I’m a Smart but Gullible Girl

At least I can admit it, anyway. For example, I always believed that a “dork” was a whale penis. And I am not alone. Lots of people think that. As it turns out, that meaning is a debunked urban legend; it is any penis, not a cetacean-specific penis.

The word “dork” is probably a variation on the word “dick”  http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/dork , which makes it an example of amelioration (when the meaning of the word improves, or becomes less vulgar, over time. When words get more unsavory meanings over time, such as “bitch” and “wench,” it is called pejoration).

Another thing I never realized until today when my friend Jenn told me: the dye the Mayans historically used to make textiles red (which comes from a bug called the cochineal) is the same thing used to make red food coloring. Sure, it’s less carcinogenic than the synthetic stuff, but I’m still not ever going to try red velvet cake. Never. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cochineal. (On a sidenote, that gorgeous royal purple made famous by the Pope is from a snail! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tyrian_purple).

And then there’s the fascinating story of the Romanovs. Now, I had heard that the woman who claimed to be Anastasia Romanov wasn’t her (and she wasn’t, according to a show I watched on the History Channel this weekend; she was a Polish factory worker), but they still haven’t found the real Anastasia’s bones. Part of me thought that advancements in studying DNA were going to eventually prove that Anna was Anastasia, but the opposite is true. Maybe that’s me being more of a romantic than gullible, but a question remains: Where are Anastasia’s bones?  It’s a cool, but very sad, story: http://www.royalty.nu/Europe/Russia/Romanov/Anastasia.html This version is pretty close to what I saw on the History Channel show.

I’m sure there are more examples of my gullibility that I can’t think of now. I’ll work on that, and feel free to share yours, if you like.

In closing, I’d like to say adios to an admired writer, John Updike. He died today of lung cancer. I was a little surprised to hear of his death, partially because I didn’t know about his cancer, and partially because 76 isn’t that old. He came to Florida State while I was there and he didn’t seem so old, but part of that is my denial that I’ve been out of graduate school for this long. So thanks for the stories, man. Take care.

Updike’s on the right. From his guest appearance on The Simpsons in 2000, “Insane Clown Poppy.”

“I am very prone to accept all that the scientists tell us, the truth of it, the authority of the efforts of all the men and women spent trying to understand more about atoms and molecules. But I can’t quite make the leap of unfaith, as it were, and say, `This is it. Carpe diem and tough luck.’”

I call a moratorium on misusing the word “Pregnant”

Pasted from dictionary.com:

PREGNANT, adjective

1.	having a child or other offspring developing in the body; with child or young, as a woman or female mammal.

2.	fraught, filled, or abounding (usually fol. by with): a silence pregnant with suspense.

3.	teeming or fertile; rich (often fol. by in): a mind pregnant in ideas.

4.	full of meaning; highly significant: a pregnant utterance.

5.	of great importance or potential; momentous: a pregnant moment in the history of the world.

 

Being pregnant is biological. See definition #1. It means that a parasite is growing inside a uterus. So why, oh why do couples constantly say “we’re pregnant”? This has been bugging me for quite a while, but particulary today because of an interview on Milwaukee Public Radio. They were discussing a new, grandiose study about to begin in Waukesha County which will follow the health of children until age 21. The interviewee said “families who plan to become pregnant . . . ” and it so irritated me!

Pregnancy is an unromantic, physical state of being. Wanna be romantic, say something old-schooly like “we’re expecting.” I get that couples may want to share the joy. I’ve known significant others who abstain from drinking while their partner is pregnant, and, shucks, that’s sweet. I support the choices in bonding that couples choose to do. Who am I to say that it’s silly to turn down that beer because your wife, girlfriend, fiancee (or whatever) is pregnant. Rock on! 

But don’t say “we’re pregnant.” If there is no fetus in your uterus, you’re not pregnant. And don’t let others misuse it in your presence. Let’s all be French for once and demand respect for our language.

An Annoyed Rant Turns into Food Nostalgia

When I lived in the Twin Cities, there were two main choices for grocery stores. There were the gigantic ones, Rainbow and Cub Foods, which were almost like Sam’s Club– big ol’ warehouses where there weren’t a lot of specialty items but we would save lots of money and bag our own stuff.  Or there was Lund’s or Byerly’s, stores with carpeting, fancy delis, and cavier. At those stores, we most decidedly did not bag our own groceries. Then in Florida, there was Publix. Ah, Publix. So pretty, so clean. The best of both– big enough to have everything I needed in one place, but good stuff, too — Cuban bread, awesome sushi. Southern hospitality and beer, too. It was win, win, win.

Then there’s Milwaukee. Pick-n-Save; that’s it–literally, the only choice. I like that in Wisconsin (unlike Minnesota), I can get my booze at the grocery store, but I still need to go to Target to get the frozen vegetables and Ben & Jerry’s flavor I like (creme brulee). Today I went to P-N-S to get a few items that the BF forgot while he was there earlier and I brought a grocery bag from home. I walked around the store, picking up the forgotten items and a few impulse things (like fruit!), scanned the frozen vegetable section in case they miraculously started stocking the Bird’s Eye blends I like (no luck), and placing them in the bag I brought. I got to the register and poured out the stuff and told the cashier to please use the bag I brought (because they bag stuff there. I’d REALLY rather do it myself).  I paid and went to grab my stuff, and saw that she did indeed use the bag I brought, but she put the bag inside another bag.  wtf???

There are things about north Florida I don’t miss. The roaches with wings. The shoeless kids in stores. The drenched clothes after being outside for three minutes in June. The water in the Gulf at St. George Island, so warm it was like taking a jacuzzi, and thus not at all refreshing. But some things I miss. Publix. The Cuban food, the good Thai and Japanese restaurants. The canopy roads.  Soul food. Lightning shows. Unlimited puns on Church signs. Peaches and citrus driven in from Georgia and central Florida and sold by men wearing white overalls but no shirts. I would love to have that shrimp with basil and chili peppers from that Thai place in Tallahassee on Thomasville Road. Low country boil at Cypress. Or the gingersnap and mascarpone dessert from Kool Beanz. Sometimes I want to take a trip to Tallahassee just to eat.

Maybe one day, I’ll do just that.

New Optimism, New Ambition

Reading Justin’s post was as cathartic for me to read as I imagine it was for him to write:

http://theblarg.wordpress.com/2009/01/20/an-open-letter-to-george-w-bush/#comments

and I feel remarkably light, cool, happy. Seeing W on television didn’t fill me with the anger I usually experience; instead, I felt glad that I don’t wait tables in Crawford, Texas, so I will only have to see that stupid, smug smirk infrequently from now on.

I’m ready to do my part, President Obama (wow, that felt good to type . . . I need to type it again). PRESIDENT OBAMA, I will try to create at least as much as I consume. I will behave in ways that work to improve America’s standing. I will be more tolerant and do what I can to encourage others to also be tolerant. You’ve inspired me.

The nation’s fresh start makes me even more excited about working on the book.  That doesn’t mean I’ve worked on the book lately, per se, but I did change my phone’s alarm clock ring tone to the theme for The Simpsons so that I think about the book first thing in the morning and regularly throughout the day. 

Karma and I got a lovely letter from the president of the publishing company. He gave it a personal touch, talking about how his kids will feel about their dad’s company publishing our book, and he gave his opinion of which title (of the suggestions we submitted) we should give our book: Schooled by The Simpsons.  I like it! We just need to work out the rest of the title. Oh, and write the rest of the book.

In my head, I’ve been working out a new section working with The Simpsons and linguistics, and I’ve also been working on the thanks/acknowledgements section, which now also includes JAY LEVEY and WEIRD AL YANKOVIC, as they have granted us permission to use lyrics.  See, our book is going to include paper assignments and in-class activities that we use to teach certain rhetorical (and other) concepts, and anyone who’s met me knows that I use Weird Al in class, and I’m stoked to share my tactics with other teachers.  Plus.  I’ve got to say, I’m excited to be able to thank Al in the book and to send him his requested copies. It will be an honor.

Bush Countdown . . . 2

So why does my Bush Countdown Clock say 727?

is it because you were made in China that you couldn't make it two more days?

I received this countdown clock two and a half years ago for my birthday (the day that The Simpsons Movie was released in theaters in this country), and I’ve been waiting and watching it patiently (alright, not so patiently) this whole time. I’ve been wondering what it would do when the countdown finally ended. Would it make a happy noise? Would confetti fly out? Would it self-destruct? Is it really a bomb, created by the Right to injure liberals across the land, as my BF’s son suggested? (He actually thought it would be really funny if it were a bomb).

Sadly, now I may never know as it has reset itself to a large, arbitrary amount of days away (although, interestingly, the numbers it has chosen, 727, is my birthday).

I have enjoyed my Bush Countdown Clock, and I still plan to throw it in a drawer on Tuesday and keep it there indefinitely, as I had all along, but it just feels so anticlimactic. That isn’t to say I’m not going to enjoy Tuesday. Oh, I will enjoy Tuesday.

Wisconsin has Evil Miscreants

Last week near Waupaca, WI, some indescribably horrible people on snowmobiles herded and smacked five deer. They killed four of them and one needed to be euthanized. The only reason I was watching the stupid local news was to get the weather because we get no local info on the Weather Channel now that we have U-Verse.  I am reminded why I can’t stand local news.

As if that wasn’t a big enough blow to the reputation of sportsmen (yes, sportsmen) in the state of Wisconsin, there was a copy-cat crime perhaps even more horrific. A man (yes, I’m making another assumption) on a snowmobile killed 57 mallards on the river in Fond du Lac. FIFTY-SEVEN! I am usually at no loss for words, but words to describe these miscreants escape me.  If you’d like to see a pickup truck filled with the carcasss of dead ducks, go here:

http://www.todaystmj4.com/news/local/37594794.html

This isn’t about hippy-dippy animal-loving. I’ve eaten more than my fair share of animals in my life. I even respect hunting; I am the sister of two responsible hunters– people who follow the law, detest poachers, and don’t kill for the sake of killing.  I’m not sure what it’s about, but it’s not about me being an overly-sensitive animal lover. I think it’s about being human, which makes me worried to go outside. I am weary to communicate with anyone I don’t know because it’s impossible to know what any random person is capable of.

I am in general very pro hugs and anti violence, but if I could get my hands on these degenerate freaks, I would enjoy causing them physical pain.

Why I Love LA (repost of Jan 4 column at Matchflick.com )

Apple Pan yumminess & good company.

Happy new year!

I was lucky enough to get to California during my break. Not that I don’t adore Milwaukee, but, well, you know. I spent time in Sacramento, Davis, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. I had delicious food and fun with friends in Davis and Sacramento, and a jolly time in San Francisco. Yes, the MLA convention and Margaret Atwood Society business meeting were indeed a blast, but the highlight in San Francisco was probably the Patton Oswalt show at the Cobb Comedy Club. He was hilarious, of course, and we were treated to a guest we weren’t expecting: Dana Gould! (You might remember him from writing for The Ben Stiller Show and The Simpsons). My BFF Dr. Karma and I had a chance to chat with both of them after the show. Dana Gould was very friendly and gave us some insider anecdotes about the origins of some of our favorite Simpsons episodes. (The PLANET OF THE APES musical: Dana Gould’s. Yes, he’s that cool).

On the 30th, I left the San Francisco Hilton and took the BART to SFO, where a Southwest flight brought me to LAX. My first time! Justin and Mr. Fabulous picked me up and took me to a dog park in Culver City and then to their place. For dinner, we went to Apple Pan, a pie and hamburger favorite in LA. Justin’s friend Jorge took over my camera and took some adorable group shots. After dinner, we had drinks and pool

Justin & Du in Hollywood Hills

and The Joker, a bar that feels like a Milwaukee corner tap (although notably lacking in smokey haze).

New Year’s Eve was a terrific day! Justin and I started with a yummy breakfast at Nick’s. I hadn’t intended to get much exercise whilst in California but I met up with a friend from elementary school (gotta love Facebook!) who took Justin and me on quite the walk. Kevin works in post-production in Santa Monica, so we got to see a real-life post production facility. The employees were buzzing because rumor has it they’ll be handling dailies for Lost this month. After we saw Kevin’s workplace, we walked to the Third St. Promenade (where I was tempted to pop into the Gap to buy a sweater; I was quite chilly). We then checked out the Santa Monica Pier and then walked to Venice Beach. I was nervous as I’ve seen AMERICAN HISTORY X, but luckily I was not recruited to a local hate group. Justin and Kevin wouldn’t have let that happen to me anyway, I am sure.

On New Year’s Day, Justin and Kathy took me on the ultimate tourist drive around Hollywood. We went up into the Hollywood Hills and got quite close to the sign (not a great drive for the easily motion sick), and then down to the Walk of Fame and Mann’s Chinese Theater. I compared my hand size to Marilyn’s, and briefly wondered where Ali McGraw is today. I bought a cherry diet Coke at

My pinkies are shorter than Marilyn’s.

the soda fountain in the Disney store and snuck a pic of Gene Simmons reading the paper. We checked out the Roosevelt. I’m not going to go so far as to say that I, too, think it’s haunted, but there is definitely some energy in that place. And candles. We took a little drive around Beverly Hills, where I saw the Beverly Hills Hotel and asked Justin and Kathy if they’d ever seen THE SLUMS OF BEVERLY HILLS. They hadn’t, but Justin said that Natasha Lyonne is in some bad shit, like drugs. I sure hope that’s not true; I like her so much. For dinner, we went to Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, which is just as incredible as you think it is. I am still thinking about the mac and cheese and the real lemonade. We were home early and watched THE VISITOR, one of the best films from 2008. The story was the perfect balance of moving and subtle, and the acting was freaking amazing. Richard Jenkins is more versatile than Meryl Streep.

On Friday, after a kick-ass breakfast (pancakes the size of frisbees!) at the Griddle on Sunset, we drove to Watts to check out Watts Towers. (Yes, I have wonderful friends who were willing to drive their Stratus with Illinois plates through Inglewood for me. They rock). There is some restoration going on so we couldn’t get in the gates, but Watts is definitely a cool thing to check out, you know, during the day.

I think he was counting the typos in LA Weekly

(Thank you for the tip, Globetrekker).

Justin and Kathy are continuing the tradition of Food Night here in LA, and tonight I cooked. My friend from all the way back to the second grade and his wife Laura came, and my friend from grad school Paul and his wife Olivia were here, and Justin’s friends Karen and Shawn from college as well. And I hope they keep hanging out long after I’m gone.

So a few things I’ve learned about LA: parts of it look and smell like Mexico. While everything is crazy expensive compared to my down-to-earth, Midwestern sensibilities, it’s not as spendy as San Francisco, where you’re charged a 5% tax on imaginary purchases. Also, I thought I’d see celebrities constantly on the streets and in restaurants. I imagined literally tripping over celebrities, but the only one I saw was a friend of Justin and Kathy’s who was invited over, so that doesn’t probably count as a bona fide celebrity sighting. Word is they’re all out of town right now anyway, so maybe next time I visit I’ll see Kiefer Sutherland get into a shitfaced scuffle. Dare to dream. Another thing: not everyone is plastic, self-centered, and rude. I’ve met some really great people here (granted, most of them aren’t from here, but that’s neither here nor there).