Monday, February 28, 2005

Admissions.

1. I am anal about grammar & punctuation. I added a comma to the *What Makes a Brit Feel Like a Man* post where one had been omitted in the original posting.
I am fully aware that my analness about this does not make me particularly careful or always correct in my own usage. It just makes me likely to find my own mistakes after it's too late.

2. I did not watch the Oscars. I haven't looked at the papers yet today. It is about 3pm EST, and I have no idea who won anything.
God, I feel free.

Don't make me break my foot off in your ass.

I had the clicker a few weeks ago which is often a rare moment at my house, and I stumbled across a movie that looked so crappy in its pre-opening credits scene that I stayed to see what was up. I settled in when the title came:

Sweet Sweetback's Badassss

I'd heard of this. Vaguely. In my childhood home this was not exactly used as an education tool for us children, but it was not completely censored out of existence either.

After watching just the first few minutes of the film I really thought it should have been. My mom had a homemade cassette tape that had the name of the film handwritten on it, so while she never described the film to me, she did let me hear Earth Wind & Fire's musical interpretation, apparently.

I had no idea that my mom or dad had anything to do with what I am quite sure was child porn. No, I'm not going to call them on it. (Can't as far as my dad's concerned.)

Anyway, I had to know, was the nude youth on top of the nude woman Mario Van Peebles? Here's what I found:

“Sweet Sweetback's BaadAsssss Song” opens with a scene of a young Sweet being initiated into sex with a 20-something woman. (And who plays this lucky little dickens? Why none other than Melvin's then 13 year old son, Mario van Peebles. Melvin has never given any indication that he considered the possible negative effects of having his own child perform what are essentially pornographic (and maybe illegal?) acts, stating in the aforementioned Tavis Smiley interview, “It obviously didn't hurt the boy.”)

Here's where I found it.

I have no idea what to make of this.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

"And now for something..."

...bah, you know what I mean. Just wanted to prove my previous point by lightening things up with this humor from Wicked Thoughts:

Thursday, February 24, 2005
TWO DOZEN THINGS THAT MAKE A BRIT FEEL LIKE A MAN(May need some translation)
1, OPENING JARS - nnng, she's struggling. You take it from her hands, open it effortlessly and pretend she loosened it for you. She didn't. Jars are men's work.
2, CALLING SOMEONE 'SON' - Especially policeman but even saying it to kids makes you the man.
3, DOING A PROPER SLIDE TACKLE - Beckham free kicks? Gay. A Stuart Pearce tackle is the pinnacle of the game, simultaneously winning the ball and crippling the man. Magic.
4, SHARPENING A PENCIL WITH A STANLEY KNIFE - Blunt, is it? Hand it here love. No, I don't need a sharpener, you think I can't whittle.
5, GOING TO THE TIP - A manly act which combines driving, lifting and - as you thrillingly drop your rubbish into another huge pile of other rubbish, noisy destruction.
6, DRINKING UP - Specifically, rising from the table, slinging your coat on and downing two thirds of a pint in one fluid movement. Then nodding towards the door, saying, "Let's go" and striding out while everyone else struggles to catch up with you. God, you're hard.
7, HAVING A THIN BIT OF WOOD - in the shed, solely to stir paint with.
8, HAVING A SCAR - Ideally it'll be a facial knife wound, but even an iron burn on the wrist is good. "Ooh, did it hurt". "Nah".
9, HAVING A HANGOVER AND THICK STUBBLE - When birds have been partying they just whinge. You, on the other hand have physical evidence of your hardness, sprouting from your face. "Big night?" Grr, what does it look like.
10, NODDING AT COPPERS - A moments eye contact is all it takes for you to share the unspoken bond. "We've not seen eye to eye in the past", it says, "but someone's got to keep the little scrotes in line".
11, USING POWER TOOLS - slightly more powerful than you need or can safely handle. Pneumatic drilling while smoking a fag? Superb.
12, KICKING A FOOTY AGAINST A GARAGE DOOR - Clang-g-g-g-g-g-! Stitch that becks, I kick so hard I set off car alarms.
13, ARRIVING IN A PUB LATE... and everyone cheers you. It doesn't mean you're popular, it just means your mates are ****ed. However, the rest of the pub doesn't know that.
14, NOT WATCHING YOUR WEIGHT - fat is a feminist issue, apparently. Brilliant. Pass the pork scratchings.
15, CARVING THE ROAST - and saying "are you a leg or breast man" to the blokes and "do you want stuffing" to the women. Congratulations, you are now your dad.
16, WINKING - turns women to putty. Doesn't it?
17, TEST SWINGING HAMMERS - ideally, B&Q would have little changing rooms with mirrors so you could see how rugged you look with any DIY item. Until then, we'll make do with the aisles.
18, TAKING OUT 200 pounds FROM A CASHPOINT - okay, so its for paying the plumber later but with that much cash you feel like a mafia don. The only thing better is peeling notes off the roll later.
19, PHONE CALLS THAT LAST LESS THAN A MINUTE - unlike birds, we get straight to the point. "alright? Yep. Drink? Red lion? George, it is then. Seven. See ya."
20, PARALLEL PARKING - bosh, straight in. first time. Can Schumacher do that? No, because his cars got no reverse gear which, technically, makes you the worlds best driver.
21, HAVING EARNED THAT PINT - Since the dawn of time, men have toiled in the fields in blistering heat. Why? So, when it's over we can stand there in silence, surveying our work with one hand resting on the beer gut while the other nurses a foaming jug of ale. Aaaah.
22, HAVING SOMETHING PROPERLY WRONG WITH YOU - especially if you didn't make a fuss. "Why was I off, nothing much, just a brain haemorrhage".
23, KNOWING WHICH SCREWDRIVER IS WHICH - "a Phillips? For that? Are you mad, bint?"
24. CALLING YOUR MATE A C**T - and punching him on the shoulder. Just a man's way of saying "you're a good mate; I missed you while you were in hospital".

Dead babies in Darfur...

...still dead.

And, God help us, still dying. WTF is wrong with this picture?

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Steve at HOI is at it again.

He's prepared some sage relationship advice & observations. There's a detectable single-guy slant, but it makes sense.

Spouse is one of the most literal, un-mushy guys I know. He's not utterly without consideration, though. Just before VD, he changed the tires on the car so I'd get better traction driving our children to school every day & my own ass to work.

Screw the flowers. They just die anyway.

Friday, February 18, 2005

Another black man shoots himself in the foot.

This kind of thing pisses me off. Cause we still live in an age when a black person trying to break a barrier has to be even more careful to check facts, dot i's and cross t's.

Prospective First-Black-NFL owner Reggie Fowler had bios handed out to the press at the news conference announcing his purchase agreement that contained, essentially, false information about his past accomplishments.

Don't embellish when it can't be verified & can be proven false. It hurts your image & credibility, and puts undue pressure & scrutiny on the next black person who tries to do what you're trying to do.

Fool.

Thursday, February 17, 2005

The first black NFL owner...

is both a good thing & a bad thing from where I sit.

I am always pleased when any minority or perceived minority breaks some achievement barrier. It opens the door.

I am, however, a native born & bred Vikes fan (or Queens fan, depending on how they're doing & how much I feel like emasculating them from my living room). A new, out of state owner who is likely spending all his unfettered capital buying an overvalued team with serious stadium issues might move the team. The NFL will not want to put up with Minnesotans who think that any money not spent on a new stadium will actually go to homeless puppies and kitties forever.

I already had to put up with no hockey team here. I will have to move if the state ends up with no pro football team. What the hell am I supposed to do Sunday afternoons in winter? Ice fish?

And do not even talk to me about Green Bay.

Lest there be any confusion, the hockey thing neither was, nor really is a big deal for me. I'm a black woman. Not too many hockey barriers I'm expecting to see broken any time soon. Still, I'll be happy for whoever does, & for the random minority hockey player (who this season is sitting home like all the rest.)

Is it just me, or has the hockey lockout not been as tragic as some thought? Could pro hockey disappear and people actually not miss it all that much?

Monday, February 14, 2005

It is an interesting time we live in.

We have a black female Secretary of State.

We have a hispanic Attorney General.

I hope there are kids hitting the books, knowing they really can do whatever they put their minds to.

Friday, February 11, 2005

Maybe Alan Keyes should move to MN...

'cause Mark Dayton does not believe that he is "the best candidate to lead the DFL Party to victory next year."

No kidding.

"Sen. Dayton has surprised us in so many ways...when he was [the only] one of 535 members of congress to shut his office down. I couldn't explain that, and I can't explain this." "As an incumbent, four years into a six-year term, if he's decided he is in no position to win this election, I think that says quite a lot about the state of his party, and I'm not sure what it says about Sen. Dayton." -Rep. John Kline, R-MN.

I have some ideas.

Oh, and Nick Grow? Relax. There is no need to panic, things are still wide open. No need to resurrect the body & his butt-kisser, er, jock-rider, er, former spokesman & "good friend" Smoochy Wodele. Be reasonable. Ol'Bod is a person who is incapable of working cooperatively with anyone. We don't want to suggest something rash & have MN even more of a laughing stock with one too many grumpy old newspaper columnists.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Moved...

by this post from American Digest. Please note the inclusion about one third of the way into the post of a story about a developmentally handicapped young man murdered by *insurgents* in their quest to disrupt or halt the Iraqi elections.

He was 19. One year older than my son.

I have no words.

Shorts...

...no shirt.

Radio guy said it was 49 degrees yesterday afternoon. I was on Snelling & Grand, near Macalester, when I saw the guy in shorts. Noticed the white legs first, scanned up and- yeah, sure enough.

Chest hair.

I will not be so smug as to say only in MN will you find a guy conspicuously jogging through a busy intersection in rush hour half nude, but please. There was still a lot of snow on the ground yesterday, and I am sure that some bars opened their patios anyway because even if you don't actually ice fish here, you apparently have other means of acting like a nut in the middle of f***ing winter.

Me? I wore a lighter coat instead of the parka. I'm not an idiot. I know we are one weather front away from Day After Tomorrow. (Don't even get me started on that laugh-fest.)

Thursday, February 03, 2005

Chris = baboo?

Maybe. Just maybe. Because of this. There are actually lots of reasons & WTW is one of them, and his tales of his (stupidest apparently in the US) neighbors, another.

(Disclaimer: I think the stupid city poll is bogus, too & why isn't Gary the stupidest city? I'm sure it's stupider than Fort Wayne.)

This, as indicated above, is the Cornell note taking system. Chris linked to American Digest where the whole thing is spelled out, along with some history & context.

I used them yesterday. In a civ class disguised as a lit class. My notes make so much sense I am not entirely convinced that it was I who wrote them.

They are breathtaking.

Thank you, Chris.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

R. Budd. Dwyer.

Remember him anybody? I do. And so, apparently, does Chris at Dangerous Logic, my favorite morbid kitty watcher.

(I'd never heard of a cat show & frankly can't picture a cat cooperating with that kind of thing anyway.)

I was surprised & fascinated when I saw the R. Budd clip on, most likely, WTTW out of Chicago on 1/22/87, a date that appeared to blow out of everybody's memory pretty quickly. (I actually may have seen the story on 1/23/87. I don't know what time the fatal press conference was, & if film was ready for the 10:00 news that same day.)

I was surprised, because with little info & no fanfare, the news anchor led right into this video that showed a rambling, somewhat distraught looking man & stopped right before the money shot. Damn.

I was fascinated because this distraught man, whom I'd never heard of & knew nothing about, chose to end his pain in front of the press. He chose to. I thought then that the story would be bigger & we'd be hearing, reading, and seeing endless analysis of suicide, the press, gun control, politicians, and the eastern US. I heard little. Maybe there was more out east, but from where I sat in the midwest, we apparently had more pressing death & destruction to attend to.

I had already begun to hate the press by then. I was pretty young (only about 10 years younger than I am right now. Keep up.) and the press had lost my respect by endlessly panting over sordid & lurid details of dead, raped young girls, brutalized young men & women, and molested kids. They sent me over the edge when, I think it was the same station I saw the R. Budd story on, they let their anchor apologize profusely because they'd just shown footage of some military family being informed of their child's death & you could hear screams coming through the front door. Around that same time, a young, quite young, girl was brutalized and murdered in the notorious elevators of a now-razed public housing highrise in Chicago & the cameras were rolling in her mother's living room as she screamed & cried. No apology there. Welfare mommas are fair game.

I always suspected R. Budd got buried quickly in Chicago because he was white, old, a guy, and far too respectable for leering. He murdered himself on TV. He wanted us to leer.

Go here if you'd like to (tastefully) do so. Turns out (I hadn't known this before today) he was likely a victim in an elaborate money-skimming scam & he was probably headed to prison for someone else's crime. Go figure.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

I don't think this baboo thing can really work.

And I feel kind of stupid for just realizing it. Don't get me wrong, I still like Steve H's recipes, general wit & meanness, and his dad's boat.

But Steve H at HOI likes birds. He has two of them. That live with him. That touch him sometimes.

Maynard is standing on my left wrist as I type.

Apparently they share a cup sometimes, too.

For a while he was helping me drink my coffee...

My dog ate a dead bird, after carrying it around in her mouth earlier in the day while it was still alive. My dogs don't drink from my cup, though I suppose they would consider knocking me down & taking it if said cup was filled with gravy.

I could have found a better link, but didn't feel like looking for a picture of a bird, great blog or no.