First thing this morning, the newsy conundrum that preceeds the Today Show offered one of my favorite things: speechless presenters. I was sitting on my couch, counting how many fingers I was holding up and trying to remember my name – as I do every morning – when Rob and Darlene stuttered and I looked up.

Unlike the last time I was suddenly unsure whether or not I hallucinated livestock on the news, this time I can produce evidence. I can’t prove it, but I’m starting to wonder if my problems are really Chopper Dan’s, and maybe both of us need vacations. Coincidentally, Merriam-Webster’s word of the day is cowcatcher.

Section 4. The times, places and manner of holding elections for Senators and Representatives, shall be prescribed in each state by the legislature thereof; but the Congress may at any time by law make or alter such regulations, except as to the places of choosing Senators.

The Congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such meeting shall be on the first Monday in December, unless they shall by law appoint a different day.

That wasn’t actually the first thing that happened this morning. First-first thing, I was dreaming I’d missed my alarm and was late for work and the alarm wasn’t going off and I was too tired to get up and began to worry and I picked up my head to look at the clock and it was 5:15 and that’s way too early and I still thought I was late and then I was awake enough to scratch Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul and to know that my bedroom was fucking cold. The cat was clever enough to observe me turning on the heating pad for him. I hope he doesn’t burn down the house before I get home – unless he has to for, you know, Science!

Section 5. Each House shall be the judge of the elections, returns and qualifications of its own members, and a majority of each shall constitute a quorum to do business; but a smaller number may adjourn from day to day, and may be authorized to compel the attendance of absent members, in such manner, and under such penalties as each House may provide.

Neither House, during the session of Congress, shall, without the consent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any other place than that in which the two Houses shall be sitting.

I meant my house, not the House. In life, we have to accept that reality offers us few absolutes short of Death and bad hair days, and even the best whole wheat bread recipe will be subject to the rise or fall of humidity levels in uncaring temperate zones. After our parents’ breakup, Daria, Todd and I were for a couple of years commune kids. We spent a lot of time with the other commune kids, and when the commune broke up over issues of direction, responsibility and who forgot to pay the damn heating bill in the mammoth house, we kids were kind of lost for a while. In the bargain, Mom found Tom. Daria, Todd and I got his daughters Anya and Corinne as sisters. We have been thus since, which I suppose might have been 1974 or 1975. I don’t know. Who cares, right? But what do we call those other kids? Who are they to us, and where did they go? Do they miss us? At least some of them do. Etienne, a small stone skipping across the surface of my life, asks for a current picture, sparking a little crisis.

Maybe yesterday’s blog entry wasn’t especially clear on this topic: I’d rather re-grout my tub than have a camera pointed at me. With Silly Putty. What do I look like? How would I know? I look like stuff. I look like the person who rides by on a Segway and in your head you hear the Reverend Horton Heat play “Stop the Pigeon.” I look like what changes on the next go-round. I look like I beat Carol Burnett to the curtains. I mean, for all practical purposes I’m your invisible friend – right up until someone else makes eye contact. Let’s hope it’s a bartender.

I don’t know what Etienne expects. Daria insists she took this picture between stops on Corinne’s 1997 bachelorette pub crawl outside the bar I refer to as “the bar” and atop the vehicle referred to as “your truck, ma’am?” by the Turnpike Authority. It’s as close to what I look like in my mind as can be seen from the outside, but I don’t think it’d help Etienne pick me out of a lineup.

I mean, should he have to.

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, invisible friend, bull.

Some battles are not worth fighting. A few years ago, I gave up fighting my hair for Coif Supremacy, when I realized I could just as easily throw $100 a month out my window as move to a slightly better apartment and give it to my landlord. See, ultimately, I’m too selfish to fight anybody or anything for anything they don’t want to do freely, and if my hair won’t behave, I don’t have to tolerate its existential crisis. So now I tint my own hair and Rosanna cuts it every six-eight weeks, depending on how often I look in the mirror and find I look more like Yahoo Serious than “Yoohoo! Gina Lollobrigida!”

When I’m holding a drink, the resemblance is uncanny. To hers. Anyway, I had an appointment Saturday morning Rosanna called on account of weather and the flu. While I was grateful not to be reinfected after last month’s miserable pox on my house, I’m not pleased to remain shaggy.

A few weeks ago, a photographer I’ve known many years asked to photograph me and in a moment of complete idiocy, I agreed to pose. I know how this works. I modeled for artists for ages; my face becomes a medium for the artist and ceases to be itself, and I am not myself. I understand how distressing this is for academic feminists, and we can worry about those complicated issues another time. For the moment, we’ve got more than we can handle. We’re tangling with my rampaging vanity, for crissakes, and I don’t trust the photographer. Or this either, now that we mention it:

Section 3. The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each state, chosen by the legislature thereof, for six years; and each Senator shall have one vote.

Judgment in cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office of honor, trust or profit under the United States: but the party convicted shall nevertheless be liable and subject to indictment, trial, judgment and punishment, according to law.

Last night, I schemed and plotted my cosmetic itinerary leading up to Monday’s appointment with the photographer until a phone call changed my perspective rather sharply. Sharkey called to tell me another member of our tribe had passed away, though I would never say they’d lost battles with cancer. The cliche doesn’t feel like a fit. In June, we lost Freddy, who was also called Stinky Sonobuoni, and found ourselves at the only funeral I’ve ever attended where everyone told stories about leopard print underwear. The subsequent wake in the bar where we all met, drank and fell down a million times was cathartic and wonderful, and the last time I saw Lance Carter. At the wake, I was surprised to see Lance in a wheelchair. While I knew he’d been sick, I had no idea how sick. Our tribe is large enough and loose enough that while I saw Lance and his wife Lisa around for almost twenty years, they were really friends of my friends.

Lance and Lisa documented his illness extensively on Lance’s blog, which is both beautifully detailed and painfully honest, an amazing read. I can’t say enough about it – and I shouldn’t. It is everything.

Next week: another funeral. Then we will throw Lance a glorious, loving wake. While I’m contemplating my vanity and mortality, I should say that Lance was one of those lovely souls who always had a smile on his face. He was vivacious and enjoyed a good laugh. So laugh because life is really, really short, but don’t try this at home.

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, chicken.

Siobhan sent me a joke.

The famous Olympic skier Picabo Street (pronounced Pee-Ka-Boo) is not just an athlete…she is now a nurse currently working at the Intensive Care Unit of a large metropolitan hospital. She is not permitted to answer the hospital telephones any longer. It caused too much confusion when she would answer the phone and say,
“Pikabo, I.C.U.”

A good clean joke is hard to find these days – pass it on! (Admit it… you’re smiling.)

I AM NOT SMILING! My horoscope said I should just stay calm, which immediately made me nervous. Then Siobhan, who loves children once they’re old enough to send out for booze and ammo, emailed me A BABY JOKE. I should have realized left was right, up was down and Daniel Ellsberg would speak here Wednesday, as if to remind the faculty it forgot to tell students who Daniel Ellsberg is and was – fear not, Stephen Colbert remembered. Now that all those children are not being left behind, it’s a good thing Comedy Central helps them catch up. Let’s all do our part, shall we?

Article I
Section 1. All legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of Representatives.

Awesome. Since this was published before indoor plumbing, let’s hope that implied a safe distance and separate outhouses. Otherwise, the ground under our nation’s capital might shift uncomfortably at odd moments – like this week, when I suddenly understood why Elvis shot up televisions. Here we are using our giant brains to read the Constitution while men and women running for Congress seem unable to use theirs at all – and the electorate isn’t in great shape, either. In fact, a good part of the electorate sounds like we should have conned the grownups into pulling the plug ages ago. I’m not talking about people who have carefully reasoned ideas and vote them, liberal or conservative; people are entitled to opinions and, politically, feelings are facts. That’s fine by me. No, the citizens keeping me up nights are the mouthbreathers who consider politics boring, jury duty a burden, registering and voting less important than another trip to WalMart – the undecideds who can’t be bothered to acquaint themselves with the issues. A few weeks ago, I had this conversation with someone dear to me.

She: …I have to think of another way to get out of jury duty. With the job and the kids, I just can’t manage it.
Tata: Your kids are in school, right?
She: Yes.
Tata: Don’t you have the kind of flexible job that lets you pick your own hours?
She: Yes.
Tata: That’s your obligation as a citizen – jury duty. You take a book. You read for a few hours, break for lunch, read for a few hours. Then someone tells you you’ve got the crazy eyes and you’re excused, right? Or is that just me?
She: (Pause, as she hits ERASE on the conversation)…so I have to think of another way to get out of jury duty…

Initially, I thought Section 2 micromanaged a wee bit –

Section 2. The House of Representatives shall be composed of members chosen every second year by the people of the several states, and the electors in each state shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the state legislature.

Representatives and direct taxes shall be apportioned among the several states which may be included within this union, according to their respective numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole number of free persons, including those bound to service for a term of years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons. The actual Enumeration shall be made within three years after the first meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent term of ten years, in such manner as they shall by law direct. The number of Representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty thousand, but each state shall have at least one Representative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the state of New Hampshire shall be entitled to chuse [sic] three, Massachusetts eight, Rhode Island and Providence Plantations one, Connecticut five, New York six, New Jersey four, Pennsylvania eight, Delaware one, Maryland six, Virginia ten, North Carolina five, South Carolina five, and Georgia three.

The House of Representatives shall choose their speaker and other officers; and shall have the sole power of impeachment.

– then about an hour ago I found a student worker in my office trying to drink hot coffee out of a melting paper cup and what seemed simple wasn’t.

Tata: Dahhhhhhhhhhhling, can I persuade you to make a fresh pot of coffee?
Student: Sure! What do I do?
Tata: The coffee machine is unique and disaster-enhanced. First, take out a filter and find the coffee. Because ten cups fit into the pot, you put five scoops into the filter. Good job, lovey. Watch this door here, if you close it, water can go everywhere and you’ll feel like salmon swimming upstream to mop. It’ll happen very fast so be careful. I’ll be right back!

It’s true. I stupidly sashayed off because I thought my phone might be ringing and who am I to disappoint my public? About two minutes later, I returned.

Student: I can’t get it to go.
Tata: I don’t know what you mean, pet. The coffee pot appears full of coffee.
Student: Yes, but –

Suddenly, I knew. This young woman attending an accredited state university – very probably a high school graduate from a public school in a state that truly values education – had not emptied the coffee pot but had added fresh water to it and placed it on the burner. In doing so – and this is the part that made me fear for this poor soft thing in a world full of solid objects – she had expected the pot to empty itself through its non-porous glass surface into the coffee machine and generate coffee. I did what any reasonably compassionate registered voter whose horoscope had advised her to stay calm would have.

Tata: My pet, I know that in teaching you to make coffee I help you have coffee for a lifetime, and that’s just the kind of giving person I am. So. You empty “fresh water” into the body of the machine, replace the carafe quickly and press the ON button. We always have extra hot cups around here. Please throw away that waxy improvisation – however clever! – and use this special tool. And promise me, won’t you, you’ll stay for grad school..?

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, coffee, jury duty, Daniel Ellsberg.

Here’s the story: Dude One, pictured left, molests and kills a ten-year-old girl, is convicted and sent to prison. Dude Two (not pictured) corners Dude One in a locked prison cell and offers Dude One a choice: death or tattoo. Seems simple to me, other than the obvious aesthetics. I mean, there are certain things I want in my tattoo artist: I want to see a history of good work, I want personal recommendations and a certain minimum of murderous history between us. However, Dude One seems to have chosen correctly, even if he is plagued with a bit of buyer’s remorse.

Jared Harris, 22, is a cousin of Katlyn “Katie” Collman, family friend and spokesman Terry Gray told The Republic newspaper. He said he did not believe they knew each other well.

Harris, 22, who is serving time on a burglary conviction at Wabash Valley state prison in Carlisle, has been charged with battery and accused of tattooing “KATIE’S REVENGE” across Anthony Ray Stockelman’s forehead.

Harris told prison officials the attack was in revenge, according to an affidavit.

I KNOW! My ribs hurt! Dude Two spelled and punctuated correctly and everything.

Now, let’s be clear. I’m not saying revenge is the way to go, because I don’t believe that for a second, but we’re talking about men in prison here, where we expect – well – very, very bad behavior by men with documented temper problems. If Dude Two had shanked Dude One, that killing would have been so ordinary we would never have heard about it. Instead, we have threats, new ink, an excellent Snow Crash reference, and here at PIC, we feel curiously relevant.

I’m sure there’s a moral to this story other than “Hey…kids, don’t…um, flunk penmanship.”

We finished the very end. Let’s start at the very beginning.

The Constitution of the United States of America
We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Speaking of domestic tranquility, Miss Sasha offers us her prescription:

Apple Cider Chicken
Yield: one peaceful fall moment.

*Please do not take the chicken out and slice off cooked pieces and put the chicken carcass back into the oven to finish cooking the rest. This will only be fun for bulimics and those who feel they are not getting enough out of their health insurance providers! Once our chicken is finished take him or her out and place somewhere to rest before cutting. This is prime time for those who like to steal pieces (dogs, small children, husbands) prepare camera for footage of theft to later support your defense at your trial for manslaughter. Slice chicken, place veggies on plate and enjoy!

Far be it from me to criticize when someone else is doing the cooking but – darling! Cook the big chicken and enjoy the delicious leftovers!

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, chicken, apple cider, tastes like chicken, preamble.

Well, sometimes you read a story, whistle to yourself and say, “Paint me red and call me Mortimer. That fella’s lost the plot.” School Safety Drill Upsets Some Parents is such a story and David Britten is that dim fella.

WYOMING, Mich. (AP) – A school safety drill that included police officers in riot gear with weapons has caused concern among some parents who say it was too realistic and frightened some students. Police in the western Michigan community of Wyoming entered two classrooms at Lee Middle and High School on Thursday and announced there was a threat to the school, The Grand Rapids Press reported. Students, who were unaware police were conducting a drill, were taken from the classroom into the halls, patted down by officers and asked what they had in their pockets, the newspaper said.

“Some of these kids were so scared, they just about wet their pants,” said Marge Bradshaw, a parent with four children in Godfrey-Lee Schools. “I think it’s pure wrong that the students and parents were not informed of this.” Officers wore protective gear, including vests and helmets, and carried rifles that were unloaded and marked with colored tape to indicate they were not live weapons, the newspaper said. Diana Silva, a parent of an eighth-grade student, said the drill went too far.

“My child was with his face to the wall in the hallway of the high school,” Silva said. “I certainly don’t want anything like this happening to my child.”

I’ve written a handful of times about stupid grownups acting more childishly than children, but I can only find one at the moment. Plus, during the search I read July and August 2005, when my miserable life was especially hilarious. But let’s meet our new Special Friend.

Principal David Britten said students weren’t told ahead of time to make the drill as realistic as possible. Teachers were informed moments before it took place, he said.

“I think this is the best way to do it,” Britten said. “We’re not looking to scare anyone, but we want a sense of urgency.”

David, David, David! You have a problem with verbs. For instance, when you say, “I think this is the best way to do it,” the people on the outside of your head understand you’re thinking this was a riot – the funny kind – and you’re going to do it again. That’s not all, David, because you use more verbs. “We’re not looking to scare anyone, but we want a sense of urgency” indicates to the people – again, the ones outside your head – that you have a common problem: you can’t tell the difference between your intentions and your actions. On TV, people say to one another all the time “I didn’t mean to hurt you” or “I didn’t mean to drive your car off the train bridge” or “I didn’t mean to imply by marrying you that I like you any less” when what they mean is, “Shut up. I do what I want.” And that’s exactly what those of us who aren’t tinhorn despots like you hear now: Shut up. I do what I want.

But Wyoming Police Chief James Carmody said his officers were not aware students and parents were not told. He said his department will mandate that parents be notified ahead of time in the future.

“The purpose was to show how we will evacuate the classroom, not to assault the classroom,” Carmody said.

I’d consider evacuating my children, were they in David Britten’s care, because armed men terrorizing my children are armed men terrorizing my children, no matter what their intentions. There’s no excuse for it, and there’s no excuse for refusing to see that this damages children. The kids have learned that they cannot trust the stupid adults to protect them, especially not from the other stupid, armed adults. So what was the point? It was for David Britten to play toy soldiers with real guns, to establish dominance over the chimera in his head.

Were I a member of the school board on the outside of this guy’s head, I’d make sure David Britten heard my call for his immediate dismissal.

John Adams: This is a revolution, dammit! We’re going to have to offend SOMEbody!

Yesterday, a troll at Shakespeare’s Sister called me insecure and said I had terrible taste in music. I know! My face still hurts from laughing, especially since we were talking about the Dixie Chicks’ recent album, which is solid musically and lyrically. You can take my word for it or take my opinion for what it is: the thoughts and experiences of a person who is not you, and whose feeling are not yours, whether or not our hearts skip beats when we think back to that hot-and-heavy weekend we didn’t answer the phone and couldn’t tell whose body parts were whose after a while and we took turns shouting, “Ride ’em, cowgirl!” and, “The workers control the means of production!” and man, I hope Dad’s not reading this.

Hi, Dad. How’s…um…stuff?

I grew up with musicians, though I am not one myself. This means that when my stepfather Tom played John Adams in 1776 in some giant Bicentennial Central Jersey Plays in the Park jazz, Daria, Todd, Anya, Corinne and I learned the dialog, sang every word, knew every bit of blocking, read the play’s book-form notes by the authors. In 1976, I’m not sure I uttered a single unscripted word. A lot of what I’m reading online at CNN sounds familiar. Where have I heard it before?

John Adams: I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is called a disgrace; that two are called a law firm, and that three or more become a Congress! And by God, I have had this Congress! For ten years, King George and his Parliament have gulled, cullied, and diddled these colonies with their illegal taxes! Stamp Acts, Townshend Acts, Sugar Acts, Tea Acts! And when we dared stand up like men, they have stopped our trade, seized our ships, blockaded our ports, burned our towns, and spilled our BLOOD! And still, this Congress refuses to grant ANY of my proposals on independence, even so much as the courtesty of open debate! Good God, what in hell are you waiting for?

I have a crappy memory, but this is ridiculous.

[John Adams volunteers to visit New Brunswick after a report is given of Washington’s soldiers being afflicted with venereal disease and alcoholism]
John Adams: Wake up, Franklin, you’re going to New Brunswick!
Dr. Benjamin Franklin: [Half asleep] Like hell I am. What for?
Hopkins: The whoring and the drinking!
[Franklin gets up and marches off right behind Adams]

It was already a college town when they arrived, but it took another 194 years to get here –

Amendment XXVI
Section 1. The right of citizens of the United States, who are 18 years of age or older, to vote, shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or any state on account of age.

Section 2. The Congress shall have the power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

– and who knows what lit this fire –

Amendment XXVII
No law, varying the compensation for the services of the Senators and Representatives, shall take effect, until an election of Representatives shall have intervened.

Last night, I had dinner with Lala. I used to appear with her art band, and by appear, I mean I was completely visible. We managed to never get arrested, even when the cops were already in the audience. We’re free speech fans but we also graduated high school before Ronald Reagan started bringing on the full-blown Eeeeeeeevil. The other day, she was in a big-name gallery in New York and went to its store for an artist’s book. At the register, she took out cash.

Clueless: We don’t take cash.
Lala: What?
Clueless: We don’t take cash, only credit cards.
Lala: That’s illegal.
Clueless: It’s what?
Lala: It’s illegal for you to refuse U.S. legal tender. I have a credit card but you have to accept cash.

At the dinner table, I laugh so hard the restaurant goes silent. When I can think again, I’m grateful I wasn’t chewing or sipping anything and for the rest of the meal, each time she inhales to speak I swallow fast and put down my fork.

Lala: How can you not know that? I grew up knowing that. I learned it in civics class.
Tata: Credit cards haven’t been around for all that long. Most people, if you ask them, don’t know where credit cards came from. That’s why Congress is still re-writing the laws about bankruptcy to favor credit card companies. I mean, think about it. When I was in my twenties, everyone didn’t have credit cards. People who owned houses had credit cards. I sure didn’t.
Lala: …That’s right!
Tata: School districts that decided to include personal finance into required classes would be doing America a huge favor.

Actually, school districts that decided to teach fucking American history would be doing America a huge favor in a time when the Founding Fathers, in all their courageous, violent, surly glory are reduced to faces on diner placemats. If I had a handful of teenagers who could hold a tune, I’d be producing 1776 anywhere I wouldn’t be arrested trespassing. I might start with men’s prisons and juvenile facilities, where boys caught holding are incarcerated with men who killed children. But why fuss?

Well, this week, we’ve reached a new low. A documentary about free speech in America won’t be advertised on NBC. Why? Possibly because NBC is owned by General Electric, your basic weapons contractor to the stars.

NEW YORK — The Dixie Chicks are again at the center of a controversy over the limits of opinionated talk. A film company said Friday that NBC wouldn’t accept an advertisement for Shut Up & Sing, a movie about the fuss created by Dixie Chick Natalie Maines’ comment that she was ashamed President Bush was a fellow Texan. The network suggested the complaint may be a publicity stunt.

The problem arose when the Weinstein Co. began conversations with networks about buying ads to be shown nationally, in anticipation of later wider release of the film. The ad includes footage of the Iraq War, gives a brief background on Maines’ 2003 comment made onstage in London, and shows Maines dismissing as “dumb” a comment made by Bush about the Dixie Chicks. CBS has agreed to air the ad, a spokeswoman for the Weinstein Co. said. ABC and Fox have not given an answer while the CW and NBC rejected it. The film distributors said NBC explained it was because the ad disparaged President Bush.

I was surprised to read this because I’ve seen the ad a bunch of times, possibly during the ten minutes of Oprah I watch every day before my nap. That’s ABC. What the hell is NBC thinking?

Let’s go back to our Founding Fathers and 1776 again:

Hopkins: Well, in all my years I ain’t never heard, seen nor smelled an issue that was so dangerous it couldn’t be talked about. Hell yeah! I’m for debating anything. Rhode Island says yea!

The freer the speech, the freer the people. I too am for debating anything, and I will never be convinced otherwise. I mean, unless you’d prefer to sing.

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, 1776, John Adams, New Brunswick,congress,local theater.

It can be difficult to tell the difference between fiction and fact, fantasy and reality. Wait, that’s backward. When I saw that even the third time, I screamed a little. Somewhere, that this is real. So let’s fantasize a little.

Amendment XXV
Section 1. In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death or resignation, the Vice President shall become President.

Thereafter, when the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that no inability exists, he shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive department or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit within four days to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Thereupon Congress shall decide the issue, assembling within forty-eight hours for that purpose if not in session. If the Congress, within twenty-one days after receipt of the latter written declaration, or, if Congress is not in session, within twenty-one days after Congress is required to assemble, determines by two-thirds vote of both Houses that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall continue to discharge the same as Acting President; otherwise, the President shall resume the powers and duties of his office.

I saw it, as if in a (cue: harp players – strum! strum!) dweam… except this happened last night.

Tata: I’m WHAT?
Anya: Wearing a costume. We’re wearing costumes. We’ll be handing out samples of this stuff and at the toy store, we’re having an event with Mr. Ray* and…
Tata: I’m WHAT?
Anya: Dressing up. My mother decided to come as Annie Hall. I have a witch costume. The kids are all dressed up anyway. It’s going to be a blast!

This morning, I emailed Siobhan. She could hear the growling sixty miles away.

Tata: Guess what?
Siobhan: Monkeys are actually flying out of your butt?
Tata: Close! Anya told me I’m wearing a costume to the store on Saturday and you know what? I’m going to. Know why? Because MY LITTLE SISTER IS THE BOSS OF ME.

As she had recently worked for her own family and made a similar discovery, it was quite some time before Siobhan could breathe.

*UPDATE: Mary called in a panic.

Mary: Is Mr. Ray coming to the store this weekend?
Tata: DON’T YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO TAKE THE WORD OF A MORON LIKE ME? You should call the store and ask a grownup!
Mary: What’s the number?

I Googled it, because I don’t actually work there and even though it’s my family and all I can’t remember phone numbers for 50% of my sisters. Mary emailed back immediately. This is merely a step below the two-tin-cans-and-string arrangement to which we aspire.

Mary: Alrighty Madge, here’s the scoop, Mr. Ray will be hangin’ at [the toy store] on Black Friday for a CD signing. I remained anonymous throughout the phone call so I can neither confirm nor deny your need for a costume.
Tata: I have GOT to try paying attention when people are talking!

Huh! What is my sister up to?

Technorati tags: u.s. constitution, bill of rights,
bush, impeach bush, picasso, razor blades, knitting.

As a thrifty person in a room full of thrifty persons, I flip through the weekly common coupon collection at my desk every Monday, then I pass the collection to the next person. Since our situations are different and tastes couldn’t be more so, our savings needs seldom conflict. Yesterday, something in the flier caught my eye. I finished clipping what I needed, then went back. I put the flier on Lupe’s desk. I went back and retrieved it. After I left work, I tried for hours to find this picture on the website in copy – but no dice. So here it is, the image that made me sit in my cubicle and cluck like a chicken for TWO HOURS.
Click to to enlarge, I beg of you.

Because I love you and could not deny you the full-on, bloated horror that is the tasteless collection of figurines, I perused that site for hours last night. At no time did I feel the slightest urge to grab my wallet and spend like I found a shoe sale at Nordstrom. Hell, no. In fact, next time I decide, ‘You know, bulimia was a great diet plan,’ I’m headed straight for the Ashton-Drake Galleries online so I can bask in all the nauseating ways Native American princess figurines can alleviate our Trail of Tears guilt with the heady thought that we helped whole peoples depart from this miserable, impovershed and violence-ridden earthly existence to the glamorous afterlife and pretty, pretty conversion van fantasies. I’ll puke to that, friend!

As an added bonus, the site is filled with charming reminders that Jesus was a Jew, and Jews don’t make graven images, and in the second century I think it was someone else decided that wasn’t true anymore. So please. Get Jesus an Excedrin.