The Brick on Bionics

So I bought a new computer. Finally. There was a suitable mourning period for The Brick, longer than most, but considering that he served faithfully - if not always efficiently - for what, nine years, it was the least I could do.

I hope he isn't looking down from eHeaven, betrayed that I moved on too quickly.

Anyway, my research into different brands, models, and options was all for naught because I suddenly developed what my Dad refers to as a hair up my ass. Mainly because I have to do a PowerPoint presentation for my advocacy group by the 16th, and I have to do my damned taxes. By the 15th, as you all know.

Yes, I procrastinated the taxes again. So what. That shit is stressful.

So, with the proverbial hair chapping my ass, I got off work Friday afternoon, rushed to Costco before they closed, and just picked one. While Costco has great prices and customer support, they do not have a lot of choices. I think there were maybe nine computers, total. The huge $1150 top of the line and the tiny netbook were out of the question. Two others were Acers, which the Costco guy said were actually more dependable than HP in his experience, but I just couldn't imagine crowing, Yeah baby, bought me an Acer! So that left roughly four HP models and 1 Dell.

If my IT buddies from my old job had seen me choosing this computer, they would've called me a girl. And not in a good way. Of course I looked at specs first. Both the Dell and one of the HPs had roughly the same specs. So what was the final hand wringing about? Important stuff, that's what. The so-called girl stuff.

The HP: smaller, but with funky graphic designs on the lid and where your wrists rest.
The Dell: plain and clunky, but with a backlit keyboard. Bigger screen.

Okay, size matters, but let's not lie - the real issue was backlit keyboard vs. cool designs. Also, the HP touch pad was that shiny glossy silver. Fingerprints and grubby smudges all over it. Nasty! You could practically see Little Johnny's booger trails overlaying the evidence of Uncle Frankie's earwax exploration. Gross! The Dell's touchpad was slightly textured, more matte, kind of a slick Teflon feel. No fingerprints, no greasy trails of Costco customer nastiness.

In the end, I went for the Dell Studio 1537. Intel Core2Duo, 2GHz processor, 500GB drive, 4GB RAM, wireless N, 64bitOS (Yes, Vista, dammit, but I was at the point of ohfuckit. I'll upgrade to 7 next year).

I was pissed off, however, to later find that this particular model comes in colors. Granted, it's not the funky graphic designs of that cute little HP, but still, I can handle clunky a lot better if it's lime-green clunky. Or orange. Or red. Yes, I could've gotten colors at Best Bitch, but that's a shopping experience for those who 1) walk in knowing exactly what they want, or 2) are willing to put up with sales bullshit from some teenager who's working part-time for weed money. Oh, and 3) are willing to pay out the ass for the same model that Costco sells for cheaper. That too.

So here I am on my plain, black, no-nonsense new Dell. Clunky, as opposed to funky. Like a sleeker, lighter, powerhouse version of The Brick. (Gentlemen, we can rebuild him, we have the technology. Better than he was before. Better. Stronger. Faster.) Maybe it was some weird subconscious way of holding on to The Brick. You know, like when people pick boyfriends who are really like their fathers?

I know some say Dell sucks ass, but The Brick did last over nine years. He was the Methuselah of laptops. I know people who've had four or five computers over the course of The Brick's lifespan. Of course, The Bohemian also had a Dell, and it gave her the blue screen of death in its third year, but that happened immediately after she lent it to a friend who is not above surfing spammy porny sites. You figure it out.

Anyway, decent enough specs to last me a good while: I can blog, I can PowerPoint, and I can do my goddamn, motherfucking, sonofabitching taxes.

But ... I am really pissed off that the backlit keyboard turned out to be white. WTF, Dell? Everybody knows you use blue for some shit like that! At least red, damn. Anyway, this could be a major issue. Good thing Costco has that 90 return policy.

The Hell That is Frozen Shoulder

I have Frozen Shoulder. Again. I had a it a few years ago, before I started blogging. Never heard of it? Neither had I. It's officially called Adhesive Capsulitis. See, your tissues freak the hell out and form bands of tight, inflamed adhesions throughout the capsule surrounding your glenohumeral joint. This scarred and inflamed capsule constricts the joint, locking it into its own private hell. Range of motion is severely restricted, pain is basically comparable to having your shin broken with an axe, and duration can range from a few months to two years or more.

This shit hurts, people. It has three stages:

• FREEZING: this is when you're basically wracked in pain. All the fucking time. Two kinds of pain, actually: chronic pain that is worse at night, and acute just-kill-me-now pain when you accidentally move past your ever-decreasing range of motion. This is where I am now.
• FROZEN: this is when the pain supposedly starts to fade, but the capsule has basically locked your arm into a very limited range. Good luck wiping your ass. This is the time to introduce excruciating physical therapy, in order to try and coax your shoulder into moving again.
• THAWING: this is where your motion is supposed to gradually come back. It's not very common to regain your full range of motion. The agonizing PT is continued through this phase.

So yeah, I had this three or four years back. Took over a year and a half to run its course. I remember when I was diagnosed. I thought Frozen Shoulder sounded stupid. Like some wimp-ass diagnosis for big crybabies or hypochondriacs. Adhesive Capsulitis sounded better, but still. Didn't sound like a "real" condition, like torn rotator cuff, or bone spur, or something badass like that. I soon found out different.

Frozen Shoulder is not for pussies, people.

Put it this way; I had three babies with no drugs. Two of the offspring were just under nine pounds, one was just over nine pounds. No drugs. I made it through shin splints in basic training with only Ben-Gay for relief. Hell, I made it through basic training, period.  I had two wisdom teeth pulled with only local anesthetic. I can do pain. I'm a woman. But dealing with that Frozen Shoulder wore me down. It was rough.

And it's back.


The other night my shoulder suddenly seized up in a cramp. (This would be the aforementioned "acute pain".) I screamed like a girl and cried. Literally. Screamed and cried. Male Offspring was about to take me to the emergency room. Of course, he probably just wanted to drive, but still. He gave me what he called hug therapy afterward. This is from a teenage boy, folks. If I had to deal with that pain for the length of a labor ... I couldn't do it. I'd be screaming for the drugs in five minutes.

When my shoulder started hurting a few months back, I figured I had wrenched it somehow, you know, with my active lifestyle and all, and didn't think much of it. But as time went on, I had to face the fact that I was having a relapse. According to the literature, relapses are extremely rare. Surprise, I'm one of the lucky few who get to experience that rare treat.

Whee.

This time is worse. Worse because I know what I'm in for. The first time, I could trick myself. You know, say things like, "Maybe I'll be one of those people who heal in a few months." or "The physical therapy will speed up the process." Complete bullshit, but it had a psychological placebo effect. This time, I know what's up. I don't think I can do this again, people. It's like getting scared of childbirth once you're already pregnant. Ain't no getting out of it now - you're in it for the duration.

And my neck's not long enough to gnaw my arm off.

I can't tuck in a shirt, let alone reach in a back pocket. I can't hook my bra. I can't reach across to wash my other shoulder. Shaving under that arm? Please. Deodorant is spotty at best. Taking a coat off sucks.

Washing, drying, and styling my hair mostly one-handed is frustrating, painful, and makes me mad as hell. It also renders me unable to let go of my anger and resentment toward Laura, the heifer who butchered my hair. Every day I hate her more, and I'm not generally into hate, except for George Bush. I'm telling you, every day it festers, and that shit's not healthy. Catching her in an alley while armed with a pair of pinking shears has replaced winning the lottery as my main fantasy.

Showering has become a dreaded ordeal and leaves me feeling like a big crybaby. I've considered going to work in pajamas rather than face getting dressed. And my pajamas aren't pretty, people. Sleep is difficult. That's an understatement. I'm ODing on Valerian and Unisom. I don't want to go on prescription pain relievers or sleep aids, because of the length of time involved with this thing. I mean, popping hard drugs for a couple of weeks or even a month is one thing, but when you're talking upwards of a year, that's something else. Who wants to end up like Rush Limbaugh?

The worst is making involuntary movements - like if you stumble and try to catch yourself, or automatically reach out to catch something, or if something startles you and makes you jump. Agony. There's a fraction of a second between the time you make the movement and the time that agony slams you like a rabid water buffalo on crystal meth, when you realize what you've done. That's the fraction of a second you consider bashing your head on concrete to knock yourself out. But there's not enough time.

To add to the fun, it's my right shoulder. I'm right-handed. I already mouse left-handed at work, so that's okay, but I'm starting to do other things left-handed. I'll be ambidextrous by the time this shit's over.

I've heard of some people who get bilateral FS. That's right, both arms at once! How the hell do those guys wipe their asses? Or drive? Or eat? Or do anything? Holy hell. If that happens, you'd better hope you have a partner or a live-in aide, because I don't see how you'd manage. It sucks having FS as a single person, even with only one arm affected. Basically, I can reach forward, to a certain height, with no problem. Any other direction is a definite no-go. At least I can type. Good thing -- that's pretty important for my job, hello. Like anyone needs a reason to stand out in this economy.

There is a surgical treatment option, but my HMO wouldn't go for it. Likewise the cortisone injections I've heard some patients get. The only treatment my HMO approves is physical therapy. Cheapass bastards. Last time, they did a few initial sessions with me, but basically handed me some papers with instructions and cartoon illustrations and told me to do it on my own at home. Then they collected their copay. But hey, we've got to guard against the evils of "socialized medicine" because US medical care is the best in the world!

Actually, maybe I was better off doing it at home. Check out this poor bastard. I can't even imagine being able to move my arm up that high, so he must be coming along nicely. Pay no attention to the screams. It's all about progress in physical therapy. No pain, no gain.

Brutal. My former drill sergeant is probably a physical therapist now. The one who got kicked out for trainee abuse. Anyway, this whole thing is making me really pissy.

I mean more than usual.

The Bohemian's Travels

Speaking of soccer ...

The Bohemian is back from China. Yes, she went to China, and no, that has absolutely nothing to do with soccer. Don't rush me, I'm getting there, ok? So the Bohemian went to China with a small group of singers from her University choir, sponsored by the State Department. Ten cities. That child has been more well-traveled than I am for about 8 years now. She was in Ghana over the summer, and now China. She's also been to Venice, Belgium, and Toronto without her dear mother. I'm hoping she'll move to Costa Rica one day and buy a house with an extra bedroom, but hey, that's just me.

Anyway, she and the rest of her singing crew were such a hit that they bagged an invitation to sing at another venue.

South Africa, 2010.

Yes, the World Cup, people - the friggin' World Cup.

The Bohemian is beside herself. Naturally.

Seattle Sounders FC: Real Sound Football

Seattle steps up with some real football. Fußball, fútbol, foci, fotbal, or - as we Americans insist - soccer, it doesn't matter what you call it, "the world's game" has finally come local.

Actually, I lie. I do care what you call it. I hate calling it soccer. I think it should be "football" and "American football" or "US football". Are we the only country in the world that doesn't recognize it as just football? OK, never mind, that's another rant. I'll call it soccer so everyone will know what the hell I'm talking about, and so I won't look like a pissy, purse-lipped grammar-control-freak pain in the ass. Even though I pretty much am.

Soccer is here, and in the big leagues, too: a brand spanking new MLS expansion team. For you US football fans, that's Major League Soccer. Pretty much analogous to an NFL team. Yeah, baby. That's right.

So I'm pretty excited.

I remember the '06 World Cup, not so long after I moved here. I was using vacation hours to go home and watch those matches. And I didn't have that much vacation time saved up back then, either. I was stoked. I was also floored that no one seemed to know what the hell I was talking about! I got comments like, "World Cup, what is that, sailing?" or "Oh, I didn't know soccer was that popular." What? Sailing? Are you serious? You didn't know it was that popular? Um, the World Cup final is THE most watched sporting event ever! It's actually US football that's "not that popular", in the big scheme of things, people. Jeez. Some perspective, please. Don't get me wrong, I love American football too. Go 'Hawks.

In fact, what is it with this either-or thing with US football fans? The whole soccer v. American football thing? It's like you can only like one or the other. If you ask someone whether they like soccer, the reply is likely to be, "Nah, I like real football." Yeah? Me too. I like real football and American football. What does one have to do with the other? US football is not a replacement for soccer. It's not even similar. It's not like baseball and softball, for Pete's sake. You might as well say, no, I don't like golf, I'm a croquet man myself. Or, nah, I'm not much into tennis, ping pong is my game! Oh, that sounds silly? Yeah, well that's about how related soccer and US football are, people. You don't have to choose. I've always thought that was some kind of weird sports dichotomy.

Anyway. They won their first regular season game 3 - zip against the New York Red Bulls. Hell yeah.

They're apparently the first football club to have their own marching band, Sound Wave, which is pretty friggin' awesome.

They've already sold more season tickets than any other MLS club. New as they are, too! That's impressive. Apparently the fans did Qwest field proud, rivaling Seawhawks fans in noise level, and standing practically the whole time. Yeah, baby. Hoo-ah.

Anyway, MLS in Seattle, folks. Next game is this Saturday. Bring beer.

Xylitol: Sugarless Gum Can Kill Your Dog

Last week Batman ate some Orbit Sweet Mint sugarless gum. The rogue canine taught himself how to pull open the junk drawer.  The top drawer. He pulled out a box of gum from Costco, along with a bag of hinges, instructions for the thermostat, a couple of magic markers, and some pizza coupons. I don't know how many packs of gum were left in the box, but in hindsight, I don't think it could have been many.

Oh. No wonder you look so guilty. Foolish Labradog, how much gum did you eat? Did you learn nothing from that emergency surgery situation? Yeah, that's right, hang your head, I'm talking about the Great Tampon Escapade, not to mention the Toothpick Incident. You'd think that would've cured you from indiscriminately snarfing down whatever you come across.

Well, when you're blowing bubbles out your ass, don't come whining to me.

But then, I thought, I'd better look this up. Just in case. And I was stunned. Orbit has an ingredient called Xylitol, a natural sugar alcohol, first harvested from the bark of birch trees in Finland and found in various fruits, vegetables, berries, even mushrooms. Xylitol has been used in Europe for some time now, but didn't find its way to the US market until about 2003. It's used in sugarless gums, candies, and in some baked goods.

Xylitol is great for humans: it's natural, has no aftertaste, is as sweet as sugar with only 40% of the calories, and studies have proven it actually reduces cavities. Something about the way it interacts with bacteria in the mouth. It's a godsend for diabetics, as it does not require insulin to metabolize, therefore does not impact blood sugar levels. And it tastes great. There are even studies suggesting a possible use in fighting osteoporosis! Great stuff, right? So what's the catch?

The catch, for dog owners, is that it can kill your dog. And it doesn't take much. I was lucky I didn't come home to a dead dog last week, people.

Dogs metabolize Xylitol much differently than we humans do. We process the stuff slowly. Dogs' bodies metabolize it all once. Xylitol tricks the dog's body into dumping massive amounts of insulin into the system, but guess what, there's no actual sugar there for the insulin to act on. The dog's blood sugar levels plummet, and acute hypoglycemia sets in.

Within 30 to 60 minutes, a dog can present with lethargy, ataxia, seizures, and even unconsciousness. Basically a diabetic coma. If it is not addressed quickly, the dog can die.

The other problem dogs face, in addition to the hypoglycemia, is liver failure. This can be accompanied by internal bleeding, due to clotting abnormalities. Even a dog exhibiting few hypoglycemic symptoms can end up with liver damage, or even acute hepatic failure. The liver damage may not manifest until 12 - 48 hours after ingestion, and it can be permanent.

There is no antidote for canine Xylitol poisoning. The acute hypoglycemia can be countered by inducing vomiting if the ingestion is discovered quickly, and/or by administering a dextrose IV solution. However, if the hypoglycemia is not treated quickly, liver damage or failure can follow, and vets are not able to do as much for that.

If you see any of these symptoms in your dog, especially if you suspect your dog may have had access to sugarless gum, candy, or sweets, get your dog to the vet immediately:

• Weakness or lethargy
• Pale gums
• Ataxia (uncoordinated movements)
• Depression
• Vomiting or diarrhea
• Hypokalemia (decreased potassium)
• Seizures
• Collapse
• Unconsciousness
• Liver dysfunction and/or failure

If discovered quickly, and you're sure about what your dog has ingested, you can induce vomiting using fresh hydrogen peroxide, 1tsp (5cc or 5ml) for each 10 lbs of body weight. (I've done this with Batman before, and it took 4 or 5 tsp. He weighs nearly 70 lbs. I did it with Mason once, it only took 1 tsp.) CALL YOUR VET FIRST: depending on your dog's symptoms, s/he may advise against inducing vomiting to avoid possible aspiration into the lungs, or if more than two hours has passed since the ingestion. Activated charcoal does not effectively absorb Xylitol in the stomach.

After hours, you can call the ASPCA 24-hour emergency poison hotline directly at 1-888-426-4435. They may apply a $60 charge, but you don't have time to waste if your dog has eaten this stuff. If this happens after hours, take your dog to a 24-hour emergency animal hospital. You guys know I don't say that lightly -- I know how much that shit costs.

What happened to Batman? He showed few symptoms, but that is apparently NOT typical. He was lethargic, but not terribly. I paid $160 to have the vet run complete blood work and liver enzymes on him, and tell me he was going to be fine. My vet said a few dogs seem to react more mildly to Xylitol than most. Apparently Batman is one of those few. I feel like he cheated death. I swear that dog has nine lives.

Let me stress, that is not the norm. I read story after story on the Internets about people coming home to dead, unconscious, or seizing dogs. Dogs DIE from this. Not just a few here and there, either. Others are euthanized because the damage to the liver is too severe in the end. Some dogs are under critical care treatment for days or even a week. This is nothing to mess around with, folks. It happens fast, and it doesn't take much. A couple of sticks of some gums can kill a smaller dog. Batman is the exception - extreme illness or death are the normal results. Or maybe he just didn't eat that much? I read about a dog named Copper who died from eating the exact same gum that Batman ate.

By all rights, Batman should've been dead by the time I got home.

Most Americans don't know about Xylitol. Many vets are still unaware of the dangers. The number of cases is rising quickly, as more and more products use Xylitol. If the owner is unaware that Rover got some Tic Tacs from the car, or snatched some gum from an open purse, those incidents get chalked up to an unknown cause, so the number of deaths is probably higher than reported.

For the record, other sweeteners like sorbitol and mannitol are not harmful to dogs. The gum Batman ate had Xylitol listed as "less than 2%", with sorbitol as the first ingredient, and mannitol also listed. Other gums, like Trident, have higher amounts. Orbit made a new line called Orbit Complete, in which the main draw is the high levels of Xylitol. Like I said, it's great for human teeth.

There is pressure on the FDA and manufacturers to use warning labels. The FDA says they're in the business of people, not animals. The manufacturers are afraid people will think the product itself is bad, when actually it's just the way dogs process it. So, no labels yet. Greedyass corporate bastards. Capitalism at its best.

So no cookies, gummy bites, muffins, mints, or gum for Fido. I'm glad we still have Batman. I read a lot of heartbreaking stories about people who lost their animals. Be careful with your canine friends, people.

Steele - They Love Him, They Love Him Not.

So Michael Steele is having to backtrack again. Remember when his party got their panties in a bunch about his "sea of white faces" comment at their convention? Then recently, he had to apologize for calling Rush Limbaugh's rhetoric "incendiary" and "ugly". Now he's in hot water for saying maybe abortion should be left up to the states, and implying that it's a matter of choice. Mercy. The Repubs had him backtracking so fast on that one, I'm surprised the man didn't trip over his shoelaces.

Watch out Mr. Steele - the far Reich isn't down with that whole marching to a different drummer thing. They prefer a nice uniform lockstep. Like the Borg. No dissension in the ranks.

I really don't see what all the apologizing is about. I mean, come on, Rush Limbaugh is a right-wing radio host. He gets paid to be incendiary. Saying he's incendiary is not an insult, it's a job description. And the Republican convention WAS a sea of white faces. I mean, damn, I'd have been scared to be there, and I'm white.

And states' rights -- aren't the Repubs all about states' rights? Wasn't that whole "war of Northern aggression" thing over states' rights? Well, when it comes to women's bodies, they're apparently not for states' rights. My bad. I guess big government up in your business is OK in that case.

Yeah, I'm pretty disgusted with that slum love comment he threw at Bobby Jindal, and some of the ways he's going about his mission of Republican change make me cringe, but I have to admit, I feel for the man. The Repubs are just salivating all over themselves, they can't wait for him to fail. They are on his ass like, well, white on rice.

I'm sure Steele knows what's up. Whether he can say so publicly or not, he's got to know the Repubs didn't give a good goddamn about diversity in the ranks until they saw the Dem candidates for president. Then all of a sudden, up they pop with Palin, Jindal, and Steele.

Kumbaya, y'all.

I think Steele genuinely does want to bring change to the Right. Granted, his methods are odd, but let's face it, ANY way the Right tries to bring hip hop to the ranks is going to seem odd as hell, right? I don't agree with most of his views -- hello, Republican -- but I can see that he sees his party imploding. He sees they need to branch the hell out, quit letting the wingnut evangelicals run the joint, bring in the young people. Balance out the old white men. So he's trying to make change to save his party, poor guy.

Problem is, the GOP doesn't really want to change. They know they need to -- thus their new shining stars -- but they don't want to. They don't want Steele to actually do anything different. They just want him to stand there, look diverse, and do what the hell they tell him to do.

Gee, Michael, we didn't expect you to take this Change thing seriously! Stop fooling around and get in step!

So as much as I'm delighting in the ongoing right wing implosion, I'm thinking what they're doing with Michael is pretty fucked up. They put him in place to illustrate change, but that's all they wanted to do - illustrate it. Once they saw him taking it seriously, using his position of power to do things differently, they got nervous. Now they're circling like sharks, waiting for him to step too far out of line, and at that point, it's win-win for them: they get that cookie for hiring the Black guy, without actually having to deal with him being in power. They can say it's not their fault. They tried, but gee, he just wasn't up to the task. The unspoken message being, of course, those people just aren't up to the task. Which allows the good ol' boys to get back to normal. I can see them now, mopping their brows with their handkerchiefs, "Whew! That was close! I thought he was one of the good ones, too!"

I'm no more a fan of Mr. Steele than I am any other right winger, but I hope he hangs tough. Either way, his party is pretty much in the toilet for the forseeable future. Come on, Mr. Steele, look around. Those old white dudes are basically pushing you out on a plank. If you decide to jump ship and come to Blue side, let us know.

Steele Yourself for Some Slum Love.

(The last of the drafts from my sick day. It's outdated now, but what the hell, it's a post.)

So, did you all catch Michael Steele, newly minted chairman of the Republican National Committee yukking it up with a white conservative talking head about giving Bobby Jindal some "slum love"?

Curtis Sliwa: Now, using a little bit of that street terminology, are you giving him any Slum love, Michael?

Michael Steele: (laughter)

Curtis Sliwa: Because he is -- when guys look at him and young women look at him -- they say oh, that's the slumdog millionaire, governor. So, give me some slum love.

Michael Steele: I love it. (inaudible)...some slum love out to my buddy, Gov. Bobby Jindal is doing a friggin' awesome job in his state. He's really turned around on some core principles -- like hey, government ought not be corrupt.

WTF, Michael? You think that's acceptable? You think that's funny? Why would you not call his ass on that? What kind of message is that to send out to a national audience?

Sadly, there's more. Click on the link up there to catch Steele's comments about Obama having bling-bling in the stimulus package, Sliwa imagining Mitt Romney high-fiving Ludacris, offering to play Jay-Z while Steele exits, and more condescending banter.

I find it hard to believe that Michael Steele didn't recognize what Sliwa was doing - almost every word out of Sliwa's mouth was that patronizing crap White folks do when they want to show they're Down With Diversity. Here's the thing, it's good to see Republican POCs in leadership positions within their party, but if the Republican party will only choose those who tout the far-right party line, people who are safe, who will laugh this kind of racist bullshit off -- who will participate in it rather than call it out -- I don't know. I mean, congrats on your new position and all, Mr. Steele, but I'm thinking that in some ways, you're doing more harm than good.

I've written before about the difference I've seen in my son since President Obama's election. I would like for my son to see POCs in leadership positions across party lines. It's healthy to hear differing opinions, apply those critical thinking skills. What's not healthy is for young people of color to see the results of internalized racial oppression played out on a national stage like it's comedy hour or something. What's not healthy is for young white kids to see the flip side of that and get a nice confirmation for their internalized racial superiority that they're probably not even aware of.

How many Indian kids in our high schools and middle schools are catching slumdog jokes this week? Do you feel OK perpetuating that, Michael Steele? Participating in it?

I've heard a lot of talk about how we're now in a post-racial society. Really? Because I'm having more conversations than ever with my son about all of these things. Seems like every time I turn on the news, something else needs to be addressed: the RNC's Magic Negro Christmas CD, the infamous Post cartoon, the backlash to AG Holder's "nation of cowards" speech, Miley Cyrus' I-wasn't-mocking-Asians bullshit, Michelle Bachman's "you be da man" gushing to Michael Steele, the slum love thing ... just to name a few.

Basically, that slum love situation sends a message to young people of color that you'd better step in line, ignore racism, even participate in racist jokes if you want to get anywhere, at least on the conservative side of the house. And you'd best suppress any pain or anger or resentment -- laugh that shit off, because hey, you know we're just joking, buddy. You know we don't mean you. Golly, we don't even think of you as Black! We don't even see color!

Well I'm sorry, but that interview was bullshit. And yes, I know it's easy for me to pontificate from my couch, to criticize, when I'll never have to live Steele's reality as a man of color. Fair enough. But when my son sees Michael Steele laughing with some White conservative hack about Bobby Jindal being a slumdog millionaire governor, my son needs to know that is not OK.

I've a feeling this is just the beginning of a long line of fucked up racist situations to be paraded across our nightly news, as the Repubs get Down With Diversity. Lately, I feel like it's all I can do to keep up, and honestly, you're making my job harder, Michael Steele.

I understand that arming my son with the knowledge to recognize and work against systemic racism is my responsiblity, not yours, but damn, I sure wish he could've seen YOU call it out, Mr. Steele. We expect that stuff from the Rush Limbaughs and the Curtis Sliwas out there, but having to battle against your example with my son ... that's something else altogether. It matters.

Bobby, You're Doin' a Heckuva Job!

Stardate: Monday, March 2nd. Cowbell's Log: Male Offspring is home from school now, but (shh) hasn't taken his computer back yet. I'm assuming this means he doesn't have any homework, not that he isn't doing his homework.

So I'm blogging. I know, I just blogged this morning. Crazy, right? It's almost like having a computer again. I feel like one of those monkeys with unlimited access to cocaine who keep pushing the button until they're coked out. Pace myself, I know. I'm saving this one and another as drafts to publish later. Dole it out. Make it last.

Guys, there have been so many things I've wanted to blog about. When I do get some time, it's hard to write about anything serious, because I know I'll only have the computer for a limited time. Pressure. Like a timed test, but without the number 2 pencil. Of course, now that I have a computer in front me, my mind is a complete blank, but trust me, there's a lot I wanted to blog about. The Inauguration, for one. OK, never mind, too much pressure to put THAT into words. Male Offspring will be here any minute. What else?

Oh, I know.


Fast forward to President Obama's speech last week. How good does it feel to have a competent leader at the helm? And how good does it feel to watch my son watching the President's speech? Every time the man speaks, Male Offspring is right there. He watches the news more now, too. Discusses issues. Ask questions. Talks about his opinions. Says his President rocks. To those folks who "just don't see color", and think it doesn't matter if a role model is green, purple or polka-dot ... it matters. It matters a lot.

So the son and I watch the speech. Then comes the Republican response. People ... what the hell was that? I'm sorry, but Bobby Jindal looked like one of those dolls where you pull a string and he talks. I think they wound his string too tight.

You know how, when people are on stage -- singing, speaking, playing violin, whatever -- and it's so bad that you're embarrassed for them? It was like that. It reminded me of high school, when Scott Fitzgerald sang I Got Rhythm at the spring concert. Except he didn't. Have rhythm, that is. Sweet boy, but ... no. It was excruciating. I remember squirming, watching him stiffly snapping his fingers off the beat while singing at the floor, his voice occasionally cracking. God, I wanted to disappear in a hole for him.

Bobby Jindal was about like that, on the stiff and awkward scale. I kept waiting for someone to use his tie like one of those big stage hooks, and reel him off stage.

He started off like he was in some weird "who's the most ethnic" contest or something. Did you all catch that? He's all like, oh yeah, keep your Hawaii and Indonesia and Kenyan father -- MY parents were immigrants! My mom was 4 months pregnant with me when we got here, so I was like a pre-existing condition! [stretch lips over teeth, force chuckle, hold for 2 beats]

Really? So ... in the Republican response, you not only want to bring up immigration, but immigrants entering the country shortly before giving birth to a child who will then be an American citizen, via the US health care system? Look dude, maybe nobody briefed you, but your party is against immigration. And immigrants having babies here. And immigrants having access to health care. Yeah, it's kind of a major party platform. So ... where were you going with that? And the Hurricane Katrina bit? Whose brainchild was that? Psst, Bobby: your party blew the whole Katrina thing. Bad. It's true. You guys were basically a laughingstock. Not sure where you were going with that one, either.

So I'm sitting there asking, where's the response? He's supposed to be responding to the President's speech. Did he even listen to the President's speech? Did no one forward them a transcript? Did his staff set him up? Because really, there's a bit of a disconnect here.

Male Offspring didn't respond to my questions right away. He was sort of entranced, mouth half-open, brows furrowed. I think the tie hypnotized him.

I really was expecting more. This is the great hope of the Republican party? If he and Sarah Youbetcha Palin are the rising stars ... oh hell yeah, we've got our 8 years in the bag. Bobby you're doin' a heckuva job!

Stalking Anthony Bourdain

I'm home with a roiling gut today. This is what it takes for me to get time on Male Offspring's computer.  I'm on the couch, hanging with my man, Anthony Bourdain. Yes, the Travel Channel. I know, right? Trust, this guy is no Rick Steves or Samantha Brown. No offense to Rick or Sam. Just not my thing.

I watched Samantha once. Destination Ireland. The whole time, I was like, okay, is she really trying to do a fake Irish accent? It was intermittent, but definitely there. Weird! And what's with the cheery, eager-beaver act? Girl would be perfect working the Starbucks drive-thru speaker at 5am. That brand of perky just pisses me off. But guess what came on right afterward? Anthony Bourdain's Ireland show! I know, too good, right? I don't know what those folks at the Travel Channel were thinking, unless they're going for a mass exodus of SamFans over to Anthony's side of the pub. Basically here's the difference: kissing the blarney stone with an affected faux-Irish accent complete with cheesy soundtrack, versus quaffing Guinness in a smoky bar after a walk through Belfast, Northern Ireland, touching on the not-so-cheery history between the Protestants and Catholics.

Yeah, pour me the Guinness.

Most travel shows work my last nerve with their exoticism and touristy bullshit. I will actually set a reminder for Tony's show. There I said it. I'm addicted to a travel/foodie show.

He's so goddamn appealing.

This guy is the only smoker and pork eater worshipper that I could consider dating. Or marrying. Or stalking. Whatever. Those of you who know how extremely anti-cigi I am, in addition to my vegetarian status, will appreciate the depth of my obsession, here.

Anthony's show, No Reservations, comes with a parental warning. A deliciously sardonic New Yorker, the FCC's obscenity rules are clearly not foremost in his mind. He tends to drink a lot. I don't mean like sampling a good Cabernet with dinner. I mean like slamming it back and dealing with the hangover later. He also says "fuck" a lot and is basically irreverent, caustic, and sexy in a tall, slightly bowlegged, boots-and-leather-jacket kind of way. He's likely to bust out with a "holy shit!" while masticating a juicy mouthful of meat, and you'll never catch him with an umbrella in his drink. And yes, he can occasionally slide toward disdainful when it comes to his travel and food compatriots:

I think the Travel Channel knows it's not getting Jamie Oliver or Rachel Ray when they throw their lot in with me.

Even Samantha Brown would have a hard time summoning a "wow" for this.

He eschews the tourist traps and five-star restaurants, heading instead for street vendors, family meals, and, as a self-described aficionado of the dive bar, any place where local home brew and home cooking can be found.

He will eat any local specialty, from seal eyes to chicken anus to still-squirming octopus tentacles. What's cool about that though, is that he doesn't do it in that "Ohmygod this is so exotic and freakish, watch me gross you out!" kind of way. (Looking at you, Andrew Zimmern.) No, rather than playing the obnoxious dude-check-this-out American, Tony, for all his general snarkiness, is all about genuine learning, about respecting and honoring the people, cultures and traditions of the countries he visits. He uses his show as a vehicle to challenge assumptions and stereotypes. You can see he is honored that people would invite him to their tables, share their food and their stories.

So yeah, I'm smitten with a travel show foodie. I was considering becoming a full time groupie, when my stalking turned up the inconvenient fact that he's now married, and has a little girl. He's apparently a very proud parent:

...she goes absolutely bat shit over risotto made with wild nettles. And when her Mom dips a finger in the local red wine, she greatly prefers it to juice. This makes me very proud.

Damn. I missed my window. Word on the street is, he even gave up the smoking in the interest of extended parenthood. Cruel irony. Stay sweet, Tony.

Okay, stay snarky. Whatever.

Dear Split End Salon

Dear Split End Salon (Aurora Village in Shoreline, WA)

Thank you for the complimentary hair cut I received at your shop yesterday. Of course, the term "complimentary" loses its value a bit when it means free because we fucked your hair up so badly that we couldn't, in good conscience, charge you.

Please let your stylist Laura know that the Kristy McNichol look is over. As is the Florence Henderson mushroom top with accompanying flip. It wasn't cute then, and it's really just laughable now. The short, choppy layers, the butchered bangs, the feathering? Not flattering, and so not necessary. Let it go. Yes, I admit, I was crushing on Shaun Cassidy in the 70s, but do you really think I want to see an older, fatter version of him staring back at me from my mirror? That shit's not funny. This morning, while brushing my teeth, I had the overwhelming urge to pull a crazyass Britney Spears move with my son's clippers.

Also, I'd like to point out that the last thing a client wants to hear while sitting in one of your vinyl chairs, is the stylist sucking in her breath with an, Oh, Jesus! I'm so sorry... Yeah, really, that sentence should just never be uttered in a hair salon. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's legal cause for a justifiable beatdown.

Apparently, your current hiring practices include taking on the layoffs from Super Cuts, because I haven't had such a bad haircut since my mom swindled me into getting the Dorothy Hammill in 4th grade. Even the basic training cut I got at Fort Jackson worked better than this. Truth be told, my drill sergeant's cut worked better than this.  And he was bald.

When family, friends and colleagues do not reassure you with the requisite Bad Haircut Platitudes, you know it's bad. When your new haircut draws no comments at all, and you work around all women and gay men, it's a sure sign something has gone awry.

When you pathetically resort to fishing for compliments and only receive So ... what made you cut your hair? or Are you going to grow it out again? that's a clue that someone with some scissors fucked up your head in a major way. (Looking at you, Laura.) My own son brought me pity-coffee at work today. He also snapped a picture of my head with his cell phone before running away. I'm pretty sure it's already been sent to his sisters at college, or possibly posted on the Interwebs.

A military high-and-tight suddenly doesn't seem quite so drastic. I will not, however, be coming to your shop to get it. In fact, I will never set foot in your salon again. I've made sure to tell anyone who asks, exactly where I got my "interesting haircut". Nothing like a living, breathing - and yes, crying - advertisement, is there?

In closing, may I suggest you screen your stylists a bit more carefully? In this economy, I'd imagine you have lots of potential hires to choose from. A little quality control would be nice. You had a good thing going - Adrienne, Halona, or Nicole M. would never have let this shit go down. Your standards have slipped.

And Laura, honey, you need to know that being apologetic and friendly does not make up for me living with this fucked-up, feathered shag on my head. I'm sure you're a nice person, but you should not be wielding scissors in a professional capacity. If I were you, I'd cross the street if you see me coming any time in the next few months. If I knew where you lived, I'd put Nair in your shampoo bottle. That may sound bitchy -- okay, unhinged -- but listen, honey, someone actually used the word "bouffant" in a conversation with me today. Again, that shit's not funny.

Split End Salon, I spit in your general direction. Thanks for the memories.

Disgruntledly Yours,
A Former Client