Sweetney

links for 2005-08-31

• PostSecret
  special thanks to mrs. kennedy.
• rock stars who paint.
  and apparently we can't stop them.
• TrustedSource™
  interwesting.
• Sin in Linen.
  not my bag, but i know several people reading this have begun salivating...NOW.

new orleans-related bits.

racism: “finding” vs. “looting”

on rebuilding new orleans:
Advantages to floating megacity
Now flood-proof, this won't happen again in 25 year intervals
Becomes a port city, handles more importing/exporting
Practice for future waterworld cities after ice caps melt
Riverboat gambling laws apply to entire city!
Take that Japan! We get the future city first.

Disadvantages
Seasickness
Lake Pontchartrain becomes very very dirty
The most expensive thing ever built, ever.

metroblogging new orleans
Shock: Complete change of life in twelve little hours? Yeah, that counts as shock in my book.

rockheals update.

the rockheals, she is ready for her close-up, mr. demille.

links for 2005-08-30

• VICE FASHION
  what all the hot kitties are wearing this fall.
• Streetsy.
  a street art photoblog.
• the law of the playground.
  "the least coherent encyclopaedia of playground insults on the internet."

you deserve more/better, but its all i can muster up.

fie, fie on the infernal list!

1. i have my period. everything must be read through a filter infused with that knowledge. why? BECAUSE I FUCKING SAID SO.

2. i'm going to try not to cry when i say this: preschool started this week. that's right honey, we made it! i love you too!

3. i've been pondering lately what i might do in the whole post-being-at-home-with-M_ world (still 3 years away, but i'm not one to worry tomorrow about something i can worry about TODAY), and i'm seriously considering heading back to school and picking up my MSW in mental health so i can theraperize peoples. and yes, i just made that word up. i've long been interested in psychology and, well, telling people what i think is wrong with them, so it seems like a good fit. i just can't CAN'T imagine myself going back and slogging through as an adjunct english professor, getting paid less than if i worked full-time at mcdonalds (that's not a joke, sadly), and feeling at all good about that. and i'm certainly not interested in writing/editing full-time (unless, you know, someone wants to pay me to write my blog full-time. sadly, full-time bloggers are not highly sought-after). so yeah. i'll keep you posted as i continue obsessing thinking about things.

4. playing in my head today (along with the voices, oh, THE VOICES): if i don't die or worse, i'm gonna need a nap.

5. RnR on saturday was SA-WEET.* here's some pix our friend andrea took during the festivities.

6. to everyone i owe emails to, or who thinks maybe i'm ignoring them, or who wonders what the hell has happened to me since i seemingly dropped off the face of the planet recently: i'm sorry. and no, its not you. its me. really. now can i again interest any of you in some infected corn? (that just never stops being funny to me. sorry.)

7. if my blog was a bar, i'd buy you all a round. but it isn't a bar, and anyway its not even two o'clock in the afternoon for crissakes. what do you think i am, some kind of lush?!?!

*and no, mr. mayor didn't show. but he will. oh yes, my friends. HE WILL.

vote charm city.

the fine, incredibly talented peoples over at charm city cakes are in the running for the today show's “today throws a wedding” wedding cake selection this year. the cake is chosen by the viewers, so take a moment and head on over here and cast a vote for CCC!

(charm city cakes created my 35th birthday cake, and though it is long gone i'm still in awe of what they did.)

introducing: the official beverage of HELL.

last evening claire and sean came over bearing several cans of SPARKS -- a drink that can be best described as Red Bull + alcohol. it is, in essence, Bartles & James XXTREME... or, if you prefer, liquid crack. satan says: drink my new radical energy drink OF DOOM, dude! c'mon, i double dog dare you! what are you, some kind of pussy?!?

seriously, that was some incredibly messed up shit. and yet i woke up this morning wondering where i could get more... as soon as humanly possible.

huh.

achieving heretofore unimaginable levels of DORK.

i just sent an email to mayor o'malley, asking him to come to rock-n-romp tomorrow. and did you know he lives in my neighborhood? and that M_ was in his son's preschool class last year? and that he's into The Rock?

so on a scale of 1-10 (1 being “no way in hell”, 10 being “he'll show up at noon to help set up”), what do you think the chances are that he'll come?

sure, laugh at me now. but if he comes i'm gonna HA-HA all of you into infinity. with extreme prejudice.

miscellany (or: ghosts, transvestite prostitutes and arterial spray, oh my!).

my daughter is begging me to let her drink my coffee. nothing but evil can come of this.

the doldrums continue. one tries to roll with the punches, not get clobbered.

last night i went over to claire's and got a detailed report on her apparent haunting, which i find fascinating. her townhome was built in the 1970s, so unless there was some sort of horrible avocado-colored home appliance incident early in its lifetime that resulted in the death of one or several inhabitants (the heft of one of those 70s-era fridges could easily take out two people...and a medium-sized pet of some kind), i can't account for her bizarre experiences. perhaps an indian burial ground, ala poltergeist, is somehow involved? You son of a bitch -- you left the bodies and you only moved the head stones. and because i can sincerely vouch for claire's sanity and integrity, i will never, ever be spending the night over at her accursed rental lair of demonic spirits. that one goes out with love from me to you, claire. yessiree.

i've been reading Gig: Americans Talk About Their Jobs, and have learned, among other things, that you can make a CRAPLOAD of money as a transvestite prostitute. so, you know, i'm considering my future job options. also -- not surprisingly -- the job of stay-at-home mom is perhaps the most unappealingly described of all the gigs (with the possible exception of the first-hand account by the guy who owned a crime-scene clean-up business... but then the atrocious sums of money people are willing to pay to have other people's innards removed from their homes and places of business seemed to temper any angst the dude felt about his profession). and let me say i identified with the woman in the SAHM piece more than i'd like to admit. does ANYONE feel competent in this job? is anyone out there doing this not just continually exhausted, filled with self-doubt and anxiety, and hanging by a thread of sanity? who are these “supermoms” who LOVE LOVE LOVE (insert girlish squealing) being at home with the kids? who think its so invigorating and fun-filled? do any of you personally KNOW these women? and what medication are they on, so i can get me some of that?

no, seriously. drugs are our friends, peoples.

so, in keeping with my historical series this week, i bring you a photo i like to call my super swingin' 60s parents (left) and Aunt (in red) with some dude who looks like he may hurt small animals and obsessively clean firearms in his spare time.

somebody get that dude some antipsychotic meds, stat. oh, and a new jacket. please.

green leisure suit elvis-dad.

behold the absurd glory of my father in the late 70s:

my getup is first communion garb; i cannot be held responsible.

so painfully remiss on the rockheals update.

i may receive a tongue-lashing of some sort involving excerpts from the works of contemporary avant garde poets.

because that's who i married.

links for 2005-08-24

• The Invisible Web.
  good resource for resources.
• ColorMixers: Remixing RGB since 2003
• Ben's Bargains
  where ghetto dogs go for the lowdown.
• GasBuddy.com - Find cheap gas prices in your city.
  it has come to this.
• GasPriceWatch.
  and this.
• Shitty Blogs.
  yep.

smells like prom.

flickr is pissing me off... i've tried uploading pix a bunch of times today to no avail. grr.

anyway, that's my mom on the right. and who knew she dated a cast member of West Side Story?

i wonder if there was a knife fight at the prom. or if people inexplicably burst into song throughout the proceedings.

mom.

i'm told the setting was a birthday party, and that she was reaching for a balloon. regardless, i *love* this photo.

links for 2005-08-23

• McSweeney's Internet Tendency: Your Children Are Destroying the Neighborhood.
  (snort)
• A Perilous Journey From Delivery Room to Bedroom - New York Times
  dear menfolk of planet earth: suck it up, jerkwads!

nothing to do when you're trapped in a vacancy.

maybe its related to reaching the dregs of summer, or the failing economy, or my garden going to shit because its been too gawdawful hot to mess with it (and now that its not quite so hot i've decided that there's little i can do to undo the damage, so fuck it), or the fact that health insurance refuses to recognize any mental-type illness AS AN ILLNESS and therefore won't cover treatment, or money woes -- and i don't know about the rest of you, but i'm SICK TO DEATH of worrying about money -- but i'm hitting some kind of vast and impenetrable wall of ennui. and, impossible as it may sound, as a result i just plain feel like i have nothing to say, or nothing of interest or note to say at any rate. over here in sweetneyland we're just doing the day-in day-out business of living, basically. i have no desire, no internal impulse, to do much beyond that, frankly. were i in a difference place mentally i might be able to cull some sort of amusing anecdote from the ceaseless background noise of just trudging through, but right now it all just seems very reflexive, very rote, very lather, rinse, repeat.

i'm sorry. i know -- i'm boring you already.

so while i know better than to announce a “blog break” of any sort -- since i'm constitutionally unable to keep my fingers from this keyboard for more than, like, half an hour at a time -- just a heads-up that the state of sweetney.com's union is a bit, well, frayed. a little glum around the edges. but, as always, we will do our best to rise above. in the meantime, be gentle with us, darlings.

morning amusements.

my sentiments exactly: awesomest video by the awesomest band. (hi lalitree!)

a send-up of IBM's “tech crisis” commercials:
Sometimes you've got bigger problems than a gun-weilding maniac. Like printing.

the national economy=not good. (okay, so this isn't exactly “amusing.” sorry dudes.)

japanese subway roaches cause mass freak-out.

red tricycle.

her first bike, and first ride on it.

links for 2005-08-22

• Coeds With Colds.
  hot. in that feverish sort of way.

in the voice of homer simpson: D'OH!

what the hell? did anyone else know *ANYTHING* about this?

yes indeedy, mondays suck.

most bloggers feel down and find their own blog sickening now and then.

[click image]

via the nonist

circa 1972.

upon receipt of my teddy (who i still have, but he now resides in M_'s room).

links for 2005-08-19

• DeSoto Records: Homepage.
  our friends bill & kim's label.
• Dischord.
  number one in the hood, yo.
• DeSoto Records: Bands: Channels
  j. & janet are baltimore pals. buy their record.
• Teenbeat.
  kinda defunct, but historically well-loved.
• Most Secret Method | @superbadrecords.com
  beloved.
• Dischord: MSM.
  beloved.
• THE GENA ROWLANDS BAND SLAYS THE WEAK - - - - - - - - -
  i [heart] bob. we miss you, bob.
• DCist.
  because this is the all-DC edition, dawgs.

uhhh... thanks? i guess?

late last night i received a voicemail message from an old DC-area friend -- a multi-talented creative sort who, among other things, was the frontman of a well-known 90s indie/punk band (behold the semi-anonymous live action shot:).

anyway, the message indicated that his partner was searching for “a kick-ass gynecologist” in DC, so (and here's where it gets good) he immediately thought to call me -- “the coolest woman i know” -- as i would of course be in the know about where the rockin' GYN-ACKSHON was to be had. or something.

i don't know whether i should feel flattered or mortified. so i'm going to go with both.

links for 2005-08-18

• star wars as it should have been.
  a slide show by john cleese.
• Go Fug Yourself.
  fugly is the new pretty.

local peeps done good.

congrats to benn, rachel and (of course!) emily on Lulu Eightball's inclusion in this week's Entertainment Weekly Must List (at #1, no less!).

From booze to bumblebees, Emily Flake's delectably deadpan comic strip finds humor in dark and unexpected places.

i love it when good things happen to good peoples.

george bush's speechalist.

this made my morning.

totally random.

i just got an email from netflix by which i can give people 1 free month of the service. so, uhh, if you've ever thought to joining it but held off, now might be a good time to consider the joys of the netflix.

send me an email at sweetney AT sweetney.com noting your netflix interest and i'll hook my homies up.

links for 2005-08-17

• branding global warming.
  heh.
• chinesebaby.com
  we *do* need a microwave...
• choose your life.
  it burns! burns!!!!
• Anti-Podcast League.

in which i encounter someone from an alternate dimension.

this morning M_ and i went over to our friendly neighborhood children's bookstore for their weekly storytime (which, despite being called storytime contains no actual story-reading, and instead consists of about half-an-hour of acoustic guitar sing-along-songs (think: if you're happy and you know it, the wheels on the bus, and other toddler smash hits) earnestly proffered by a local ani difranco simulacra who fakes it so real she is beyond fake (actually she's quite nice and talented and the kids LOVE HER, and i'm a heartless, sucktastic bitch for intimating otherwise). so after the toddlerpalooza portion of the program everyone typically retires to the cafe area on the bookstore's lower-level, the kids gobbling up fruit-laden muffins and various cake-like items, while the parents (myself included) suck down triple-espresso-shot-lattes in the hope that it'll juice em' up enough to carry them through yet another day in dreaded toddlerdom. the atmosphere is congenial, with a slight edge of mania that seems compulsory in situations where large numbers of toddlers gather. at any rate, i surveyed the scene and recognized it as a good opportunity to pimp rock-n-romp, so i commenced with the schmoosing and passing out of fliers i'd had printed up over the weekend. as i made the rounds, i approached one toddlered mother who, for all appearances, fit the mold of potential rock-n-romp devotee (punky streaked hair, dickies pants, chuck taylors and a few visible tattoos... not that i'm stereotyping or anything. cough.), and handed her a flier.

she: oh, so you're the woman who does this? i've heard about it, but the only way to get the information about the shows is on the internet, so we haven't been able to go.

me: oh yeah, umm, you don't have an internet connection then?

she: no, we don't.

me [semi-stupefied, but attempting to not appear stupefied]: well, do you have an email address... somewhere you could access email? i could just send you the information...

she: no, i don't. i've never even sent an email, ever.

me [going into some sort of shock]: wow. uhh... well why don't i just give you my phone number then -- you have a phone, right? (in my mind i'm thinking: are you in some kind of CULT?!?)

she: yeah, sure, that'd be great!

so i jotted my phone number down on one of the fliers and gave it to her -- whatever, no big deal. but i'm kind of haunted by how troubled i was by her wholly unwired existence. i mean, i don't know ANYONE who doesn't at the very least have an email address that they check semi-regularly (from work, or from a library or something), and those are the people i know that i consider borderline luddites. a huge part of me wanted to corner this woman and -- with zero sarcasm -- frankly ask her: how is it that you live? i mean, is this a political statement of some sort? are you living out some kind of reality-tv-contrived existence ala PBS's The 1900 House, and have thus been forced to sever all ties to high-tech gadgetry for the sake of period authenticity? what? no, really -- am i missing something here?

need i even note that without regular internet and email access i'd be a desperately lonely, psychotic basketcase?

no, i didn't think so.

rockheals update.

correction: talk amongst yourselves AND read this.

everything hurts.

the title of REM's new hit single! heh.

yeah, i'm quite hungover, thanks. and in my tradition of making mistakes so you don't have to: blogging under the influence? not such a hot idea.

i'll be back later, once i've been fully rehydrated by IV and had several B vitamin shots. talk amongst yourselves.

Titling the thing is the hardest part.

MB: No title. I'm mega bogarting Sweetney's sweet laptop. She's drinking a rolling rock and has NO IDEA that I could hit publish RIGHT NOW! Hello, internet! I am wielding immense, He-Man qualities of power.

But I refrain. If only to pause for a nice, bubbly sip of Rolling Rock's prime domestic brew, I refrain.

sweetney: i was just thinking about the amityville horror house. for some reason. like, do houses have souls? man, that's deep. right on.

now back to the he-man-like powers of MB.

MB: “Do houses have souls?” Woman. This is DRUNK stereo blogging. “Houses have souls.” Come on.

I've lost my train of thought -- oh, yes. The Amityville House Horror. I'm wondering if I should be taking some kind of cult film hint from this. Is truman waiting at the door, thirsty for blood? Should I be looking over my shoulder? Where's the love?

As I write this, Truman lets loose a bloodcurdling yell. Do you know how to tell when Supa is drunk? Ask her to write, and wait for the melodrama. Guaranteed. Take it to the bank.

So. After the bloodcurdling yell. Or before. Can't remember. Was in the midst of bogarting the laptop, which comes complete with the Sweetney registered trademark outlet to the universe. What was I going to do with that?

sweetney: my dog is fucking INSANE. UNSANE. wasn't that a punk band in like the 80s or something? ah for the days of reckless intoxication out by the railroad tracks. pre-grunge, all the loners alone... with their hair.

okay, that thought just stopped me in my tracks. my dog is yodeling. i must go kill. now.

(back to your regularly scheduled supaprogram.)

MB: The dog really isn't that bad. It sounds like the neighbor's dog. Not like the dog belonging to the neighbor, but like it's not her dog. By which I mean, innocuous.

She's brought him outside. He's actually quite a good dog. And he hasn't lunged for my throat yet, which I consider a good sign.

So. Railroad tracks, pre-grunge punks with their hair. I was probably in junior high at that time, but I can speak to the railroad tracks. Good times, good times. Not that we did anything more than chuck apples at the CSX cars; I was 12 [and in reality, I didn't even do that. Twelve was the age of horses.] But railroad tracks are a peculiarly Midwestern source of fun, which I don't think the B-more kids really appreciate.

Onward. I have thus ganked the laptop, but am at a loss for what to do with this magnificent tool of ... of ... You know, stuff, and things. Another beer while Truman snuffles.

Hmm... I suppose I could liveblog the porch goings-on, but there's nothing much, really, to report.

sweetney: all day today i've had the pavement song “fight this generation” in my head. i think what i'm really hearing though is “fight this corporation,” a yet-to-be-recorded hit. mmm...delicious corn tortillas. i have trouble talking off the top of my head. something about grad school made me second-guess everything before articulating it -- probably not a bad thing.

my dog is a psychotic piranha. its a little off-putting.

i know there are people out there who think that when they are, cough, under the influence they are smarter, funnier, more outgoing, more likable (not to mention more lickable) than when they are sober. i am here to tell you (nay, demonstrate for you) that you are LYING TO YOURSELF. finis.

alright, this shit's done. now i give back to the MB for title-creation purposes. because i'm a coward.

links for 2005-08-16

• illegal art.
  here you can download "superstar: the karen carpenter story" plus other goodies.
• How to Survive a Zombie Attack.
• banners.
  hmm... i may have to add some of these...
• Reclaim Democracy! Revoke Corporate Corruption of American Democracy
• Fight Corporate Control.
  25 things you can do.
• Persons, Inc. -- Fighting the Source of Corporate DoM_nce and Returning Sovereignty to the People
• Guerrilla News Network.
• Adbusters.
• Corporate Watch.

fighting corporate control.

25 simple things you can do to keep your money from the corporations.

a really good piece with some fine suggestions. i think jamie and i already are pretty well aligned with most of it... except the tv part. sorry dude, i'm not giving up tv, directv or tivo. they'll have to pry those from my cold, dead hands.

two years ago.

i'm all about chubby baby nostalgia today, sorry folks...

SUPAH-STAH!


we called this the super-happy fun dolphin pool. for, uhh, obvious reasons.


cutest.muppet.ever.

the corporation ate my brain.

last night jamie and i watched the latest episode of six feet under and the documentary the corporation back-to-back, which was pretty much like putting my brain on some kind of psychotic, gut-wrenching rollercoaster ride molded into a shape vaguely resembling the human condition. and while i anticipated the former would leave me emotionally black-and-blue (damn you, fishers!), i honestly didn't anticipate how desolate i would feel after viewing the latter (in my ignorance i even suggested to jamie that i may not view the whole film -- which runs a hefty 2.5 hours -- noting beforehand that “unless it is spectacular” i was packing it in for the night within an hour). but here i am, up at 6am and unable to sleep because that wire has been tripped in my brain again -- the one that serves to turn up the volume on the normally muted-for-practical/functional-reasons voice in my head that holds a running commentary about just how fucked up society is at present, how irrevocably screwed humankind is in a 'big picture' sort of way, and how impotent and minute i am (or at least feel) in the face of that. yeah, you know, THAT voice. the fun one.

and of course i've written at length about these things before here, so i'm not going to beat a dead (or at least gravely wounded) horse by reiterating all of that. but i will say that this film not only pretty well supported all my worst suspicions about (gah) the system, but at the end of it all left me at a place where i feel ready to state, unreservedly, that corporations indeed run the world, not governments, as we were led to believe in 8th grade Civics (heh). and though i don't yet fully believe that the governing bodies of the nations of the world are *wholly* artificial and mere puppets of corporations, i do think that corporations are actively working with governments from a position of doM_nce, exerting tremendous power over lawmakers and enforcers, and increasingly functioning in ways that confound any nation's ability to control them. and, as the filmmakers note:

The operational principles of the corporation give it a highly anti-social “personality”: It is self-interested, inherently amoral, callous and deceitful; it breaches social and legal standards to get its way; it does not suffer from guilt, yet it can mimic the human qualities of empathy, caring and altruism. Four case studies, drawn from a universe of corporate activity, clearly demonstrate harm to workers, human health, animals and the biosphere. Concluding this point-by-point analysis, a disturbing diagnosis is delivered: the institutional embodiment of laissez-faire capitalism fully meets the diagnostic criteria of a “psychopath.”

so yeah. GREAT.

at moments like these things tend to get a little blurry for me, and i'm unable to tell if what i'm experiencing is some sort of, ahem, moment of clarity in which The Truth, long-submerged, rises to the surface, or just some sort of prolonged anxiety attack (though the answer “both” would be option 'C', i suppose). because, well, at moments like these i start having thoughts that run courses similar to the following: 1. corporations run world; 2. world is therefore irrevocably messed up; 3. humans within irrevocably messed up world are, duh, therefore messed-up products of their messed-up environment; 4. thus 50% of the U.S. population is, according to DSM-V criteria, mentally ill; 5. thus corporations create drugs to quell the anxiety, depression and generalized psychological pain which are the natural, normal human responses to living in an environment that is so messed-up; 6. people take drugs and get back with “the program.” etcetera, etcetera. wait -- am i sounding like tom cruise?!? that isn't how i mean it -- i've been on medication for depression for most of my adult life, and know well the benefits, and appreciate the reality of chemical imbalances. but what i'm getting at is that perhaps these quite real imbalances are generated from living in a psychologically mind-fucking, chemical-laden, environmentally bankrupt, alienating and generally poisonous society. because, dude, the body/mind division is a false one -- its all the same fucking thing. and if people's bodies are increasingly feeling the effects of being bombarded with all sorts of stressors that are the product of this modern society, and clearly they are, then why not the mind in tandem?

i'm just talking here, trying to work out some of these threads running through my brain. what's sad is that inevitably, when i have days of thinking about things like this, i end up putting the blinders back on when all is said and done. because, at least for myself, it is too painful to hold all of this consciously in my mind, too paralyzing. there's a thin line between enlightenment and self-flagellation, my friends, and if i am forced to live in this particular present within this particular system i cannot function without turning the volume down on the despairing, pitiable state of planet earth and its inhabitants. i can't get up and shower and put on clothes and care for my daughter unless my complicity in all of this confusing awfulness is something i can manage to temporarily blot out as i try to make the world seem whole and friendly and just to her. at least for a time.

so, dear reader braintrust, how do we change things? what can we do? how can we fight The Corporation?

links for 2005-08-15

• their circular life.
  neato.
• When Crazed Artists Attack.
  epic rock meltdowns.
• Rock-n-Romp :: Baltimore
  my wittle project.
• Thrift Store Art Gallery.
  the guy-with-noose painting is AWESOME.

congratulations.

our dear friends bill & shellie recently announced that they're knocked-up, so i'm sure they're already excitedly scouring baby name books, looking for a uniquely fitting moniker for their offspring-to-be. to aid them in this quest, i've collected the following list of truly distinctive first names, any of which i believe would add a heretofore unachieved degree of character and interest to anyone's surname.

Shifty

Torque

Wonton

Mister/Madam President

Flash

The Goat

Sputnik

Fluffy

Chupacabra

Jiggy

Pinto

Brewmaster

Diddy

Bionic

bill and shellie, i would be deeply honored if you'd consider selecting a name from my list for your firstborn.

and you're welcome.

love,
sweetney

walken 2008.

the joy is so overwhelming, i may weep.

links for 2005-08-12

• Netdisaster.
  destroy the web!
• the canonical guide to weird band names.
• sidewalk chalk guy.
  pretty amazing.
• ReadyMade: Re-Source.
• spaceboy!
  so japanese it hurts.
• Old Hag.
  smartypants.
• Eat Hufu - The Healthy Human Flesh Alternative!
  (for jamie.)
• Vampires! The Dark Alleyway.
  heh.
• a softer world

doldrums.

alright, i've had enough. summer can be over now.

as much as i pined for it in the heart of winter's darkness, summer is officially getting old. the heat this year has been such that it might as well be 10 degrees outside, because walking out into the air here is like walking into a freaking sauna. on days like today i feel my life-force waning the second i step outside, as the merciless heat instantly begins baking off any productive energy i may have had, leaving the weary shell of my body empty save for a shallow pool of tepid sweat sloshing around in my skull.

and oh god please i want preschool back. preschool, i miss you! i think about you every day and can't wait until we see each other again! i feel like a part of me is gone when i'm not with you -- the sane part. sniff.

yeah, i'm a horrible, lazy, complainer of a mother mutha. maybe i just need a nap.

links for 2005-08-11

• Stuff On My Cat
  thanks to http://mybeginningsyourendings.blogspot.com/ for the heads-up!
• Sweet Jesus, I Hate Bill O'Reilly, International
• one word.
• abandoned places.
• How to Tell When a Relationship is Over
  bwahahahahaaaa!
• Punk-O-Matic.
• terrorready.
  you are surrounded.
• playground 1.
  i have no idea what this is all about, but its nifty.
• DFILM
  movie maker.
• LEVERS
  oddly addictive.

stop it. you're creeping me out.

i am seriously made just a little uneasy by how 'iteration of me' this person is.

she needs to stop, you know, doing that.

ps: how much you wanna bet she's an ex-catholic (was raised catholic)?

e=mc2. yeah.

i just spent, like, the last three hours trying to figure out how to convert Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) to Eastern Daylight Time, factoring in the number of hours i have movable type configured to subtract relative to GMT so that my posts show the correct time (no, it DOES make sense! really!). all this so i can make del.icio.us post my daily links, well, daily, on this here blargh. and after all that, i'm not even sure i did it right (the whole time conversion thingy). fucking Greenwich Mean Time, why do you have to be so Mean?

all of which begs the question: how can someone so facile in the ways of technology be so utterly bankrupt in the realm of mathematics? seriously, i'm some sort of messed up hybrid, a genetic mutation gone partially bad, a half-assed freak of nature.

i'll be back later, when i think of some more epithets to throw at myself. grumble.

mash-up: lurkers and bathtime.

you lurkers crack my ass up, what with your fears i'll think you're stalking me (please?), and claims of having nothing clever to say. take note: commenting cannot be confused with stalking, at least not by me. the only way i'd think you are stalking me is if you, like, tracked me down and showed up at my door one random afternoon. or, say, started sending me notes written in blood (“DIE PIGS DIE! oh -- and i love you, sweetney -- can't you see that the aliens want us to be together?”), etcetera. and as far as having nothing clever to say goes: pshaw! this isn't some sort of talent show, kids! so feel free to speak your mind, wittily or not... or, conversely, feel free to remain in lurkdom, as your comfort-level dictates. its just nice knowing you're out there [weeps].

and incidentally, for the record, i do not think of the term “lurker” as one weighted with negative connotations, though some apparently do. to my mind, “lurker” is on-par with “silent reader” or something to that effect. werd.

and now, randomly, some bathtime fun!

this bathtub experience brought to you by SANRIO, makers of psychotically cute bath-related thingies.


yeah, she pretty much just sucks off the toothpaste and then gnaws lightly on the toothbrush. but its a start.

rockheals update.

“tickle torture” must be seen. so get on that shit, yo.

biannual delurking day!

i know you're out there. i can hear you breathing.

so please drop a hello, hey, or hi in comments, just so i can stop feeling eerily watched by a thousand silent eyes.... and whatever else you'd like to add, including an answer to the following query, if the spirit moves: why do lurkers lurk? and if a blog entry posts in a forest, and there's no one there to read it, will the rabid squirrels still gather and tear it to shreds?

c'mon, give me some lovin'.

it came from the deep.

i've been a vegetarian -- and variations thereof -- since i was about 15 years old. the 15-year-mark of course being when i became obsessed with The Smiths and started playing Meat Is Murder several times a day -- it was like my personal call to prayer, but with an earnest, yodeling mawkishness well-suited to teenage histrionics. i continued on a vegetarian-ish path throughout my 20s, with occasional lapses into poultry consumption, but never returned to the red meat (dude, heifer whines could be human cries! REDRUM! REDRUM!!!)... even after morrissey's second solo album came out and i deemed him chock full o' suckage. i guess somewhere along the way i'd lost my blood lust or something. i no longer had a taste for red meat, no desire for The Burger -- red meat smelled bad and looked even worse, much like seafood always has to me. even when i was a kid i wouldn't touch fish unless it was breaded and deep fried and molded into un-fish-like shapes (sticks, patties, blobs of breaded goodness tossed on a bed of fries and thereby transformed into something of indeterM_te origin), and i wouldn't even contemplate putting crustaceans or shellfish into my gullet. the mere sight of shrimp, crabs, lobsters and their kin makes my flesh involuntarily crawl. i've since taken this reaction to be a part of some sort of subconscious instinctive intelligence on my part, as i've learned that crustaceans are, in fact, quite literally SEA BUGS. yep, same family as cockroaches and silverfish -- JUST ADD WATER. [shudder]

so yeah, i'm what you might call, umm, a picky eater. my husband jamie, on the other hand, takes unnatural pride in both his desire and ability to eat any once-living creature on planet earth, though he refuses to reveal to me everything that he has eaten for fear i may immediately file for divorce. friends, this is a man who has openly proclaimed at cocktail parties we've attended that he would, if given the opportunity and appropriate circumstance, eat human flesh. i believe the guidelines surrounding this involved legalities and the absolute willingness of the donor, but regardless, for someone as cautious about food as i am that's a supercalifragilistic culinary mindfuck. so we argue about food a lot, and since jamie's the designated cook of the household i'm often left to my own devices if i don't want to eat whatever he's cooking. and left to my own devices means, well, a hearty bowl of golden grahams. because that's how i suck roll.

and last night was one of those nights. jamie is currently on a digestive tour of the seas -- mainly lots and lots of fish, and i can only take so much. so i ate my sugary processed foodstuff thingies while he lovingly prepared half a pound of fresh salmon, grilled it with lemon and olive oil out on our backyard bar-b-cue, and consumed it with relish before me. this was about, oh, 8pm.

i woke up at 4am to what i thought was the sound of one of our three cats hacking up a furball in the next room. WRONG. turns out the cat was jamie, and the furball was half a pound of microbe-infested salmon making a hasty retreat from his body out of all available orifices (and who can blame the salmon -- god only knows what else might have been hanging out in his digestive tract from previous meals). this exodus went on for about 5 hours. it is now 2:30 in the afternoon, and he's finally managed to keep down a teeny amount of delicious orange-flavored gatorade, but is still solidly bedridden. conversely, i -- though supremely unadventurous in the realm of All Things Edible -- remain in perfect health, brimming with 12 essential vitamins and minerals in fact. which sounds like a good thing, but then my relative health means i get to spend the entire day playing nursemaid to sir puke-a-lot. so i guess the best that can be said of this entire situation is that -- for at least the next 24 hours -- it would seem all creatures great and small will enjoy a limited stay of execution now that jamie's been sidelined. and yes, that includes YOU.

the outer burrows.

were you born to resist, or be abused?

this just in: Spin Magazine is good for more than just wiping your butt with!

just read their interview with dave grohl in the current issue, and thereby came to understand that the song best of you was inspired by grohl's “experiences traveling on John Kerry's campaign bus.” which made an already likable song very nearly lickable in my view.

also gleaned from the same issue: billy corgan is still a bloated, insufferable megalomaniac. surprise!

“blogher backlash.”

you have got to be fucking kidding me.

stossel enlightens us with regard to the homosexuals.

for some absurd reason or other jamie and i are presently subjecting ourselves to the televised abomination that is 20/20, and that withered soul john stossel just said: “gaydar comes from radar... an ability to see what is hidden.”

anyone know how i can get in touch with stossel? i'd like to make an appointment to meet with him in-person so i can, you know, punch him in the face.

song of the week.

this little number goes out to the ladies.

heh.

dear internet.

since right now it would appear that i have the ear of a sizeable percentage of the interweb (for, like, the next 15 seconds, since you're all trained by MTV-style rapid editing and hopped up on xxtreme energy drinks and dubious herbal supplements and thus unable to attend to anything for much longer than that) due to some linkage from high-profile (and HOTT!) friends, i'd like to take this likely-once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to share with all of you the following:

Look on my link, ye Mighty, and despair!

ya'll come back now, ya hear?

[thanks, johnny.]

i'm calling for a national day of mourning.

somebody get me a bottle of whiskey so i can pour a little out for my homie.

[sniff.]

rockheals update.

my husband so rules.

ps: and he's accepting submissions. so get on that, yo.

interestingness.

i know comparisons are odious, but i am now fairly certain i am the worst photographer ever (check out the past 24 hrs. link).

did i ever mention to you guys that i was accepted into, and very nearly attended, the art institute of chicago for photography?

another lifetime, my friends.

[supathanks to supamb for the headsup.]

blogher recap: let's do this.

all of this is going to sound corny and sappy, but there's really no way around that, so here goes.

i have never, in my entire life, felt such warmth and kinship among so many women, many of whom i'd not only never met before, but did not even know existed prior to saturday. there was something quite honestly magical about our time there, something that defies description (maybe that's a cop-out, but when i scour my brain trying to come up with a way of articulating the overwhelming sense of community and acceptance i think everyone present felt, i come up empty. maybe i need a more expansive thesaurus or something.). i wish there had been more time to talk to everyone, to meet everyone, to laugh with everyone. my list of awesome beeyatches includes some of the friendliest, kindest, and most warm-hearted women i've met in a long, long time, and i hope we'll all keep in touch, keep reading each others lives, and keep that feeling of support and camaraderie gleaned from blogher alive.

to heather and maggie: my one regret from this weekend is that i didn't get the chance to talk to you both more... that i didn't get into town in time friday night to sit and drink tequila with you both, to tell you both how funny and beautiful and inspiring you are to me (hopefully without sounding like a fucking idiot), to laugh with you about bodily functions and children and reality television and ADVANCED TOOLS. sigh. another time then, yes?

now here comes the hard part. gah.

to the ladies i spent the lion's share of the weekend with -- alice, mrs. kennedy, jen, and melissa: you are my sisters. because, seriously, if i could choose siblings, you guys would be it. melissa, my younger sister, who is a fucking RIOT in addition to being tender and honest to a fault; jen, my humble and sensitive sister, so loving and funny that i was taken aback at your interest in little old me; alice, my charming and hilarious and beautiful sibling, who in the course of a mere 24 hours made me feel more understood and at ease than i had felt in years; and, oh my, eden, who the mere thought of fills me with feelings of unfiltered adoration, and whose grace and quiet humor is something for me to aspire to.

okay you whores, now I'M CRYING. damn you, melissa! [shakes fist]

[blows nose, recomposes self]

you are all hereby officially invited to baltimore for a big-ass slumber party, and the sooner the better. i mean it. let's make some plans, ladies!

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!

[collapses in emotionally spent, shapeless heap]

rock-n-romp july 05.

what was happening in my backyard as i was a-bloghering:

[sweaty M_.]

more pix taken by our man in the field, sonicage, here here and here.

ps: kudos and big, wet smooches to jamie and debbie for taking on MY FUCKING JOB so i could go to CA and frolic with my fellow she-geeks.

she's a good writer. for a mommy blogger.

at several points during blogher, strangers asked me what my blog is/is about. to which i typically replied something resembling the following: “uhh...i dunno. other people would probably call it a mommy blog. because i'm a mommy. and its a blog. but its really about me; my child is in it because that is a part of my life, but its not the focus of my content. there's a lot of other crap thrown in there too -- things that amuse and interest me....” which sounds like i doth protest too much, right?

so fuck it people, what's so funny about peace, love and mommy blogs? why not be like Ice Cube (and really, who couldn't use to be a little more like Ice Cube?); take it back (Mommy Bloggers With Attitude) and say: fuck you, you've got nothing now.

hi, my name is tracey. and i'm a mommy blogger.

bite me, bigots.

this week's Six Feet Under (spoilery).

man, narrative arc *complete.*

sure its sad, but you gotta hand it to the writers -- that shit is smart, on many levels.

its almost like those folks read themselves some narrative/film theory or somethin'. heh.

durrr...

more blogher detritus.

submitted for your approval... because frankly i'm AGONIZING [<-- and just so i don't have to be obnoxious and actually do it, imagine that single word writ in 18pt bold font, flashing red, with tiny cheesy lightning bolts shooting out of it to symbolize my intensity] over writing *the post* -- you know, the one where i'm supposed to detail everything, and capture and articulate the substance of my weekend at blogher, and do justice to the conference itself as well as the fine ladies i spent the majority of my time with.

ugh. great, now i feel nauseous.

so while i find my nerves, here's some goodness:

*an incomplete list of awesome beeyatches i met this weekend:
mandajuice
no fancy name
socalmom
threekidcircus
unholysmell
fresnofamous
mommyneedscoffee
notcalmdotcom
themommyblog
i'mablogging

i know i've left off many people, so please have mercy on my broken, alzheimersesque brain and send me your URL if you and i met, however briefly, so i can add ya. seriously, dudes.

note: regarding alice, mrs. kennedy, jen, melissa, heather and maggie: i'll be writing more about those whores later, don't you worry.

and here's some more pictures i took.
and here's some more pictures other people took that i like.

i know. i'm such a coward.