Ice Is Slowly Melting

Though I promised Reverend Billy of the Church of Earthalujah I’d only buy free-range thongs and locally grown bras, I admit to backsliding so my ample rack wouldn’t, by which I mean bras were on sale at Stein Mart and I bought three. They were probably made in China but I can’t read the tag pressed up against my yoga-toned back muscles. Is it hot in here or is Climate Change happy to see me?

This chart is full of untasty surprises.

Tomatoes? How can yogurt and cheese be so different?

The report is worth reading, mostly for the purposes of review. You know how it is: you read something, your brain knits into socks you recognize in your mental sock drawer, then a year later, your brother-in-law tells you everyone has always worn striped tights. You know it’s not true, but how do you prove he’s a raving nutburger? So read the report.

Say Goodnight And Stay Together

Sometimes, the body misunderstands where it is in space. There’s a little thing you see gymnasts do all the time on the balance beam called a balance check. In a standing position, an off-balance gymnast will right herself quickly and with luck imperceptibly by bending her knees ever so slightly, contracting her glutes, squaring her shoulders and making solid contact between her feet and the beam. That sounds like a lot to do in a few milliseconds, but when you’ve done balance checks hundreds or thousands of times it becomes natural as blinking an eye. Often, it works and the athlete goes on with her routine. Sometimes a balance check fails and the athlete falls. I thought of it when I read Aravosis’s lament:

Since Democrats didn’t adequately defend the stimulus, and didn’t sufficiently paint the deficit as the Republicans’ doing, we now are not “politically” permitted to have a larger stimulus because the fiscal constraint has become more important than economic recovery.

And whose fault is that?

Apparently ours.

Bernstein said that the progressive blogs (perhaps he said progressive media in general) haven’t done enough over the past year to tell the positive side of the stimulus.

Emphasis: Aravosis. That was February 2010. Yesterday, he added:

I remember Bernstein specifically asking the Nation’s Chris Hayes whether he and his paper had done enough to help promote the benefits of the stimulus over the proceeding year. Chris said that they had just done a podcast about it that day, but yes he probably could have done more. I recall jumping in and noting that Chris was the last person Berstein should criticize, as he’s on Rachel Maddow every night defending the administration quite diligently.

The occasion of this recollection was an incident that happened at the White House the other day where Crooks & Liars blogger Mike Lux was present. As reported by Ben Smith at Politico:

Yesterday, [White House National Economic Council Director Gene] Sperling faced a series of questions about the White House’s concessions on the debt ceiling fight, and its inability to move in the directions of new taxes or revenues. Progressive consultant Mike Lux, the sources said, summed up the liberal concern, producing what a participant described as an “extremely defensive” response from Sperling.

Sperling, a person involved said, pointed his finger backed at liberal groups, which he said hadn’t done enough to highlight what he saw as the positive side of the debt package – a message that didn’t go over well with participants.

Perhaps I was the only person in all the all the world who, upon reading that, bent my knees slightly, tightened up my glutes, squared my shoulders and made solid contact between my feet and the surface I was standing on. In short: I suddenly understood where I was in space and righted myself.

The Obama Administration considers bloggers employees and not independent entities. Some bloggers consider themselves subservient to the administration. I am completely clear on who is supposed to work for whom and there’s something else. Someone should say these magic words the next time Sperling spews:

We don’t work for you. If you were doing good work for the American People, you wouldn’t need anyone to highlight anything. You could simply tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may, but you are not doing good work. You are for the most part failing the American People. You are upset because you know it, we know it, the People know it and you want our cover to sell your weak legislation. The answer is no. We have our own opinions, we expect better from you and we will continue to tell you so.

That is how you deliver pressure from the Left. The blogger who says this may get shut out, but he or she will win the admiration of principled people everywhere.

My Voice Too Rough From Cigarettes

Haven’t figured out why yet, but I joined Twitter. This immediately gave me a headache and made me love Steve Martin more, since he doesn’t write in Twitter’s secret code language. Do not pretend that Twitter is not peepulated with cool-kid code. It certainly is and that is a bore. Strange upside: Mr. Bittman might introduce us to someone interesting.

Prior to pursuing his nutrition studies, Andy [Bellatti] completed a bachelor’s degree in journalism and gender & sexuality studies at New York University.

His passion for nutrition was partially sparked by the sheer confusion he used to experience when trying to determine what constituted healthy eating in a society where nutrition messages are often clouded by marketing, sales profits, and hype.

Hey! I’m confused all the time! He sounds promising. What’s he on about?

…I’m shining the spotlight inward, taking a look at pervasive, accepted, and often times unquestioned concepts, ideas, and issues within the field of nutrition that carry a significant risk of self-harm. They are dangerous because they don’t allow for growth, critical analysis, or substantive dialogue; instead, they minimize the nutrition field’s importance and have helped create the current free-for-all we are in, where the term “nutrition expert” is as loosely thrown around as “reality TV star”.

Ooooooh. Mr. Bellatti, you have my undivided attention. Tell me more.

  • 1) “There is no such thing as junk food”/”there are no bad foods”
  • 2) “Moderation!”
  • 3) “Healthy Eater = Red Flag”
  • 4) “You Have To Be Realistic”
  • 5) The American Dietetic Association Isn’t A Health Organization
  • It is hard to imagine how Mr. Bellatti wrote that entire post without sticking an ADA monogrammed pen through the ribcage and enlarged heart of a junk food-defending dietitian. You should read the whole thing and the comments, too, for extra goobertastic entertainment. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what the point of getting a degree in food science is if you’re scared to even ever-so-gently TELL PEOPLE ABOUT GODDAMN FOOD SCIENCE. Fast food is not food. That’s not a secret you should prepare to take with you to the grave, nutritionists!

    Sing out!

    Some people argue that if we do not preach moderation, we are setting the stage for unreachable perfectionism and eating disorders, a position that I find grossly melodramatic. Recommending that people shy away from fast food whenever possible is not about perfection; it’s healthful advice.

    Who are these professionals who say stopping at McDonald’s is a fine idea? Who are they? What exactly is wrong with them? I’d really like to know.

    But the Fighter Still Remains

    My hands are full a lot these days. In the early nineties, one of my boyfriends tried for weeks to teach me how to juggle, but it was useless. I threw balls into the air, then got down on my hands and knees to find them under things. Eventually, I threw in the towel when it became obvious I would never master this excellent party trick. This was also the boyfriend who took me to parties where I didn’t share a language with anyone else and I’m truly shitty at charades, so an excellent party trick might’ve saved the relationship from quickly fizzling. Oh, who are we kidding? If the sex is good nobody has to say a word.

    Speaking of speaking, yesterday, the sports doctor spoke to me in soothing words of a hip replacement wizard in New York who works on the broken joints of working ballet dancers. Most of the expected outcomes for hip surgery simply do not meet my expectations for me and the post-op restrictions seem impossibly strict. But what do I know? The calcification in my hip has set my spine off at an angle, causing me to wish I spent most of my time in bed, wearing marabou bed jackets and ranting about my close-up, though – seriously – I’ve got work to do. Gritting one’s teeth and getting on with getting about on bicycles while walking with a cane invites skepticism on the part of onlookers. You would not believe how often people who see me glide down the avenues on two wheels lose their shit when they get a glimpse of my cane. My back hurts. How is that your problem?

    The sports doctor suggested I go back to physical therapy. In PT, I’d strengthen my abs, my back muscles and get painful massages; that’s okay. I’m working on that anyway and have two massage therapists on speed dial. To devote any more time to exercise daily, I’d have to be a professional athlete of some kind, since running off to Cirque du Soleil with a cane is obviously right out. Next step: installing a koi pond in a kiddee pool and taking up soothing tai chi in my spare time, which looks sillier when you realize I’ve been so busy touching my toes I let an entire cherry season slip past me without getting anything into a jar. My back hurts – but that stings.

    I Love In You And I Love In Me

    Somewhere, a little girl is plotting revenge.

    Friday, when I left the library, I stood in sunlight at the bike rack. About half a mile later, the sky opened and I ducked into an alcove near the art library and threw on my rain gear. I am a genius, with the rain gear! I’m so smart, I waited a minute or two for the lightning to seem further away, then I climbed on my bike and promptly vaulted into an inconveniently placed flower bed when my rear tire got hooked on something invisible. I landed on my right shin and felt the impact reverberate through my hip. I had two thoughts in rapid succession:

    1. I might really be injured here; and
    2. Could the light please change so witnesses could go somewhere else and laugh?

    So now I’m a plastic-wrapped grandmother in a row of geraniums and a pelting rain, hoping witnesses don’t crash their cars and further delay my arrival at the farmers market. I got up in a series of dumb maneuvers that would embarrass every dance teacher I ever studied with and walked my bicycle to the corner and crossed the street. I waited for the light to change and crossed another street. Then I sailed down a long hill with draining water spitting in my face and knew I was actually okay.

    Thugs And Smugglers Are Thoroughly Respected

    Dum de dum de dum minding my own business your friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance well they’re no friends of minewhat’s this someone’s emailed me?

    Do Older Workers Need a Nudge?

    What an interesting headline! I feel – what is it – what am I –

    Yes, that’s it! Flames on the side of my face! Why? Because the New York Times is helping motherfuckers fuck mothers. I don’t think I should have to explain this to you, but let’s get this out in the open: when you fall for the You vs. Me, Us vs. Them, Me vs. My Grandparents bullshit, you are doing the work of the Oligarchy and you do not tread the path of angels. In short and in the same way there was NEVER a reason to make war upon Iraq: your enemy is not the other poor or middle class person – it’s the rich asshole who profits when you lose your cool.

    If you don’t take the bait, that asshole gets nothing.

    I Don’t Pray That Way

    It’s frustrating to listen to the Disciples of the Sacred Profit Margin discuss privatizing public services. They see dollar signs. I see crumbling infrastructure. Shortly after that bridge collapsed in Minneapolis, a Libertarian friend actually had the nerve to say that the bridge collapsed because government can’t provide public services. I said bridge building and maintenance cost money and must be funded at a consistent, appropriate level. He said, “Business has to be allowed to conduct business.” Well then. You can step through the looking glass, but I’m not going to join you.

    This is very, very simple: pretend you’re in charge of an agency’s budget. Your government agency provides a service, let’s say it’s lining up lawn gnomes in a perfect grid on a city’s public square. Your agency employs four people to keep the all-important gnomes clean, perfectly painted, facing in the correct direction and level. You decide you’re feeling trendy and want to privatize your gnome service. The first thing, after you’ve chosen your private gnome service, will be those four employees, who probably live in your city, will lose their jobs. The gnome service will hire three exploitable people, pay them less and your gnomes will lose their gleaming colors, grid-like pattern and correct orientation when the smaller workforce cannot maintain the same standards as a larger, dedicated staff. At first, your trendy move makes you look like a genius. A few years down the road, when your agency’s funding dries up because those gnomes have become a dangerous embarrassment, you look like an idiot. And you are an idiot.

    Now of course, a gnome service is silliness itself, but many if not most government services are provided by the government because our society as a whole struggles with societal problems and our lives depend on that struggle. We must have roads and bridges that do not collapse. We must have hospitals, communications, national defense, emergency services, commerce and support for those among us who need help. This is not optional and mostly not negotiable. You cannot argue that your agency charged with feeding poor children the only regular meals they receive could maybe get by feeding fewer children less nutritious food – because, and I shouldn’t have to say this, that is BARBARIC. Deferring maintenance on bridges and roads doesn’t make you a genius. It makes you shun-worthy. You should be shunned, you agency head, you. So let’s look at our graph above. I’ve never made a graph before and I was surprised I didn’t give up and go for the Crayolas. It’s very simple: privatizing government services is stupid and the road to societal ruin.

    You have a budget. You can organize your department, compensate your people appropriately, provide considerate services and set a high standard for those services. Provide those services and you are a hero. When you privatize, part of your budget peels right off the top for someone else’s profit, your workers lose their standard of living and your service deteriorates.

    It’s simple. Get it? This person is starting to:

    We’ve all been so brainwashed by 30 years of “government is the problem” bullshit that we’ve forgotten that the sole and entire purpose of privatizing government responsibilities is to enrich corporations at the expense of middle-class taxpayers.

    It is always cheaper and more effective to pay public employees to do it, and do it right.

    No, we didn’t all get brainwashed. We didn’t all forget who was making money and who was losing out. I’m sure you’re surprised at how much damage thirty years of cult behavior has caused, but thank you for joining us in a more real world now.

    And Crazy For Loving You

    Yesterday’s Star-Ledger, which apparently does not screen for crazy, contained this letter to the editor that made my brain feel like it was full of soda.

    More divining

    So the world didn’t end on Saturday. As a card-carrying member of American Mensa, allow me to try again.

    If you assign a number to each letter of the names Barack and Obama, such that A equals 1 and B equals 2, etc., Barack sums to 36 and Obama sums to 32. These two numbers share something in common; they are both even submultiples of the number 576. For example, the Obama number, 32, will sum to 576 in exactly 18 steps. If we now introduce Obama’s “essence number,” which is 5, the number numerologists have identified as the number of “change,” and multiply Barack’s 18 steps by the number 5, we get the number 90. If we then add this 90 to the single number that links his first and last names, the number 576, then we get 666.

    So there it is. Barack Obama is the Antichrist and America is headed straight for hell.

    – Thomas Clough, Maplewood

    Yes, I transcribed that. No, I didn’t change – numerologists say 5! – even a single comma. The only important newspaper in New Jersey printed that as you see it. I couldn’t find a link or I’d absolutely demand you go have a look. Absolutely. It’s the kind of thing you should see for yourself and slap me if I’m lying.

    Speaking of crazy, which I can because I play for Team Crazy, have a look at this picture from General Hospital.

    This is even dumber than it looks.

    Here we have actress Brianna Brown standing in front of a locked door in a scene where the actress on the other side of this door is acting out pretending to be locked in this basement – and not because I’ve phrased that incorrectly and union regs prevents anyone from actually being locked in anything. No, the other character in this scene knows she’s about to be rescued by the character who plays her husband. That makes six people – three of them actors and three figments of our imagination – who haven’t noticed what I notice every time I see someone locked into something on a soap opera. Look at this picture again. Know what you don’t see? Hinges. That’s right. The hinges are on the side where the tiny, helpless woman being held captive is. That means the door isn’t actually locked in a way that would prevent her escape. It is rather securely fastened on a temporary basis, especially since it’s a basement door and a basement is where most people would keep tools.

    The crazy part is you’re not supposed to know that because you’re a woman, you soap opera viewer you.

    Don’t Say That You Love

    A little while ago, Topaz did this strange thing where she started chirping oddly. Topaz talks a lot and pretty clearly for a person disguised as a 6lb. black cat, so I asked her what was going on.

    Tata: Hey, Topaz, what’s going on?

    Topaz chirped, bounded in a circle and went to the bottom of the stairs. Pete caught on.

    Pete: Open the doors upstairs. Drusy’s locked inside somewhere.

    When I opened the third door, Drusy gave me a look like my necklace was in her cosmo and sailed downstairs to the living room. That’s how long it took her to forgive me, but it was a painfully long fifteen seconds. It’s your turn to forgive me. I’ve got a project to prepare. You’ll see it soon. For the moment, know that I still find you captivating.

    Get There From Here

    Well, I suppose it was bound to happen: a mental health website found Poor Impulse Control and linked to that last post. Fine, fine. I could use the traffic. I guess. Hard to tell what good that sort of scrutiny might do a glossy glamorpuss like me, now that I’m completely secure. Which I am. Obviously. Here’s how I have come to this conclusion: a bazillion years ago or last December, the unnamed university posted a position at my current level that would head up the unnamed university’s anti-hunger campaign. I lack ambition – one of my most endearing qualities, perhaps even exceeding my humility and moral sloth – so when I applied for the position I didn’t entertain any thought of actually having the job. No, I wanted to talk with someone over at the campaign about how spazzy and off-putting that campaign is. Small wonder, then, that rather than call and demand from me pearls of sweet-smelling wisdom, someone sent a brief email dripping with disdain and if possible electronic goo. I laughed. The campaign’s spring food drive is chugging along without any publicity or donations in my building. I feel like I should do something to save this situation from its inevitable failure, though I’m not sure the campaign designers would listen. After all, in email form, I apparently reek.

    So yeah: what’s a fucking do-gooder to do when do-gooders are fucking up? That’s philosophy, yo.