A little pick-me-up

For those of you who are actually filing your taxes today, I hope everything goes as smoothly as possible. But remember, the fact that it’s Tax Day and hundreds of wingnuts are standing around trying to teabag the government in public pales in comparison to the fact that the weather’s finally turning nice. There’s sun! And, not unrelatedly, baseball! So enjoy this pic I took at the ballgame last week and try to sneak out of the office and feel the sun on your skin for at least a few minutes today. Tell your boss you’re taking a cigarette break. It’ll make everything seem better.

IIIIIII don’t wanna work…

Kind of a downer of a week so far, right? Eleventy jillion jobs lost; no files on Gitmo prisoners; Obama girls still not frolicking with a puppy on the White House lawn. If you need some cheering up, check out this awesome rendition of the national anthem on trumpet and taiko drums. It’s even more cheering if you’re a Red Sox fan, because it was performed before one of the greatest games of all time. Which I attended. Neener neener.

For anyone earwormed by the post title, please accept my only-somewhat-insincere apologies and this link to the full song.

It’s alive!

Do you ever feel like your iPod has developed a consciousness and is trying to signal that to you by, in shuffle mode, playing songs that are eerily appropriate to your circumstances?

Last night, while polishing off my Christmas shopping, I found myself scarfing end-of-the-day pizza in a mall food court. Just as I sat down, my iPod started playing “The Worst Pies in London.”

Bravo, iPod. Bravo.

Great news, food porn lovers!

My lovely new digital camera arrived today, replacing my terrible, horrible, no-good, for-grandmas-only old one. (Thanks, Mom and Dad!) What this means for you is more and better photos of the Christmas baking frenzy on which I will embark tomorrow. Rejoice!

Also, a quick hit. I saw the second half of Elf* on TV the other night. Although I’d seen the movie before, this time I was really struck by Buddy’s (second) interaction with his father’s secretary, Deborah. (Seen here. Fast forward to about 5:20.) Remember, Buddy acts like a 4-year-old, so most people treat him like one.

Buddy: (childlike) Hi!
Deb: (as if to a child) Hi!
Buddy: Do you remember me?
Deb: I do! I didn’t recognize you!
Buddy: I know! I’m in work clothes! (As opposed to his elf costume.)
Deb: brings Buddy and his father coffee
Buddy: (obsequiously) Thank you, Deborah!
Buddy’s father: (grunts) Thanks, Deb.
Buddy: Deb, you have such a pretty face, you should be on a Christmas card.
Deb: Well, you just made my day!

Notice what’s wrong with this exchange? Nothing! Buddy, misfit man-child who thinks he’s an elf, is perfectly adept at small-talking with women. Like most people, I find small talk obnoxious, but I guess I never realized how thoroughly infantilizing it is.

—————————————–
*For those who don’t know it, Will Ferrell is Buddy, a human adopted by elves and raised at the North Pole, who goes to New York in search of his biological father. His childlike delight and holiday spirit win everyone over and save the day. Normally this would cause me to projectile vomit, but because I love the holidays I allow myself to be charmed.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

The only thing that’s spooking me on this beautiful fall afternoon is the hordes of children that will descend upon our house in a few hours. You see, my landlord gives out full size candy bars.

Kids come from… well, I don’t how far away, but far enough that they need their parents to drive them. They swarm our front yard for hours, from just after dusk until around 8, when the candy supply runs out. Then we lock the doors, turn out all the lights, and hunker down in the house’s innermost rooms and wait for dawn, because the kids who miss out on the holy grail of trick-or-treating get… upset.

What are your Halloween traditions? Is anyone dressing up?

Friday fluff

Boston-area readers should check out Tomes of Terror III in Somerville next Wednesday through Saturday, including Halloween. A local group called the Post-Meridian Radio Players is putting on three staged radio plays (Prairie Home Companion-style) including The Tell-Tale Heart, which comes with a warning: “This production of The Tell-Tale Heart contains brief incidents of graphic audio violence and may not be suitable for younger attendees.” Sounds awesome, right? Tickets are only 12 bucks, and night owls can learn more by listening to WBZ (1030 AM) tonight at midnight. I’m going Saturday. If you want to say “hi” afterwards, I’ll be the one making out with the surprisingly deep-voiced cop in Heart.

For you poor suckers who aren’t in Boston, here’s Babs Bunny from Tiny Toons rocking out to “Respect.”

Baseball gods still hate the Red Sox

The Citgo sign caught on fire?!?!? Dammit, universe, I don’t want to see any more bad omens for Game 5! I have tickets to that game!

Whew!

538 now has Obama at 100% to win Massachusetts. Zombiepocalypse averted. Or maybe that’s just what Rove wants us to think…

Unrelatedly, I am experimenting with Twitter. If anyone wants to follow me, I’m under BostonBrahmina.

New ‘Target: Women’!

Following Sarah Haskins on Twitter is paying off already.

Extreme voter suppression

538 is now projecting that Obama would win the election if he won a single swing state. Yes, even New Hampshire.

Obama’s win probability is up to 85.4%, and he’s projected to be able to win 269 electoral votes with just the states he’s leading by 5 or more points. Technically, this is a tie, but because a tie throws the election to the House, which would almost certainly be Democrat-controlled, ties probably go to Obama. But that “probably” is why I refuse to think about that clusterfucktastrophe, so I’m going with the winning-a-single-swing-state story.

Even more interesting, to me, is that the likelihood of Obama winning Massachusetts is now up to 99%. What, I wonder, accounts for that other one percent? The first possible scenario was that some horrible plague swept through Boston and the Happy Valley, somehow leaving the 495 loop, the South Shore and the Cape untouched. But how a plague could get from Boston to Western Mass without affecting the 495 loop I could not hope to explain to you.

The second, and much more plausible, scenario is one I’m a little ashamed I didn’t think of to begin with: Zombies. It’s the only logical possibility. As we all know, higher education tends to correspond to liberalism, and Massachusetts is just full of highly educated people and their juicy, juicy brains. Naturally, with such a smorgasbord of tasty delicacies available, the zombies would entirely bypass the serviceable but less desirable brains of those without postgrad degrees. By election day, the remaining 5% of the population would be much more likely to vote Republican.

But why would Massachusetts be attacked by zombies, you ask? Karl Rove, I say. Think about it: It’s the perfect Rovian tactic. Most of us dirty longhaired liberals don’t own guns, and with all our pesky gun-control laws, we won’t be able to run out and stock up on shotguns when the zombiepocalypse begins. In fact, we’ll probably be too busy sipping our lattes and debating Kierkegaard to even defend ourselves. We’re sitting ducks!

Joke’s on Rove, though. We have a house full of quarterstaves and chain mail. This dirty liberal, at least, is going to survive.

Sinfest: Made of win

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, will you polygamous-gay-marriage me?

It’s totally legal here. We can even marry box turtles!

Look how excited those protons are!

It’s the Large Hadron Collider’s fault I’m not posting more often. More tomorrow if the world is still here.

Finally Friday

Dunno about you people, but I need something to smile about. So.

A friend of mine (no, not that one, a different one) snarkily covered the RNC from the floor.

But if you’re completely fed up with politics, have some Muppets.

Bits ‘n’ pieces

Three things that are making me cranky:

1. This:


You stay classy, Boston Globe.

2. This Dear Prudie letter.
   Let me sum up:

Letter writer: I agreed to go on a cruise with an acquaintance and now he’s exhibiting borderline stalker behavior.
Prudie: Jane, you ignorant slut! That’s what you get for expecting men to treat you as anything other than a fuckhole.

3. The gossipy piece I saw on some news station or other last night talking about how the next president, like four of the 6 who immediately preceded him, will be left-handed, and spouting all sorts of cockamamie reasons for the predominance of lefties. They’re better multitaskers! They think they’re special! They overcome the adversity of a right-handed world!

Apparently nobody in the media owns a motherfletching calculator or understands basic precepts of statistics. Like, “weird shit happens in small samples.” About 10-15% of the population is left-handed, and come January, we will have had 43 presidents, 7 of whom were or are lefties. That’s about 16%. If they’d done this piece before World War II they’d have been noting that all but two presidents were righties and wondering what was wrong with lefties that they couldn’t seem to win elections.

And as long as I’ve already stooped to bitching about fluff pieces: Has anyone else noticed that 48% of the population is male but 100% of presidents, including the next one, have been/are male? What is it about men that make them so successful in seeking the presidency? Multitasking skills? A sense of their own exceptionalism? Overcoming the adversity of an woman-dominated world? Magical penis powers?

Three things that are making me happy:

1. Clinton’s badass speech.
   We’re going to pretend that I wisely turned off my TV as soon as it ended and did not see the pundits attempt to find something to bag on, and did not throw anything at my screen, and therefore my thoughts have no cause to wander to less pleasant things when I remember the fabulousness that was that speech. Because it was FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC by anyone’s standards, and every time I think about it I get a warm, fuzzy feeling.
2. The “Protect yourself from John McCain” condom that my friend who’s covering the DNC promised to bring home for me. (You guys, he’s only 24 and the wire service he works for sent him to Denver! That’s a big fucking deal! And I’ve been telling him for years that I planned to ride his coattails to glory, so my plan seems to be progressing nicely.)
3. I have a Bachelor’s degree! Finally! Well, I’ll get the actual degree in the mail in a couple weeks, I suppose, but summer session grades posted today, and my degree audit now shows happy little “100% completed” graphics!

Everything you heard about feminist relationships is true!

We’re terrible significant others!

-35 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Poor (Failure) Take the test!

I drink! I swear! A lot! I wear pajamas all day whenever I can get away with it! I never cook dinner! Woe, apparently, is my poor, long-suffering boyfriend!

On the other hand, at least I “react with pleasure and delight to marital congress.” Maybe that‘s our evil feminist secret: putting out!

Friday fluff

Yesterday on my way to school I rode past a couple of utility workers leaning against a fence and having a chat, and I overheard the following snippet of conversation:

“See, at back at the beginning of the season I was thinking…”

And at this my ears perked up, because I love Boston, I love Boston sports, and I love the insane way we Bostonians relate to our sports teams, so I was taking bets with myself whether they were talking about the Red Sox or the Celtics. Celtics, I decided, definitely Celtics.

“…that Edwards was going to come out on top.”

I love Boston!