Sweetney

oh, the humanity.

from the new scientist: "A fertility scientist at the Kentucky Center for Reproductive Medicine, Panayiotis Zavos, claims to have taken cells from dead humans and cloned them. He stopped short of implanting the embryos, but the scientific community is in an uproar. According to New Scientist, one of three cases used DNA from a young girl killed in an automobile wreck. Apparently her parents kept the tissue in the refrigerator for a few days until sending them along to the maverick scientist.

Zavos used blood and other tissues from an 11-year-old girl who was killed in a car crash. Her parents kept the tissues in their home refrigerator until they were delivered in dry ice to Zavos’ group three days later."

umm...wasn't this just in movie theaters? and wasn't it a bad idea? jesus h. christ on a crutch, when will our scientific community learn to listen to hollywood?!?!?

can you even *believe* this shit?

my friend angela (of yesterday's guest post) just hepped me to this site.

great. now i'm going to have even MORE trouble sleeping at night.

more gmail invites.

i have a grand total of SIX gmail invites available. comment if ya want one.

sweetney.com's first guest blogger. can i get a witness?

[this is my friend angela. as you'll see (read), she's bone-crushingly nifty and smart and she cracks my ass right up. she's mama to the most insanely beautiful green-eyed toddler in the universe, and she'll kick your ass if you cross her, bucko. also, she mentions me TWICE in this piece. incidentally. ahem-cough.]

If anyone ever says to you that it's okay for your kid not to take a nap during the day, because she'll go to bed earlier that night, you should sock that person repeatedly in the forehead. R_ didn't nap today, not because I was trying to keep her from napping -- I tried everything I could think of to make her nap. But when I started to burn out, rather than hurl myself from the roof of my house, I just remembered all the voices of all the people over the last two years who have said "don't worry; at least she'll go to bed early tonight."

THAT'S A BIG FUCKING LIE. Now she has forgotten how to sleep, I swear to god she has, and I'm exhausted, bodily and otherwise, and on the verge of fucking tears from thirteen hours of parenting with exactly thirty minutes of breaktime, and that thirty minutes didn't even count because it was spent driving around fucking Fells Point trying to find a fucking parking space before finally giving up and parking in the "customers only" lot where I'm not supposed to park, and then pushing a stroller around Sound Garden, which is apparently where the equator is located, because it was 136 motherfucking degrees. I have had exactly no minutes of time to myself today, and that includes time spent in the bathroom, where she followed me to ask me what I was doing, which is actually very cute, but please, I need some privacy, not because I care if she sees me pee, but because I need to fucking BREATHE, please, for two minutes! An hour ago, I drove one mile from my house to [sweetney]'s house to pick up something, thinking that R_ would certainly fall asleep in the car. I HAVE DRIVEN ALL OVER THE ENTIRE FUCKING CITY AND PROBABLY OTHER PARTS OF THE STATE SINCE. SHE IS STILL AWAKE. (Joel (Angela's husband) is in her room now trying to get her to sleep, because she kicked me and made me start to cry.)

Please, after you read this, log out... close your browser, shut down your computer, and compose a list of stay-at-home parents you know, and then tomorrow, call them and tell them how amazed you are by the hard job they do every day (and if you're feeling really generous, offer to take the little bundles of work off their hands for a few hours). I'm going to start right now with [Joel] and [sweetney]. I have no idea how you guys do this. It's the hardest job ever, anywhere. There's no such thing as any out-of-the-house job that requires this much of your soul. I'm fucking impressed.

GYWO, how can you be so awesome?

via GYWO

what happened? or: history on repeat.

have you ever had a friend who -- without warning or cause -- just suddenly, inexplicably, dropped off the face of the planet?

back in my early 20s, i was extremely close to W. now, admittedly, she was a bit messed up -- a former heroin addict, flamboyant attention-seeker with some odd ideas about spirituality and, perhaps, a penchant for anorexia -- but somehow we became best friends. i think i've always been compulsively attracted to people who i can somehow help...the wounded bird syndrome. but W was smart and funny and liked good music and so we formed a bond that was, well, bordering on codependent. we did everything together. "everything" consisted mostly of some combination of the following: going to see bands; going to bars; getting drunk; doing drugs; flirting with boys. we both had several boyfriends throughout the 5 or so years we stuck together, but they seemed accessories in the grand scheme of things. our primary allegiance was to each other, as boys came and went (heh. came and went. heh.). when i djed at a local club, she'd come and spend the night listening to my selections, and i'd play "green" by throwing muses just for her. there was a balance to things, an easy sureness and comfort in our togetherness.

then, of course, she met C, a balding, mid-thirties ex-con with two kids and two marriages behind him who somehow swept her off her feet, much to my disbelief, and got her pregnant. it was bizarre to watch her get pulled into his world, away from the one we had established together. he was controlling and volatile and jealous of my intimacy with W. so slowly she pulled back -- telling me all the while that in time things would get better, and that i was still important to her -- and then one day i tried calling her and her phone had been disconnected. i found out later, from W's sister, that she and C had moved. i never heard from her again. it broke my heart.

for months after i was a crushed, diminished person. i loved her as much as i think i'm capable of loving anyone, and this experience served to make me a more distant person, someone less likely to fully let her guard down and trust people. i'm trying to get over that, but the apprehension is there. perhaps rightfully so.

the point of all this is that someone, to a much less dramatic degree, just pulled a similar disappearing act on me, and i'm trying to figure out what that's about. in retrospect what i find most disturbing about what happened with W is that i was, in essence, so expendable: i had lost my utility, my usefulness, and was no longer needed, thus i was cast aside. W replaced me with C, swapped me out as one does a new car for the older one, and i don't quite comprehend that mentality -- the mentality that sees people, friends, as instruments and means-to-an-end to be sloughed off when they are no longer "useful". i am not certain what exactly happened in this most recent situation, but i slightly suspect i was used until i was no longer useful somehow. i think back on the past several weeks and realize that when i *did* see this person -- when they did get in touch or return phone calls -- it was only because they wanted something from me (to borrow or use something of mine). and thinking that just makes me feel like a pathetic dupe.

now to don my hairshirt and commence with the self-flagellation.

fuck.

my deepest admiration, respect and love go out to this lady.

in my own, totally non-religious way i'll be praying for you. get well soon, honey.

this just in: bush supporters want to kill themselves.

and rightfully so.

yes, i will post an actual content-laden update soon.

but until then, check this out:

the great american shout out.

anyone care to join me that eve?

get me a free ipod. and get your own damn free ipod. pretty please?

by clicking here, you'll give me one of five references i need to get my free ipod, assuming you sign up and do the free trial of aol or whatever. then you can refer five people and get a free ipod yourself.

win-win, people. win-win.

plus if you do the above i'll, like, proclaim my endless love (ala the lionel richie/diana ross movie theme) for you, your supremacy in all things, and general ass-kicking goodness in definitive, black and white print here on sweetney.com.

cannot combine with other offers, void where prohibited.

*edited to add: just so you don't think i'm crazy, here's a link to a story on wired about this free ipod thingy supporting its legitimacy:
http://www.wired.com/news/mac/0,2125,64614,00.html?tw=wn_story_top5

hmm.

supposedly quentin tarantino's blog.

if this is indeed him, shouldn't he be doing something more *productive* with his time like, oh, making a kill bill vol 3 or something equally as kick-ass?

i mean, he's not a fucking housewife or something. sheesh.

and there was much rejoicing.

for some reason or other, gmail has finally decided to grant me a single invite -- cheap bastards -- so umm if anyone wants it, comment and ye shall receive.

*edited to add: invite has been taken. you snooze, you lose, suckas!

kerry on the daily show.

tonight.

salivating is, indeed, the appropriate reaction to this news.

sluuuurp.

jaws, in 30 seconds.

again with the bunnies.

"Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"

for the kids:

Below are only a few of the 17 different phrases that the George W. Bush Action figure says when you press his button.
Batteries Included
• Freedom itself was attacked...
• Terrorism against our nation will not stand...
• Together, we will nenew America's purpose...
• ...working hard to put food on your family.
• I come from Texas

available for purchase here.

hall of technical documentation weirdness.

here.

my personal favorite? dragon ballz.

a shout-out to the peeps.

one of the rad things about movable type is that it allows me to set up a list of email addresses to notify when i update. so basically the idea is: if you wanna keep up with my posts, but don't really wanna just randomly check back whenever only to find no posts have been added, all you have to do is post a comment* to this letting me know that you'd like to be added to the notify list (include your email addy, if you're not 100% sure i have it), and voila! the next time i post you'll get an email telling you that the site has been updated. pretty nifty, eh?

i'm telling you, this interweb thing is gonna go places.

*edit: alternately, send me an email: sweetney at sweetney dot com

a portrait of our marriage.

the following is the appropriate response to the question "are you going to let me watch yet another hour of the world series of poker instead of watching the amazing race at 10pm?":

me: "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??!?!?" [with 'shrill disbelief' set to 11]

salted water for boiling.

mmmm.

be sure to click "more reviews"

its official: i'm becoming my mom.

i actually *cried* at extreme makeover home edition tonight.

shut up.

my other home is a home improvement warehouse.

since moving into our 1914 four-square some 4 months ago, i've gleaned a fair amount of wisdom regarding various home improvement-type issues. thus, for your edification, i present a brief summary of key findings:

1. you can never have too much caulk. however well-built, a house constructed some 90 years ago invariably gets baby-swiss-cheeseified: 80% solid, 20% tiny little holes. caulk will save you. respect the caulk.

2. previous owners will have likely "fixed" and/or "modified" what they should have just replaced, particularly if the item in question is large or expensive. for example: a fully-functioning oil boiler encased in an imposing metal furnace box clearly dating from the 1940s or 50s may be hiding a terrible secret. in our case, this secret was that the boiler was not, in fact, from the 1940s or 50s as appearances would suggest (boilers last *forever*, so if this had been the case it might have stuck around for another 10-20 years), but rather the boiler installed in the house when it was built. in 1914. originally a COAL boiler, in fact, modified to run on oil. so kiss 7K goodbye, sucker.

3. relatedly: previous owners (and/or the workmen they hired) will have invariably done their own home improvements badly, shoddily, and half-assedly. it would seem to be stating the obvious to say that permanent structures such as large wooden decks should not be constructed using nails, which loosen and pop out over time. ditto elaborate whole-house rain gutter systems.

4. never let a massive truck filled with enough stone to cover your driveway backup onto your already cracked and crumbling concrete driveway apron. kiss another 1K goodbye. dumbass.

5. bow down before the god of caulk. caulk is your master now, beeyatch!

6. character = irregular. back in the ye olden days when houses weren't all prefab and standardized and shit, builders didn't really worry much about consistency. so don't expect to go to home depot and buy, say, a pre-cut door for any doorway in your house. get comfortable with hearing and saying the following terms: custom-made and alterations.

7. the more you do, the more needs to be done. it seems that in the process of completing every task or project i come across yet another thing that needs to be done. it is, i'm coming to realize, never ending, and i'm beginning to get jiggy wit the idea that the house itself is the project -- one that will never really be "complete" because as one thing gets done, another thing is coming undone elsewhere.

photographic evidence forthcoming -- i just need a decent, sunny-ish day to take some good shots.

and yeah, i'm fucking suzie homemaker. with a toolbelt and cordless drill/driver.

this month sucks.

what is it about august? nobody's doing anything, everything planned gets cancelled, nothing of note happens, and all of my kid's playmates are unavailable. oh yeah, and the weather alternates between: sunny-hot/muggy and torrential rainy/muggy. summer doldrums, anyone?

its like a fucking vast right wing conspiracy of snooze.

c'moooooon FALL!

john vanderslice cellar door remixes.

free to download here, for those of you hep to the slice.

[bows to stereogum]

so perfect.

bush's freudian slip.

what a maroon.

hurrah! hurrah!

you know what would really make my life complete at this point? some sort of bug infestation. because, golly, its been YEARS since i've known the (scurrying, disease-laden) joy of household parasites!

[bangs head against wall]

mama sed knock you out.

my days are ridiculously routinized. i mean, seriously, its all variations on a theme: get up. feed baby. check email. do some baby-oriented thing (playgroup, playdate, go to park, etc). baby naps. engage in your standard housewifery. run errands. feed baby dinner. bathe baby. put baby to bed. collapse onto couch before tv. read. sleep.

the interesting thing (or sad thing, depending on your perspective) is that it doesn't really bother me. the repetition. the lack of an immediate, externally-defined sense of achievement. i've never been much of a career girl, i guess. and i've certainly never been fond of working under people, being beholden to others. my dear friend claire was recently ruM_ting about "why thousands upon thousands of us women, well-educated and witty and employable, choose to Stay Home." i can only speak for myself when i say that i have no feelings of loss associated with my removal from the workplace. i don't mourn the passing of my participation in corporate america (or non-profit america, for that matter), a system i don't even philosophically buy into. i don't feel diminished by not bringing home a paycheck, because i refuse the line of thought that correlates personal significance with monetary/capital gain. the work of those that stay home -- the real, hard, get-your-hands-dirty, emotional, psychological and physical work of primary caregiving and keeping a home and family running -- is maligned and reduced precisely because it has been historically considered "women's work". not trying to get all 'you go girl' on ya'll, but only those who have stayed home can know how fucking hard this work is -- far more demanding and exhausting than any job, paying or not, that i have ever had. women who have done this work know this. so why is it that being a "housewife" or "stay at home mom" (the monikers themselves come with built-in snickering and eyerolling) is so consistently viewed in our culture as doing nothing? how is it that the overwhelming attitude toward women like myself who choose to stay home with their children -- at least until school-age -- amounts to barely disguised pity and/or scorn expressed in ill-conceived questions like "what do you do all day?" umm, fuck you. i fucking DARE YOU to take on my job for a week. one week and i guarantee you'll never ask dumbass questions like that ever again, and you'll see the luxury and privilege in sitting at a desk, sipping coffee, and going to the bathroom whenever the hell you want.

the reality is: childcare in this country sucks. it sucks, and the few childcare situations that don't suck cost per month as much as someone like me would make per month. so what's the benefit? i guess if i was super career-minded i'd make that trade, working to be able to work. but clearly i've never been driven much in that career-path-achievement kind of way. i did grad school because i liked learning about stuff, it was never a means-to-an-end in my mind -- something i felt increasingly guilty about as i got up into the PhD ranks and saw everyone around me getting so professional and serious and future-thinking about what they were gonna do with all this when they grew up.

so i didn't finish and had a baby. heh.

sometimes i get the feeling that i'm supposed to feel bad about what i'm doing. that i'm not living up to my promise, my education, my abilities, or people's perceptions of what those things mean. but as far as i'm concerned, i can be smart (and smartass), perceptive, thoughtful and talented regardless of whether i use all of that *instrumentally* or not. that i'm not getting paid and recognized for my hard work is the fault of society -- and a nasty one at that -- not an indication of the quality of my choices.

*now back to your regularly scheduled lite reading*

david cross+headband+voting=funny.

heh.

fo shizzle.

A brief reminder that yesterday's terror warnings were not politically motivated
[via low culture]

isn't she lovely...

check the new 'do... this was done yesterday through a process akin to fighting a rabid feral cat coated with grease (well, provided said cat screamed incessantly as though you were murdering it, turned beet red, and commenced choking on a combination of its own saliva/tears). yeah, i think from here on in she's getting the "mommy special" (bowl cut with rusty scissors).

but, having said all that, she's a little peanut, no? [click thumbnails to enlarge]