Friday, February 24, 2006


This Week in Its Briefs - Purposefully Vague

1. The tradition of Friday Cat Blogging, where bloggers post photos of their cats on Fridays, makes me envious. I'd like to have a cat, and have had quite a few in the past, but Mr. Fresh Hell is not too keen on them and would rather have a dog. The photo above is not my cat, yet is virtually identical to one I had years ago when I lived in Brooklyn. (Thanks, Getty Images!)

2. Impending civil war in Iraq? Who knew? The outrage must be feigned, as rational people have seen it - from SPACE!

3. In Cupcake news: as entranced as he is with my ease and comfort with all our newfangled technologies [story to come: When I Taught The Cupcake To Use His Computer], every now and then it's more complicated than it should be. The exigencies of an online outer bank transfer (yes, Virginia, they exist) proved insurmountable on how to get money from one of his bank accounts to another with him in Cupcake Beach, Florida and me in the New York office. Yet he brilliantly solved the problem all on his own by FedExing a check to me overnight to deposit in the correct bank. Moral of the story: Old Cupcakes can indeed learn new tricks.

4. I've been concerned with planning our summer trip to Algeria. There is an important family wedding this year, as yet another of Mr. Fresh Hell's many nieces takes the matrimonial plunge. Every year I vow to begin serious practicing of French early, rather than habitually procrastinating. Every year the airfare is a little bit steeper. Every year my packing skills improve.

5. How does Mr. Fresh Hell attract so many crumbs and drag them all over the house?

Covering, yet not covering at all the mediocrities of the week, we remain, in somewhat of a cowering behind the briefs position, your humble, blah blah blah.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

What Memory Would Serve



When I was a freshman in college, my original goal was to major in political science, with an emphasis on international relations - perhaps a law career in the far future.

What I didn't count on was my periodic and perverse academic listlessness, and, after some exposure to the university version of the science of politics, my burgeoning apathy.

It was an election year - 1980 (here I date myself for once and for all), and one of my classes, American Government, was taught by one of the most engaging professors I've ever had the pleasure to meet, Dr. Elder Statesman. His reputation on campus and in the larger political community was sterling; his passion for the American spirit of democracy, and those ideals in action, was tremendous.

Dr. Elder Statesman had the ability to make the path of democracy come alive, to present potentially dry political ideals with more than enough energy to thrill anyone who would listen.

Through the course of his lectures, he instilled in all of his students, including me, an acute sense of pride at the Founding Fathers' accomplishments. He never took any of it for granted, and certainly did not hold them to a higher standard than was appropriate for men who were, after all, products of their time.

In his class I was introduced to the writings of John Locke, Thomas Hobbs, John Stuart Mills, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison.

Part of our classwork, as it was an election year, was to volunteer locally for one of the presidential campaigns. Running for president that year were Ronald Reagan, Jimmy Carter, and John Anderson. There was a general sign up sheet for each campaign in the classroom, so before I selected I checked how my classmates had chosen.

The straitlaced uptight ones were signing up for Reagan, the hopelessly tweedy, homely, granola group were listed under Carter, and all of the hot guys and the most intriguing women had signed up for Anderson.

The lure of hot guys! All of my principles governing anything other than the proxmity of hot guys went straight out the window, and I signed up for Anderson.

I don't recall too much about my candidate's stance on the issues although if memory serves (well, memory filtered through a hormonic haze of lust, beer and pot) none of them were horrible; I remember him as a pretty liberal guy who had some interesting ideas.

But jeez, did we have fun at those campaign meetings. Located in a huge Victorian house just off of campus, the campaign was a hotbed for hooking up, drinking heavily while cold calling potential contributors, and smoking dope after hours out in the back.

So, one might think that after such a rousing introduction to the world of politics and bedfellows I couldn't possibly have become disenchanted.

Au contraire, mes enfants - while I will always remember that campaign, that class and that extraordinary professor most fondly, as I proceeded along the path of international relations the environment became less and less free, and the ideology got narrower. Criticism of the current administration, criticism about certain parts of government, criticism about democracy at all just simply wasn't done.

The euphoria of the campaign faded very quickly, and the defeat of my chosen candidate took a lot of wind out of my sails and my orbit definitely away from that of this cadre of hot guys.

My official class responses became more parrot-like and less likeable to me. Perhaps philosophy would have been a better choice of study - at least in the philosophy classes I did take there was dialogue, the freedom of a give-and-take area where all ideas were entertained and examined rather than listed as the single unwavering option.

In retrospect, I can certainly understand why those who choose the foreign service must be indoctrinated so thoroughly. Ideals need to be inculcated as steel into the spine so they can be reliably called upon later in dark, depressing, or dangerous situations, when there is no leisure for reasoned debate.

I still consider the pure version of American democracy to be one of the more useful forms for society to take, but I also learned that with great rights also come great responsibilities.

I think Dr. Elder Statesman would agree.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Tagged For Life (gulp!)

I got a technorati tag - whoo hoo.

Technorati Profile

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Conspiracy. Not Just for Breakfast.


I do love a conspiracy. Such clean innocent fun!

A conspiracy, in common usage, is at least two people working in secret to obtain a goal, most usually with negative connotations.

But if you think a little harder about it - you may conspire with your siblings to plan a surprise anniversary party for your parents; you may conspire with a girlfriend to aid her in getting a date with a man she's been eyeing; you may, as a young lover, conspire to keep your budding relationship a secret from your respective families.

Yet most of us, when we think of conspiracy, automatically cast aside the benign qualities of the word's meaning and adamantly begin marching in ever dwindling circles, tinfoil hats firmly in place.

The overwhelming success of Dan Brown's novel, The Da Vinci Code, which has always been treated as a novel (although there are countless people, the author included, who remain convinced there are nuggets of truth within the story) certainly leads me to believe I'm not the only one who thinks conspiracies are rather grand. [Movie version coming to a theatre in May! Trailers running nonstop on television mid-February! Will you forget the movie is being released in May? Will you be able to forget this?],

Mr. Brown's conspiracy story, while torturing its readers with its egregiously bad, awkward prose and overuse of The Anvil of Obviousness (also known as We Saw This Coming A Mile Away) was not even novel - the story was handled much better by a trio of British authors in Holy Blood, Holy Grail, which I read when it was published in 1982.

Yet the story, essentially a conspiracy, depends as they all do on the rush at the realization of being "in" on a secret - frankly, the bigger the secret the more immediate and commensurately sized the rush.

Obviously as a species we've barely evolved beyond junior high, a time when secrets were incredibly powerful currency in our tiny galaxies and those graced with the knowledge of all the secrets hugged themselves the tightest of all. (Sleep well, Bush & Co.!)

Yet logic insists that as much as we agree that a tiny benign everyday conspiracy between at least two people to keep secret a fact or event exists, then we also must agree that conspiracies on grand scales involving poltiical power, the balance of nations, and the fortunes of millions exist.

I'll meet you under the bleachers at 4:00 - I'll be the one wearing the tinfoil hat.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

This Week in Its Briefs - Mostly Hearts & Flowers


Because I like traditions, and I like to make most of mine up, I've decided this will be a regular feature here. So, without further ado, a special extra-schmoopy Valentine's Day version of This Week in Its Briefs:

1. Tales of the Cupcake: (I call my boss the Cupcake - probably not to his face but over the six years I've worked for him, I've likely slipped. I did ask him one time if he was fucking nuts, so...maybe the nickname has come up.)

He'll be 65 in a week, and has over the last few years been inexorably sliding into a charming netherworld of his own invention. He redeems himself by having an astonishing good humor about his many memory/hearing lapses. This week's exchange is no means unusual, to wit:

Cupcake (calling from office): What's the date today?

Me (calling merrily back): It's the 9th.

Cupcake: No it's not, it's the 9th.

Crickets chirping in the pause...

Me (smaller voice, still merry): Okay.

Tip of the iceberg, people - stay tuned for more tiny and comic vignettes from his corner. I did tell him this week that I've dined out on stories about him for some years now and do plan to tell all in my memoirs, but will wait until he's dead. This statement elicited nothing but peals of laughter from him, however, so we must conclude he is well and truly mad.

2. An extremely dear friend of mine was quite disappointed and hurt by a recent reproductive failure. I really wanted to say more than just "I'm so sorry but I know you can try again", but in this case it seemed to be the only thing to say. I've been sending out some very positive thoughts on her behalf, and do hope they get to her as planned.

3. I found a new shoe repair guy - people, this is a skill that is fast growing out of vogue, as it was difficult, even in my neck of the woods of New York City, to find a good shoe repair guy who doesn't charge an arm and a leg for replacement heels.

4. Google has a TV channel - it's called Current TV. One of the nice things about it is people put together podcasts, send them in, and they actually show them. On the other hand, can't Google keep their pesky little paws to themselves? Apparently not.

5. I'm not a huge fan of manufactured holidays mandated solely for corporate profit - call me crazy, but I find them egregious and intrusive (seriously - Grandparents' Day? What about people that loathe their grandparents?).

Take as a particularly foul example Administrative Professionals Day (it used to be called Secretaries Day, at least until, as I envision it, a fed-up assistant heaved yet another shoe at the head of the last of countless clueless executives in a fruitless attempt to gain a sliver of dignity for her position as an exalted babysitter).

One can then understand that I find it hard to condone, much less celebrate, Valentine's Day. Oh, sure, I'll exchange hearty holiday greetings with one and all, even Mr. Fresh Hell, but I'd like to think he and I have progressed enough with our relationship that we don't need the Hallmark/chocolate/floral/jewelry/restaurant industries to remind us of how much we cherish each other - shouldn't the cherishing be a function of our everyday behavior toward each other?

6. Given last weekend's Northeast snowstorm, I'm unbearably glad I don't live anymore in a 100% driving environment. Even though 26 inches of snow was dumped on the region, I was able to get to work on Monday as if it were any other day, thanks to the excellent public transportation system I help prop up with my hard earned dollars every day. Bonus brief: when I moved to NY in 1984, the subway cost 90 cents per ride. 22 years later, it is $2.00. Is this reasonable inflation or am I grousing my way into Cupcake Territory?

And on that note, until the next set of This Week In Its Briefs, I remain your humble and devoted, blah blah blah.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Overdue Thanks



As a young girl, I wasn't surrounded with positive female role models. On the contrary - if I were to post my early adolescent list of 'women I'd like to be' it wouuld be a short and scary trio, all in the "actress/model" mould.

Even though it appears that one's natural choice for a role model tends to be one's mother, mine could not be relied upon. Although she had done what was at the time a bit shocking, i.e. get divorced, she was still mired in the traditions of the '50's and vibrating like a tuning fork to the radio waves of the patriarchy.

In her worldview then, as it remained, a woman was nothing without a man and would remain unfulfilled without children - no amount of career or personal satisfaction could be achieved without the trappings of a traditional family. Her view certainly didn't extend to the radical idea of fostering within her three daughters reliance on intellect and reason, a solid self-esteem or unlimited ambition.

In college, I was horrified by academic women - they were neither sharp nor focused; their overall flakiness and fuzziness merely underscored my feeling that they were not examples of women I wanted to be. They could very well have been brilliant, but their profound lack of zippy delivery and general passiveness failed to gain my attention.

As a parenthetical aside, for my younger readers - there was no such thing back in these wild and woolly days as a female superhero, cartoonish or otherwise, upon whom to set one's fantasy sights and no female ninjas to stimulate our imaginations.

There weren't any women heroes of any type other than legendary feminists like Betty Freidan and Germaine Greer, middle aged already when I discovered them, or historical proto-feminists overlaid with 100 year old mold (Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Stady Canton, etc.).

In many ways I did not find them compelling women - they were not au courant in the least, and frankly their lives didn't set me on fire.

(I know the prevailing view is that I should show these women a great deal of respect for what they accomplished in order for me to live the life I do now. I do feel respect, but I don't believe that my admission that they didn't set off any sparks with me is tantamount to heresy.)

Flash forward then to a very naive and vulnerable me; at 22, quite alone and brand new in New York, the proverbial hayseed just dropped off the turnip truck.

I was lucky, damn lucky to work for a fabulous woman who embodied a role model into whom I could sink my teeth. At a time when I was questioning everything (even the job I was doing) I knew I could always go to her with questions, observations, theories, and ideas. Why did the corporate world in which we moved behave as it did? Why were ideas dripping with common sense and logic ignored if they came from a woman? What were the sorts of subterfuge and manipulation required to get things done and why were the rules always so slanted against us?

What I got in return was beyond measure; her attention, concern, interest in my well-being, and always her honest thoughts about the work we were engaging in, the people (men) we invariably had to please, and the intracies of operating in the larger world beyond.

These statements were always delivered with an infectious laugh and often an admonition that while our existence was a blip on the radar, a firm belief in being true to oneself and maintaining personal integrity was of paramount importance.

She encouraged my reading and broadened my literary tastes; she supported my writing and taught me how to craft winning business letters.

I never wanted to be a mother - my personality is ill-suited for its rigors. Through her quiet example, she taught me that I needn't cave into biological determinism, and that I could stand tall and proud and state without apology that I didn't want to bear children.

As the years have passed she and I have stayed in touch while making distinctly separately journeys.

Even now there are many occasions when I know beyond doubt I've opened my mouth and her words fly out; the theories and ideas she was so willing to offer me I remember and honor by freely passing them along to the next generation, unsure if the seeds fall on fallow ground and take root.

Thanks for those seeds, dear Gardener. I hope I've been able to plant at least a few.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Olympic Games - Love, Hate & Hairstyles


Yay Olympics!

I know it's cheesy and trite, but I do love a good Olympics. I'm a fan of the winter games and have been since way back when - after the '76 games I was the first girl in the neighborhood to cut her hair exactly like Dorothy Hamill's. Good times, good times.

I like the fact that the Olympics stand for self-discipline, dedication to a sport, the push for excellence, and good sportmanship.

I hate the American news coverage, which focuses on the teeny tangential personal lives of the athletes far too much for my taste - let's see the agony of defeat, right when it happens.

Spare the sob stories and show the meaty throes of athletic combat. Sure, athletes are people too, and of course they have enormously [yawn] interestingly deep inner lives we'd just love to plunder but...please, for the sake of the thrill of the finish line I'll be willing to forego watching the personal angst.

I've seen European coverage of the Olympics and the focus is entirely different. It's just the sports, period - not a lot of commentary and zip zero zilch backstory about any of the participants. Pure, clean - a lot like that Italian snow they are being forced to make (thanks global warming - we can always count on your excellent timing).

Hosting the Olympics? Prepare to fall into a dark abyss of bankruptcy. It's absurd, truly, how so many cities make such an enormous godawful push for the privilege of careening directly into hell (New York, I'm looking right at you).

But hey - in the end I'll cheer - I always do. I'll zone out during the psuedo-poignant bits - I always do.

This time I swear I won't change my hairstyle.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Hipster Alley - A Street View


Hipster Alley. I'm stuck in it, people, and I can't get out. I work smack in the middle of one of New York's most aggressively Hipster neighborhoods.

Feel free to weep along with me knowing there is more than one aggressively Hipster neighborhood in NY. It's enough to make one knock back several martinis, pour oneself in a cab, and head home to smoke dope.

The Hipster hairdo, which is supposed to look as natural as if it's been dragged through a hedge backwards, is created by a process that takes more product and blow drying to style than mine, yet it is artfully stuffed underneath a ratty fisherman's cap intended to appear as if it suddenly took root on top of hipster heads.

It needs to go away now.

Ditto for the faux professional bowling shirts with the name "Lew" stitched on the breast pocket. Need we add the puka shell necklace or stringy wristlet? When and why, in the name of all that's holy, did these retina-burning accessories call from their shrines to Leif Erickson circa 1974 and, in the clean dawn of 2006, inflict more pain?

I think they all bathe in eau de Hemp every morning and make their wardrobe choices from the attendant aroma. The 70's sneakers, the ill-fitting jeans, the subversively lettered t-shirt or a button down shirt last seen on your grandpa circa 1949 - these are not new things, by God.

They are merely old things recreated as new things somehow gaining an ironic stance of street credibility by being semblances of old things, thereby rendering their old thing status new by virtue of hiding in the attic for 30 years.

If you can understand and parse that sentence, chances are you are a hipster.

Granted, I'm not especially close to hipsters but I do have to share the streets with them, so most of my conclusions are contingent on how I view them.

Hipsters love to think that they are individuals wearing comfortable yet functional clothing, doing their own thing while still espousing a perfectly trendy look.

Nah. It's a uniform, by God, and they should realize they are cut from a cookie cutter as much as the 50's company man who wouldn't deviate from the standard uniform of suit, button down shirt, and tie.

Whom they despise.

I would love to see one of them break out and go into a Beau Brummel 19th century fop look.

Now that would be different.

File Under: Game, End of the World


When it comes to the End of the World Game, there are only two kinds of people. You are either:

Willing to do whatever it takes to survive - cheat, kill, lie, steal, anything- to hang on to life. This is your basic survivalist. Although there are levels of preparedness in each substrata of survivialist, at the core of this person is the deep and abiding conviction that nothing will get in the way of making it through alive (barring one's presence at ground zero during a nuclear blast, which thankfully obliterates one in a matter of a second).

Or:

Definitely planning to laissez les bon temps roulet until someone shuts off the lights forever. This is a person that will make a giant pot of pasta, call all their friends and family, and whoop it up until the very end. There are levels of preparedness involved in this person as well, but at their core they are people that will let bygones be bygones and invite one and all to the party, as long as they bring their own booze. The more the merrier!

I've completely discounted all those who believe in the Rapture. They just can't play this game, as their eventual end has already been determined by their blind adherence to otherworldly forces.

The rules of the game involve a certain amount of advance warning - a window of 48 hours should be sufficient for each type of person to make their ultimate plan.

You should ask yourself what kind of person you are and why - it's illuminating to discover how vehemently you hold on to a potentially bleak existence in the face of adversity, or how much you value the comfort of seeing out your end surrounded by the faces you love.

The best part of the game is there are no right or wrong answers; each individual decides.

The worst part of the game is that we play it at all.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

You Can Say To-may-to as Long as I Can Say To-mah-to


There are folks for and against nearly everything that can be conceived.

Raging debate is at the heart of our modern world. The argument can be as mild and reasoned as the correct pronounciation of Linux, the free Unix-type operating system; as piquant and lively as where to find the best fish tacos in Key West; as spicy and spirited as America's political parties' differing stance on foreign policy issues.

For every person convinced that red M&M's are indeed the best of the bunch, there's someone else equally as sure that the green M&M's have the superlative ingredient.

The point is, everyone has an opinion. It could be deeply held or simple unthinking adherence; it could be defended by citing objective writing, or in some instances by going directly to the source to get a definitive answer - often, it's simply what a person believes inside to be true.

Most of the time, in the end the combatants agree to disagree in public, meanwhile continuing to cherish their own private opinion.

This is a small and simplified example of free speech. The right to state your opinions out loud, and to discuss, write and publish an opinion with which the audience may likely not agree.

The flip side of free speech is to understand that you may hold an intensely crappy opinion; a hierarchy of market value is definitely at work, and if your train of thought is sloppy or out and out craptastic, chances are you won't get a very wide hearing. But when you step up onto the soapbox you take that chance.

If you, A, think that cartoons drawn by B and published in B's country under rules of free speech (to choose a wild and completely un-topical example), disrespectfully lampoon one of your most deeply held religious beliefs, is in bad taste and isn't particularly funny, that's your opinion. B may hold a differing opinion - not that the cartoons are that funny, but that B has the right of free speech to publish them.

A does not have the right to decide what B should either believe, think, write about or publish. A does not have the right to dictate rules to the free press in B's country.

A has a selection of ways in which to confront B. Even though A is extremely upset, under the rules governing free speech A's actions should not alter B's practices even if A stages riots, killings, burnings of government buildings and businesses or flags, none of which are considered civilized methods of confrontation.

There are several ways in which B can acknowledge the difference of opinion - B may issue an apology and claim momentary insensibility. B can fall back onto the rules of free speech and let the natural hierarchy decide; after all, B could be espousing a rather crappy opinion.

I believe A should just suck it up and accept that the entire world doesn't share its particular view.

But that's my opinion.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Fresh Hell - The Astonishing Kind


We haven't had a good dose of Fresh Hell lately, thus, it should be rectified.

However, there are so many occasions of Fresh Hell cropping up around that one hardly knows where to turn, yet one believes one has found an especially egregious offender:

Vaccine sparks promiscuity fears
From: By Adam Cresswell
January 27, 2006
CALLS to make a world-first cervical cancer drug available to girls as young as nine have been criticised because of fears it would promote teenage promiscuity.

Trials of the vaccine, developed over 15 years by Australian of the Year Ian Frazer, showed it to be 100 per cent effective in protecting women against infection with four strains of human papilloma virus that together cause 70 per cent of cervical cancers.
But experts concede it raises sensitive issues because it cannot cure existing HPV infections and, for maximum effectiveness, it has to be given before women first become sexually active. As a result it is likely to be recommended for girls aged nine to 15.

The vaccine already has the backing of John Howard but Nationals senator Barnaby Joyce said MPs should be allowed to debate its "social implications".

Honouring Professor Frazer this week, the Prime Minister said he would discuss with federal Health Minister Tony Abbott making the vaccine, to be marketed under the brand name Gardasil, available to young women across Australia.

"We are looking at the implications of that and I expect to be talking to Mr Abbott about it quite soon," Mr Howard said.

The vaccine's maker, CSL, lodged an application last month to allow the sale of the vaccine in Australia with the Therapeutic Goods Administration. The TGA will consider the issue in June.

If approved, it could be available privately in the second half of this year at an expected cost of up to $400 for a three-dose course.

An application for a Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme subsidy would be likely shortly afterwards.

But Senator Joyce said the decision whether to approve the vaccine should not be left to the TGA because "they will talk about the therapeutic aspects - they are not there to talk about the psychological implications or the social implications".

"There might be an overwhelming (public) backlash from people saying, 'don't you dare put something out there that gives my 12-year-old daughter a licence to be promiscuous'," he said.

Senator Joyce - who has four daughters - said he would be "personally very circumspect" about giving such a vaccine to girls who were too young to cope with the potential consequences of sexual activity.

But others said young women should not be denied a life-saving vaccine.

Susan Robertson of Melbourne said she would not hesitate to give her three daughters the vaccine if it was shown to be safe.

"I don't see why parents would feel uneasy ... personally I would have absolutely no qualms protecting my daughters against anything that I could," she said.

Gerry Wain, director of gynaecological oncology at Sydney's Westmead Hospital - who also chairs CSL's advisory board on Gardasil - said statistics showed girls in Australia were now often sexually active at the age of 15 and parents were "putting their heads in the sand" to pretend otherwise.

"Sooner or later parents have to confront the fact their children will become sexually active ... no parent wants their children to die from cervical cancer," he said.

CSL's director of public affairs Rachel David said young children were already vaccinated against rubella - which can cause abnormalities in a developing fetus - "but we are not suggesting they will go and become pregnant".

"Vaccination is something we have adjusted to as a society - it's an important health measure," Dr David said



Read this article slowly and carefully, as the outcome is the possibility that a vaccine to prevent cancer linked to HPV (human papillomavirus, the cause of 70% of cervical cancers) may not be administered to those who are most in need of it, i.e. girls between the ages of 9 and 15, simply because of the intensely fuckwitted fear that a mere vaccination might somehow induce promiscuity.**

A good question that bears asking: who in their right mind as a parent of any girl of any age would simply consign her to the dustbin of mortality based on this? Why don't they just cut the crap and expose her directly to the mountains at birth?

It staggers the mind, it does.

Let us turn now to the reaction of Nature, for whom moral consideration, as we know but find it convenient to ignore, doesn't compute;

On which planet does a germ have a vested moral interest in anything other than its own survival and replication?

Last I heard we were living on a planet that doesn't host germs with moral values of any kind.

It's a known fact (discovered, coincidentally or not, without the benefit of moral values but through rigorous scientific inquiry) that HPV can kill; science nerdery, doing what it does best, has developed a vaccine to ensure that HPV doesn't kill.

In other words, if you are a girl who is vaccinated against this cancer, your future sex life won't result in you dying from HPV. This is not to say that other aspects of your future sex life won't find a way to strip you of life or dignity, but just not this one.

Progression. One bold step at a time. Hopefully forward.

**See also political caving in to fuckwitted fear, fact that this is happening in otherwise reasonable Australia, God help us all when the debate rages here in Heavy Duty Reynolds Wrap Christian Headquarters, DC