultimate Red Sock

I was really excited when I first received this poem as a forward; upon further examination, I see that it's actually quite bad. I think the author was just using the poem as a vessel for showing the world that he knows MacGyver's first name. Am I posting it anyway? Yes, of course.

From The Boston Globe's website:

Ode to a bloody sock
There once was a bloody sock,
Attached to the end of the BoSox rock.
Our man Curt Schilling is the ultimate gamer,
Angus MacGyver must be a Red Sox trainer.
The first time Fox zoomed in on Curt’s shoe,
That’s no magic sneaker … and what’s seeping through?
Then came the bloody sock.

Oh bloody sock, oh bloody sock,
Call ESPN Classic because we have to talk.
Schill the Thrill denied common sense,
And now Game 7, could this get more intense?

One game, 27 outs, and on to the show,
Slapping balls out of gloves is an MLB no-no.
But as we watched the blood seep out of our rock,
We also witnessed the birth of the Boston Red Sock.
-Chris Rattey, The Lighter Side

Other links to check out:
Catching up with Spaceman Bill Lee
Who needs sleep?
Bottoms up for Bellhorn
A-rod a bigger villain in one swipe
Get your own Red Sox rally cards
No surprise to these Sox
He pitched his ass off (for real, check this site out!)

Whatever tonight's conclusion, this has been one amazing series. It's Damon's night, I swear!

Give That Man a Hug

To celebrate the absolute absurdity and beauty of baseball, vote for your favorite Sox hairstyle.

Obviously Johnny Damon is in a rough spot right now. But, I'm glad to see he still has a sense of humor about it all:

"It's awful," Damon said. "I'm having the worst series of my life right now. But you know what, maybe it's a blessing in disguise. Maybe it will turn around real good. Not getting that bunt down, most of Boston wanted to have me hung -- and I wanted to help them out."

Maybe scoring the winning run last night will give him the jump start he needs. Or maybe it'll be the sweet hug from Dougie Mientkiewicz. Either way, my confidence in Damon is as high as ever - he will come through for them.

And the work of Tim Wakefield and Terry Francona certainly deserves this spotlight. I'm not sure who told David Ortiz he should steal second last night (was it Francona or Big Papi himself?), but I still maintain it was a brilliant, unexpected move. The man was safe.

Some birthday analysis for you: Yesterday was Doug Mirabelli's birthday and today is Keith Foulke's. Trot Nixon and Jason Varitek were born exactly two years apart. Dave Roberts was born the day after Manny Ramirez in the same year - 1972. Don't tell me this all doesn't mean something.

One more quote from Roger Angell's The Summer Game (with some necessary modifications):

Reasonable hope cannot be constructed out of such a sad pile of feathers [the '67 Sox], but the lifelong Red Sox fan is not a reasonable woman. In her is the perpetual memory of a dozen seasons when the best of hopes went for nothing, so why is she not to believe that the worst of prospects may suddenly reward her fealty?...I have studied the diehard Boston fan for many summers. I have seen the tiny, mineral-hard gleam of hope in her eye as she pumps gas under the blighted elms of a New Hampshire village or sells a pair of moccasins to a tourist in the balsam-smelling dimness of her Down East store, listening the while to the unceasing ribbon of bad news by radio from Fenway Park. Inside her head, I am sure, there is a perpetual accompanying broadcast of painful and maddening import - a lifetime's amalgam of ill-digested sports headlines, between-innings commercials, and Fenway Park bleacher cries... (pp. 174-75).

...of "We believe!"

"More Met than Yankee in every one of us..."

Some fantastic quotes from Roger Angell's The Summer Game:

Over the years, many of [the Yankees'] followers have come to watch them with the stolidity, the smugness, and the arrogance of holders of large blocks of blue-chip stocks. These fans expect no less than perfection. They coolly accept the late-inning rally, the winning homer, as only their due. They are apt to take defeat with ill grace, and they treat their stars as though they were executives hired to protect their interests. During a slump or losing streak, these capitalists are quick and shrill with their complaints: "They ought to damn well do better than this, considering what they're being paid!"

Suddenly the Mets fans made sense to me. What we were witnessing was precisely the opposite of the kind of rooting that goes on across the river. This was the losing cheer, the gallant yell for a good try - antimatter to the sounds of Yankee Stadium. This was a new recognition that perfection is admirable but a trifle inhuman, and that a stumbling kind of semi-success can be much more warming. Most of all, perhaps, these exultant yells for the Mets were also yells for ourselves, and came from a wry, half-understood recognition that there is more Met than Yankee in every one of us. I knew for whom that foghorn blew; it blew for me. (pp. 51-52, 1972 edition)

I realized that her affair with the Giants was a true love match and that she had adopted her mate's flaws as her own. (p. 89)

Baseball is a commercial venture, but it is one of such perfect equipoise that millions of us every year can still unembarrassedly surrender ourselves to its unique and absorbing joys. The ability to find beauty and involvement in artificial commercial constructions is essential to most of us in the modern world; it is the life-giving naivete. But naivete is not gullibility; and those who persistently alter baseball for their quick and selfish purposes will find, I believe, that they are the owners of teams without a following and of a sport devoid of passion. (p. 113)

Welcome to the Jungle

I have a personal policy against making predictions about Red Sox playoff escapades, or ticking off the list of Red Sox advantages or disadvantages in playoff match-ups. The following people, apparently, do not follow the same policy:

• Sean McAdam (of Projo fame) lists reasons for optimism
• New York Daily News provides staff writer picks at end of this article
• Hugger Mugger at Slang Editorial says Yanks will take it in seven
• A compilation of predictions from notable writers at Bronx Banter
• A ridiculously comprehensive analysis of the matchup says Sox in seven

And I'm sure there are many more floating around the web. Here's what I say: Sit back and enjoy and try not to beat up your housemates or curl into a fetal position and cry like last year. [Well, at least that's what I'm continously telling myself.] Hot damn, I'm excited!

Televised Microcosm of the Problem

Gwen Ifill: But in particular, I want to talk to you about AIDS, and not about AIDS in China or Africa, but AIDS right here in this country, where black women between the ages of 25 and 44 are 13 times more likely to die of the disease than their counterparts. What should the government's role be in helping to end the growth of this epidemic? [Ok, let's see if these boys can deal with an intelligent question about a serious issue facing black women in the U.S.]

Cheney: ...in some parts of the world...to help in the international effort...I have not heard those numbers with respect to African- American women. I was not aware that it was -- that they're in epidemic there... [Hey - no one told me there was still a domestic HIV/AIDS problem - and certainly not one affecting women of color! Why don't I know this? Aren't I the vice president?]

Edwards: Well, first, with respect to what's happening in Africa and Russia and in other places around the world...The AIDS epidemic in Africa...the people of Africa... [Der...]

Ifill: OK, we'll move on. [Thanks, boys, for proving me right about your complete ignorance of a fucking serious domestic issue.]

I've seen that some other people (space waitress and alas are a couple) have already commented on the completely shameful breakdown by the Cheney/Edwards monster on this question. No, we don't expect them to be experts on every single policy issue, but they should have some general awareness of what's going on with the HIV/AIDS epidemic in their own country!

Some quick and dirty stats from a Kaiser Family Foundation 2003 fact sheet:

• In 1986, women comprised 7% of newly reported AIDS cases; by 2001 that number had increased to 26%.
• African American women comprise 12% of the U.S. female population, but represent 64% of new HIV infections among all women.
• Latinas comprise 13% of the U.S. female population, but represent 18% of new HIV infections among all women.
• In 2001, among the U.S. teenage population (ages 13-19), girls accounted for 57% of all new reported HIV infections.

Frankly, I don't know how Ms. Ifill kept her temper as well as she did after this pitiful performance. I wasn't impressed with everything she had to offer, but this question was original and phenomenal and needed to be asked. It's a given that none of the other moderators would have come close to asking such an insightful question about an important issue specifically facing women of color in the U.S. today. Now will someone tie these guys to a chair and educate them?

Working Families (*Smirk*) Tax Relief Act

In lieu of my own in-depth, cutting-edge analysis of the Working Families Tax Relief Act of 2004, I'll let the Center for Budget Policy Priorities do the work for me.

Take Me to the Dirty South

While the blogosphere is rightfully focused on last night’s debate – go Kerry! – with this post I break from the expected topic to finally report on my most recent Earth-shattering, booty-shaking concert experience: the seemingly never-ending performance by the Drive-By Truckers at 9:30 last Friday night.

First, let’s just say that the opening act, Allison Moorer and her band, were less than enjoyable. Too loud and too boring. And goddamn it all if her website isn’t the most annoying thing to happen to me today. At least she seems to be doing some decent stuff politically.

After recovering from a post-Moorer retch in the bathroom (I swear to God), I rejoined Eli in eager anticipation of the DBT set. [Completely unnecessary detail: I was totally rejuvenated by my heave in the loo, which Eli coined my “boot and rally.” The feeling I had upon leaving the restroom strongly reminded me of my childhood, which seems, in my recollection at least, to have been one continuous “boot and rally.”]

I had heard from Mark that DBT put on one spectacular live show, which had apparently converted more than one skeptical DBT novice. Well, having heard only a few of their tracks, and not being of the type to like “Southern rock bands” (whatever that means), I certainly fit into the skeptic category. But, dear Lord, was I converted.

DBT opened with a rocking rendition of Puttin’ People on the Moon and never looked back. Spurred on by an obviously hardcore DBT-lovin’ crowd, the band played inexhaustibly for almost three hours straight. [I say “almost” because they did leave the stage for about five minutes after 2.25 hours before coming back for a remarkable .75 hour encore.]

Highlights for me included DBT playing the two songs with which I’m most familiar – Marry Me and Let There Be Rock – and being able to watch the quiet awesomeness of singer/guitarist Mike Cooley. (Click here for a quick-and-dirty bio of each band member.) It’s so obvious that this band enjoys playing music together and their excitement and happiness completely infected the crowd. I imagine this infectious giddiness is present at most every show they put on and that it is one of the primary reasons for their loyal fan base. It just feels so good to listen to their music and watch them perform.

The absolute low point occurred fairly early on in the set when Patterson Hood turned the show over to the young one, Jason Isbell, for three straight songs, including the heartbreakingly awful Never Gonna Change. The energy in the crowd noticeably diminished and eyes started to wander from the stage to the ceiling, to the walls, to the drunk woman dancing in the balcony – essentially to anywhere but on the band. Thankfully, Isbell’s songs that came later in the set were better divided and, actually, were much better than these three. And by the end of the show, I was so entranced by the band and their stamina that I hardly remembered this brief period of blandness.

Another comment from Eli – the boy is so clever with the words – was that the show seemed like a “war of attrition.” Indeed, we were not leaving that venue until the band had left the stage for good, no matter how sore our feet felt or how often our knees were buckling. This show was one I’ll remember for a long time and one of the few that I’ve felt left me indebted to the performers. I’m going to have to buy at least one album now, because whatever tiny portion of the $15 ticket price went to the band was certainly below their deserved pay. Especially given the fact that it was their 18th night of performing like this in a row!

A couple final notes:

• I usually go to indie rock or pop punk or womyn-dominated concerts. If men are present at these shows, they’re generally painfully thin (and therefore their physical presence is hardly noticeable) or they’re overly sensitive to the politics of space. Well, that was not the case for the DBT audience. Perhaps it was my fault for standing by the bar, but I have never been jostled by so many beer-thirsty brutes the size of pro-football linebackers at a show in my life. I also noticed much more leering at the females at this show than at most I’ve been to. I don’t doubt that such scoping-out goes on at all concerts, but emo-boys are certainly more discreet.
• Patterson Hood’s urging of the audience to register to vote, followed by a partisan declaration about getting Bush out of office because “life’s too short to be playing with this fucking shit,” was fantastic. Most of the crowd roared in approval, but seeing a few Republicans shake their heads in disgust was super amusing.
• Before you think I’d like just about any ol’ band that can play an energetic show for three hours and make me feel good while doing so, let me say that DBT have the musical skills to merit a performance of this length. They have three (well, maybe 2.5) talented singer/songwriters, three excellent guitarists that can alternately rock or strum as needed, and a drum-and-bass team that, while not overwhelmingly amazing, is certainly a dynamic force. Yeah, quality stuff.
• This hard-working and gifted band is still on the road, so check out their tour dates to see if they’re going to be in your neighborhood. And then buy a ticket and a comfy lawn chair, and prepare to be thoroughly entertained for hours by one of the best rock bands in existence. Yup, you heard me right. Told ya I was converted.