But first, the tranya….

Since we all felt better by the end of the week and can now spend several hours in public without having to stop and cough up a lung every 15 minutes, we spent Friday evening in Minneapolis. All four of us. SETU drove, which meant that Leland “Buzz” and I sat in the backseat shrieking and hollering directions and repeatedly stomping our right feet on imaginary brake pedals.

No, I exaggerate. SETU is actually a very good driver. Very steady; very confident; very careful. And I’m sure SYTU will be equally good when he gets his driver’s license next year. I have much to be thankful for. Later this weekend I will sacrifice a Gold n Plump three legged fryer from Cub on the altar grill to propitiate the gods.

I really should stop calling them the Surly Elder and Younger Teenaged Units, because they are really not surly very often, if at all anymore. So, what adjective to use instead? They are both taller than their parents, and have been for quite a while now. Their current heights are hovering around the 6′4″ mark, more or less, depending on hair length and what degree of teenage slacker slouch they are affecting this week. I think I’ll refer to them as the Towering Elder and Younger Teenaged Units — The Two Towers — until something better comes along.

They each have their own crowd of peeps, buds, friends, what have you, and their own social lives, so we hardly ever go out to the movies like this anymore - - not all together, and not on a Friday night, but Leland “Buzz” made the admirable suggestion that we go into town and see “National Treasure” at the Riverview, and that sounded like a great idea to all four of us, so that’s what we did.

Leland “Buzz” and I saw “The Incredibles” there last month, and I’ve been raving about the Riverview ever since. It is now officially my Most Favorite Movie Theater of All Time. Click on the link and take the Quicktime virtual tour of the lobby and the auditorium. This is Movie Heaven, imho. The movie-going experience could not possibly get any better than this.

My favorite movie house for many years was the Uptown, because I lived in the neighborhood for a decade, and had so many memorable times there…

In ‘77 I introduced my sister and brother in law [the ones who are now Limbaugh-tomized and worship at the Church of Dear Leader] to the joys of Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Uptown. They hadn’t drunk the rethuglican koolaid back then, altho in restrospect I can see why, when it was offered to them, they gulped it down with gusto. My brother-in-law: a straight-arrow, Navy ROTC-bred, decorated Vietnam vet nursing a simmering hatred for all those lazy, undeserving, liberal-coddled welfare cheats and dope-peddling hippie freaks he saw everywhere when he returned home from his tour of duty. And My sister: the classic obedient wife, taking all her cues for social interaction and all her talking points verbatim from her husband.

Oy. I suppose I should be concerned that they’re going to read this post, but I know they never will. After all, these are the people who bought a desktop PC a couple years ago and hardly ever turn the thing on, much less read email or surf.

I had been going to RHPS about once a month, with a different friend or group of friends each time, and finally I decided it was time I coaxed my sis and her hub out of their suburban sanctuary and got them to take a little ‘walk on the wild side’ in funky boho Uptown. Ooooooooh. Jebus. Remember, kids, this was nearly thirty years ago. Anyway, so sis and hub agreed to meet me at the Uptown, and showed up looking exceedingly tense and uncomfortable; sneaking peeks at the black bustier and fishnet stockings- clad Frank N Furters in line; sis clutching hub’s arm in the viselike Honey Get Me Outta Here death-grip.

I remember commenting to my boyfriend at the time “Look! Brad and Janet have arrived!” *snigger snigger*.

During the movie I had no idea how sis and hub were faring. They sat stock still and in silence all through the brazenly naughty behavior on display onscreen and in the aisles. Throwing toast in the air!? Zounds, what debauchery! Afterwards, as we walked to the car, brother in law chuckled and then started singing “What a guy. Makes you cry. Unt I did!” and sis asked me, with a tiny hint of lust-tinged tremolo in her voice “So, who is this Tim Curry anyway? Has he been in anything else?” …And I knew that everything would be OK.

Fast forward several years to New Year’s Eve 1981. I had just broken up with a bf whose style was to waltz into my life and remain there intensely for several months, then disappear for the next six months, then re-appear. I got sick of it eventually, and the next time he appeared on my doorstep I sent him packing, never to return. It was the right thing to do, and I kept telling myself how mature and wise I was being, and how my unwillingness to tolerate being jerked around in such a manner demonstrated an admirably high level of self-esteem on my part… But, damn! I was hurting, and feeling very lonely in my bed, and it was New Year’s Fucking Eve, and I didn’t know what to do with the honking great shitload of pain, and then I got a phone call from another former bf.

[... this being the first big Relationship of my life ... the person I'd lost my virginity to... the guy I'd lived with for 4 years ... the guy who, after 3 years of living together sat down with me and carefully informed me that, altho he loved me, he had another side that he needed to explore and learn about and try to understand, and suddenly I realized why he had started going for walks around nearby Lake Calhoun at three in the AM.]

So. Former bf, to whom I referred always by his initials DAPJ, or just “D”, had just been dumped by his lover, the guy he’d been living with for the past two years. He was, like me, feeling lost and hurt and alone. D and I were friends before we were lovers, and when we split up we re-affirmed our eternal friendship and love, and vowed to always be there for each other whenever the need should arise. Now, here it was New Year’s Eve 1981, and the need had arisen.

We decided to go eat chicken almond ding and mooshu pork at Port Arthur and then go see the double feature at the Uptown: the 1939 “Lost Horizon” and “It’s A Wonderful Life”. This was at the time when the craze for “It’s a Wonderful Life” was just starting; I remembered reading a New Yorker article about people who were having “It’s a Wonderful Life”- viewing parties and I’d never heard of the movie before.

So, first came “Lost Horizon”, which was swell. Still eerie after all these years; and still a thrilling moment when Ronald Colman finally makes it back to the pass high in the Himalayas and crosses over to blissfully disappear forever back to Shangri-La. You could hear a collective, satisfied sigh from the Uptown audience. It was a full house, with a palpable feeling of shared joy and camaraderie. It felt like the whole place was filled with like-minded kindred souls, society’s orphans on New Year’s Eve, banding together for warmth on a cold winter’s night.

Then came “It’s a Wonderful Life” and it was a revelation; we’d never seen it before. Everybody laughed during Uncle Billy’s “I’m all right, I’m AL-L-L RIGHT” and then recognized with delight that Bert the cop and Ernie the cabdriver were, of course, BERT and ERNIE! Many of us wept as Jimmy Stewart stood on the bridge crying “I want to live again! I want to live!”
Afterwards we emerged from the theater to find that a beautiful light snow was falling. As everybody in the audience lived in the neighborhood, there were a couple hundred of us walking home together, on the quiet, snowy sidewalks in the moonlight at 2 AM on New Year’s Day. As we walked D and I linked arms with three other people and we all sang:

“Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight,
Won’t you come out tonight,
Won’t you come out tonight.
Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight
A-a-a-a-n-d
Dance by the light of the moon”

We felt whole; we felt healed; we felt bathed in warmth and fellowship and love.
And that’s why I’ll always love the Uptown. But, here in the year 2005, I’m telling you: if you’re in the Twin Cities and you want to go to a movie — go to the Riverview.

The cost of a ticket at the Riverview is $2 for shows before 6 PM. After 6 the price soars to an astronomical $3. Still, throwing all economy and prudence to the winds, a full house showed up Friday evening for “National Treasure”. A lot of diversity: families; little kids; couples on dates; old folks; goths; bikers; people of all gender preferences and orientations and a multitude of ethnicities. Everybody friendly and out for a good time, and that’s exactly what was had by all.
Big comfy seats, lots of legroom, state of the art sound system, carefully preserved original 1948 decor — to quote the immortal Wavy Gravy: “We must be in Heaven, man!”

When the credits started rolling at the end of the movie, the entire audience applauded, and the applause was for having had a couple hours of pretty good entertainment at a great old movie house on a Friday night. When was the last time you experienced that at the local cineplex?

Posted: February 27th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none

… working at the Nose Wash, yeah

[This evening my kids have been listening to several CDs worth of 70s and 80s tunes packaged as "Pure Funk", so that's my excuse. Up next: Kung Fu Fighting!]

Anyway. Tonight I want to tell you all about sinus irrigation. AKA nose washing. Come on, everybody!
Here’s the reason for my little spiel. As you may know, I’ve been sick for several weeks now with this winter’s edition of the Endless Creeping Crud. In fact, nearly my entire family has had it; all of us except SYTU, who inexplicably remains unaffected. I dunno; maybe it’s the rigorous diet of Marshmallow Mateys cereal, Sour Apple Altoids and Canada Dry seltzer water that’s making him immune. Hunh.

With me, the particular path of mutations this malady has taken over the course of the last month is thus:

Starts out like the flu: you’re suddenly socked with body aches all over; extreme fatigue; chills and fever; nausea. This lasts about 4 days.

Then it morphs into a massive chest cold. No, not a massive chest –shut up, Beavis!
a massive cold in the chest; lungs filled with phlegm; paroxysms of coughing so severe that each time you cough little stars pulse like strobes behind your eyelids. You have this for four days and then laryngitis also sets in; you have laryngitis for another 3 days.

By this time you have probably gone to the doctor and gotten a prescription for antibiotics. You take the antibiotics and after about three more days you’re starting to feel halfway, borderline, just-maybe like you’re gonna survive. You made it!

But now here’s where the thing gets really insidious. Just as the lung congestion and laryngitis vanish, you feel yourself starting to sneeze; your eyes squinch up and start watering; your nose starts running, and within about 12 hours you are in the grip of a monster head cold.

For four more days, you can expect that your head will feel like a giant brick stuffed with cotton batting and library paste. Each night you mix yourself a Sudafed and Nyquil cocktail and add a Robitussin chaser, in an attempt to get 3 or 4 hours of fitful sleep.

The whole sequence of events by this time has gotten Old. Real Old. It is at this point where, if you take my advice, you will do yourself a gigantic favor and add one quick, painless routine to your day; a routine which will make you feel instantly better — about 1000% better. And no drugs involved.

I’ve written about this before; last fall when I had a cold that seemed to drag on for weeks. My doctor recommended something that worked so well; worked such wonders, that I’m now become the wild-eyed lunatic standing on the streetcorner preaching the miraculous powers of the ancient art of nosewashing; Sinus irrigation. In the yoga tradition it’s called jala neti.

So. How do you wash your nose? You start by getting yourself some kind of a neti pot. A neti pot looks usually like a little teapot; you can get neti pots made out of a wide variety of materials, from ceramic to porcelain to stainless steel. Then you put 8 oz of lukewarm water in the neti pot and add to it 1/2 tsp. of salt [ideally use sea salt, or rock salt - - no iodine] and 1/2 tsp. baking soda. Mix this solution until the salt and soda are completely dissolved. What you now have is an isotonic solution — the same saline level as the human body.

It’s a good idea to stand over a sink at this point. Now you put the spout of the neti pot into one nostril and lean forward slightly over the sink. Tilt your head over to one side, so that the nostril with the spout in it is directly above the other nostril. Tip the neti pot, and the saline solution will flow into your sinus cavities and work its way through to the other side of your nose, where it will come running out of your lower nostril and into the sink.

Breathe thru your mouth and lean forward slightly to keep the saline from going down the back of your throat. Empty the full potfull of water into your nostril.
Then, mix up another 8 oz of saline solution, and repeat the procedure in your other nostril. Altogether, the whole process takes about 5 minutes. Blow your nose gently afterwards.

Now, marvel at how much better you feel. And with no prescriptions and no OTC medicine whatsoever. Do this every morning, and again at night before you go to bed, and I promise you, — you will take at least two or three days off your total cold recovery time. The sinus irrigation/nosewashing not only washes dust, bacteria, mold spores and viruses out of your nose and thins mucus secretions, but also cleans and moisturizes your nasal passages so that the cilia in your nose work at top efficiency to catch and clean out all sorts of crud-bearing germs.

To make it even simpler, go to the nearest Walgreen’s and plunk down $14.95 for something called SinuCleanse. The SinuCleanse system combines the most practical type of neti pot - - one that’s unbreakable plastic and dishwasher safe, with handy pre-mixed packets of salt and baking soda. It’s simple; and easy; and fast; and it works wonders. Do it.

 

Posted: February 27th, 2005 under General, nose washing.
Comments: none

We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world-a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not just Whores for power and oil, but killer whores with hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and that is how history will judge us… No redeeming social value. Just whores. Get out of our way, or we’ll kill you.

Well, shit on that dumbness. George W. Bush does not speak for me or my son or my mother or my friends or the people I respect in this world. We didn’t vote for these cheap, greedy little killers who speak for America today- and we will not vote for them again in 2002. Or 2004. Or ever.

Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who among us can be happy and proud of having all this innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid little rich kids like George Bush? They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali locked up for refusing to kill “gooks”. They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character. They are racists and hate mongers among us-they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss down the throats of these Nazis. And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them.

- Hunter S. Thompson

I heard the news last night as I was driving SYTU and friend home from the local cineplex. The guys were sitting in the back seat raving about “Hotel Rwanda” when they couldn’t help but notice that, up in front, Mom had started muttering “Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!” and just wouldn’t stop.
Tonight I went to a bookshelf, took down my battered old dog-eared copies of F&L IN LAS VEGAS, F&L ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL, and AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A BROWN BUFFALO [by eternally-beloved HST "Samoan attorney" Oscar Zeta Acosta]…and silently handed them to my kids. They’re both sitting in the living room right now: headphones on; listening to 89.3 ‘The Current’; reading Hunter S Thompson.

Posted: February 21st, 2005 under General.
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My home — the isolated, fortified family compound known as Tildebunkport– has turned into one big infirmary. What follows is a listing of the residents, their respective illnesses and prescribed treatments.

• Tild — Bronchial infection; laryngitis. Zithromax; Tesselon perles; Paintshop Pro. The internets. Perfect Peach herb tea.
• Leland “Buzz” [aka Mr. Tild] — Strep throat. Penicillin VK; ibuprofen; salt water gargles; season one of “Deadwood” on DVD; rainbow sherbet.
• SETU [Surly Elder Teenaged Unit] — Severe bronchial infection; laryngitis. Augmentin; Cough syrup with codeine; Desert Combat; The Shinns; leftover Leeann Chin potstickers.
• SYTU [Surly Younger Teenaged Unit] — Inexplicable health. Fruity Dyno-bites; 7-UP Plus; “El Mariachi” trilogy; Futurama. Ipod.

I’m sick of the news, sick of surfing, sick of blogging and sick of the internets in general, so I decided to waste the entire afternoon doctoring up old magazine ads. Here is my total output for the day. And yes, I am kind of pleased with how it turned out. Heh.

Posted: February 19th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none

Earlier today I left a comment for James Dobson at his Focus on the Family site. [I refuse to link to it; Google it if you want to go there].

The main thing I wished to accomplish with my comment was to get Digby’s most excellent phrase

“the naked gay conservative male prostitute sitting in the middle of the family values White House living room”

…in front of Dobson’s eyes, or whatever lackey’s eyes actually read the comments.

My full comment:

“You told us to vote for George W Bush because he supports family values, and the moral values of America.
But what about the naked gay conservative male prostitute sitting in the middle of the family values White House living room?
Please explain to me exactly what moral values George W Bush supports.”

There are plenty of cracks in the cement that “binds” the Religious Right to Emperor Fuckwit. I say, let’s widen those cracks. Let’s bust ‘em wide open.

Posted: February 16th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none

Via Steve Clemons at The Washington Note, the most constructive idea yet for where to take the Gannon/Guckert story.

I think some of us should try and see if we can get into the White House press gaggles now — and see whether we are stopped, or whether we need lots of blaring red warning signs in our past to help us get through.

Kurtz is wrong, by the way, that Gannon’s nude pictures are what is keeping this story going. What is important is the revelation that the “leaker” in the White House pushed the Valerie Plame story on Gannon.

As an example, David Brock used to work for the more thuggish wing of the Republican right, and came around of his own accord. He now runs “Media Matters” and seems to be doing a great job.

Perhaps those who want to get to the bottom of the Plame scandal should try and turn Gannon. If he said what he knew, he’d become a star — on every talk show and reality sitcom — and probably make a fortune. That may be incentive enough.

Maybe rather than villifying this guy, we who want to know who undermined American national security and divulged the CIA identity of Joe Wilson’s wife should help him repent and reform and help him get on a better path.

Some of you will think this is silly — but it’s not.

Not silly at all. Or, no sillier than saying Jeff Gannon is tit for Eason Jordan’s tat.

Posted: February 16th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none

The latest breathless whackjob being attempted by those lovable wingnuts in response to the Gannon/Guckert scandal is to “discover” some gay personals ads supposedly taken out by Duncan Black, aka premiere lefty blogger Atrios of Eschaton. Oooooooooooh!

Somehow I don’t think this masterful plot is having much impact. Atrios himself doesn’t care, and as for other bloggers… Well, go read Norwegianity:

The new wingnut scandal is that Atrios is gay. This is news? Of course he is. So is Steve Gilliard, Jeralyn Merritt, Kos, Max Sawicky, Kevin Hayden, the entire New Patriot crowd, Kevin Drum, and me.

We’re all gay.

And we all write under the name Spartacus, as well, so stick that in your Trumbull and smoke it.

Wasn’t it just a week or two ago when I wrote:

I have often thought about a photo I once saw of a woman marching in a gay pride parade somewhere. She carried a sign that said I AM NOT GAY BUT THESE ARE MY FRIENDS. Nice sentiment. Solidarity and all that. It’s a message we all need to see — that gays and straights can and do coexist in the world in friendship and love. But at the same time I looked on that woman as a coward. Well-intentioned, but still a coward. What if she just marched in the parade without her sign? What would happen then? Would some spectators think that she must be gay? Probably. And what would be so bad about that?
There’s a true litmus test for us all.

Looks like we [meaning the liberal, lefty blogosphere] can take that test today. Come on and join the gay pride parade, everybody!

That’s right. We’re ALL gay. Every last liberal, traitorous, Amurca-hatin’ one of us.

Too bad nothing will make wingnuts understand that the Gannon/Guckert story ain’t about being gay.

Tsk tsk! Foiled again! Back to Wingnuttia, you fucking morons.

Posted: February 15th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none

Oy. So beautiful it hurts. A photo of Red Square, taken the evening of February 14,2005. This picture makes me want to sing “Moscow Nights” right now. …Even tho the flu-bronchial infection-bubonic plague I’ve got would make the sound of my singing pretty painful too. …Even tho “Moscow Nights” is really about hot summer Moscow nights. Who cares? This song demands to be sung.

Where are all my old Ivan Rebroff LPs when I need ‘em?

Come on everybody! You know the tune. Here’s the lyric:

Не слышны в саду даже шорохи,
Все здесь замерло до утра,
Если б знали вы, как мне дороги
Подмосковные вечера.

Okay, here’s all the words and a pretty good translation.
Now sing, you cynics!

Posted: February 15th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none

I have the goddamned fucking FLU.
It hit me bigtime yesterday morning , and so I am at home today. I am NOT HAPPY. This crap is so loathsome, it won’t even let me enjoy having a Monday away from the Job From Hell. Therefore, I am in a foul mood and hereby give warning to one and all: Storm warnings are out; as is the big sign that reads “Here Be Dragons” — and I’m not talkin about yer cute little hairy-toes pointy-ears Renaissance Festival dragons, either. Do not mess with me today.

Thus is revealed my sickness style, which might best be described as “Irritated Grizzly”. No, I do NOT want to lie on the couch and watch movies. No I would NOT like some chicken broth. No I do NOT need even one single solitary thing from anybody. Leave. Me. Alone. I will emerge from my den when I am fucking good and ready.

I decided to do some reading around in Blogtown this morning … What a mistake. I had happened to visit AmericaBlog last night for the very first time, just as John made his breathless Whoa Boy Have I Got A Big Story Guess What It Is Here’s Some Hints No You’ll Never Guess In a Bazillion Years What It Is All I Can Tell You Is It’s About Gannon And Is He Burnt!! announcement.

Well jeez! After a build up like that wouldn’t you go back the next day and see what the Big Story was?! Of course you would. You probably did. We were probably both there this morning….and then later on this morning… and then again in the afternoon…. still waiting….

I should have passed the time by playing a game of solitaire. Then I could have calmly taken my sniper rifle and …. Well anyway, where was I? Did I mention that I hate Mondays? Especially Mondays when I ‘m sick with the goddamn flu?!

Well, stupid me - - instead of playing solitaire I passed the time reading the 500 + comments on John’s asinine “Almost done! ” post. It seems now that quite a few comments have been taken down, but earlier today there were over 500.

I should explain here that I’m not terribly fond of or amused by reading comment threads that degenerate into flame wars. Believe me, it doesn’t take very many to grasp the general idea. The only time I myself have succumbed to the urge to be a troll and get snarky was last summer and fall, during the campaign, when I made a regular habit of commenting on NZ Bear’s site, just to enjoy the blubbering and the dithering and the outraged pearl-clutching I could stir up. Wingnut baiting is FUN. But — ultimately you realize how pointless and stupid it is to be either the baitee or the baiter. [Wait for it!] ..Even if you are a Master Baiter. [Ahhh! There it is. All's well] Baiting just wastes time. Trolls [hunh!] What are they good for? Absolutely nothing. So I stopped.

The thing that made me angriest about the shouting match this morning/afternoon was this: the most egregious of the wingnut trolls who showed up today [ "Proud Freeper"] issued a demand that the liberals ‘PROVE that [ GWB et alia] have committed even ONE Illegal Act’ and if they did then he would stop posting and leave. — And then a whole bunch of proud, reality-based liberals proceeded to sputter and spit and actually start enumerating all the illegal things.

DAMN! Hasn’t even a single one of these earnest little pukes ever learned how to argue with an ideologue? Apparently not. It’s the same method, no matter what kind of ideologue you are facing — political, religious, or playground bully.

Here’s the big trick, kids: Wingnut asks you to “Prove…” something or “Show me just exactly …” something. Don’t . Go. There. You NEVER explain anything. You NEVER respond by listing your reasons and your proofs and your evidence and what the fuck-all else.

NO. You DON’T TAKE THAT BAIT. The second you start to give the wingnut explanations and reasons, you put the wingnut one step up above your position. That’s called giving the advantage. Didn’t you ever wonder why it’s called “one-upmanship”?

The response you give to the “Prove that he did..” demand is :

“Prove that he didn’t.”

OK, so then what if the wingnut says: “Give me even one example of..”

Your response is: “Why don’t you explain to me why you continually distort the truth?”

Or: “Give me some examples of how you are capable of understanding what truth is?”

Got it, would-be flame warriors? When you try to answer the wingnut’s question; when you start to explain, and list, and enumerate… the power equation changes from:

You — Wingnut [on the same level]

to:
Wingnut /
You
[wingnut is one-up on you].

We have got to start learning more effective methods of combat, folks. The wingnuts are old hands at this, because power, and the gaining of power, and the keeping of power, and getting the advantage are the only ‘values’ they respect. And — sorry, Jebus — Power is the only god they worship.

Now get outta here and let me sleep, dammit!

Posted: February 14th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none

Now this is fun. Via Easy Bake Coven.

Guffaw.

And BTW, it’s Valentine’s Day. If you go here you can generate any messages you want on candy hearts. Thanks Maru!

Posted: February 14th, 2005 under General.
Comments: none