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September 28, 2004
Got Vote?
I'm plagiarising myself (that's still okay, right?) from a post on a message board; I stole the following story from Metafilter; and I edited my original editorializing because this is my blog and I can use all the invective I want:
Daily Kos reports that with less than a week before registration ends, Ohio's Secretary of State, Republican Ken Blackwell, is calling on districts to reject and replace voter registration forms sent in on paper of the wrong weight.
The ostensible reason for this order is to insure that the applications can make it through the postal system without being damaged. The Secretary didn't point to any examples of voters who were stupid enough to mail regular weight paper as a postcard, nor did he cite examples of complaints from the Postal Service that this has been a problem. Never mind also that the applications he wants thrown out have already been delivered to the election boards safely.
And then of course there's this:
The analysis by The New York Times of county-by-county data shows that in Democratic areas of Ohio - primarily low-income and minority neighborhoods - new registrations since January have risen 250 percent over the same period in 2000. In comparison, new registrations have increased just 25 percent in Republican areas.
In addition, the Secretary's office has moved to prevent voters from casting ballots in the wrong polling place as long as they are in the correct county, even though this is the way it's been done in previous Ohio elections.
I'm apalled by this. Whether this is just misguided election reform (shyeah right) or a concerted effort to disenfranchise likely Democratic voters (ding ding ding!), it should be legally actionable. Preventing people from voting with last-minute rule changes is unconscionable no matter which side the voters (or you) are on. The attacks are so numerous, and so sneaky and unexpected; what can we even do to make sure our votes count? Even if we do get to vote, those fucking Diebold machines can always be counted on for a little unrecorded vote-tampering. The aftermath of this election is going to be ugly, no matter who wins. Or "wins."
Blackwell's contact information:
J. Kenneth Blackwell-R
180 E. Broad St., 15th Floor
Columbus, OH 43215
614-466-3910
E-Mail: blackwell@sos.state.oh.us
Posted by hilatron at 10:50 AM
September 27, 2004
Glossary
For the clarity of future entries, let's discuss the names of nursing homes, and the way they could not be any more cliched or ridiculous. Let's review the pile of forest-green folders I have collected from various facilites, all showcasing the most crass and fawning attempts to project security, dignity, reliability, and fancy-pantsness.
"Pleasant," "Golden," "Heritage," "Granite," "Presidential."
"Hills," "Oaks," "Manor," "Ledges," "View."
Pick one of each, slap "Center" or "Home" on the end, and there you have a name for your nursing home. Don't, whatever you do, call it a nursing home or use words like "Elderly" or "Clinic." The most important thing is to come up with a phrase that reassures the person writing the checks and doing the complaining, especially when half your clients - oops, residents - can't remember where the hell they are anyway.
I think I'll just call them all Soothing Image Center - so much easier, so much more to the point.
Posted by hilatron at 06:34 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
September 26, 2004
Grrr. Rowr!
I added a new batch of Monster Stockings today; a couple of Bad Birds and a half-dozen Creature Features.
Disco!
Pink!
Posted by hilatron at 03:12 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
September 24, 2004
On the Bus to Concord
1) There are just enough people waiting for the bus to get to that uncomfortable "do I have to sit with a stranger?" place. I manage to keep a seat to myself after the first rush, but as time passes the succession of straggling passengers becomes ever more ridiculous: a woman with three plastic bags and leg braces,* a man with a violin case, a flower in his lapel, and one of those McDonald's shopping bags you only get when you order for the whole office usually, a man who drops off an eight-foot...thing...wrapped in floral sheets and tied with a pink bow, then gets in a testy exchange with the bus driver and runs off to return with a wife, two suitcases and a cooler. Somehow I escape a companion anyway. What's different? Usually I'm a seatmate magnet. Must wear this outfit next time.
2) We spend some nervous time jockeying next to a truck driver navigating his eighteen-wheeler with one hand while concentrating feverishly on the keypad of his cell phone.
3) We spend some incredulous time jockeying next to a truck driver navigating his eighteen wheeler with his feet.
*It's sad but I have to admit to myself: "Despite the fact that you are on your way to visit your wheelchair-bound father, you astonishing jackass, you still have a flash of hoping she doesn't sit next to you, with the management of the braces and the bags and everything, because oh my gosh her struggling with her devices might momentarily intrude on your consciousness, which surely compares to the day-to-day giant hassle of just getting around. Unbelievable."
Posted by hilatron at 10:42 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 23, 2004
How the Other Half Lives
Four days in and I have already gotten melted cheese on the inside of the toaster. I am so beneath it. If it asks you if it has anything on its door, please say no, okay?
Posted by hilatron at 10:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
I Showered With a Centipede This Morning
(Sung to the tune of "Give My Love To Rose" by Johnny Cash)
I showered with a centipede this morning--
I screamed "Ew gross!" when I saw what I'd done;
He looked at me and I collapsed in terror,
Too paralyzed with fright to try to run.
He said ?"I crouched here all through soaping and shampooing,
Right by the drain where you would never see.
I knew I'd have to try and catch you off guard,
Because of course you'd do the same to me.
"I crawled out on the ceiling late last evening -
I slipped and fell eight feet into the bath,
I knew you would kill me when you found me,
So I resolved to go out with a blast.
"I can die now knowing you'll remember
The way I must have brushed against your feet,
And how I wiggled wetly just beneath you?
I'll pass on knowing my revenge was sweet!"
I couldn't bear to listen any longer,
I grabbed the mop that leans beside the sink
And smashed the evil creature into powder,
Before I could give myself time to think.
The beast is conquered but the image haunts me -
Those thirty legs a-wiggling just nearby
The centipede that didn't fear his own death,
But just wanted to scare me 'fore he died.
But just wanted...to scare me...'fore he died.
Posted by hilatron at 09:45 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 20, 2004
Appliance Update
The new toaster oven might be too much for me. It is bigger than the old toaster oven - it didn't look so big in the store with its modern brethren, but in our kitchen it looms over the dish drainer, an alien being with its gleaming, white, strangely aerodynamic body and its blue "Oven On" light. It ticks while it toasts and its ding when finished is a mighty ding that sounds across the land.
This morning it eyed my bagel with disdain. "Toasted bread?" it boomed in a rumbling, elegant bass. "Surely you know that I am capable of cooking a nine-inch pizza or heating a small rotisserie chicken, as described in my informational brochure." When it walks (as I am sure it can, while we sleep) around the apartment, I imagine that it sneers at our belongings. "Tell me that isn't...IKEA." We are not up to its standards, I'm afraid. On the plus side, it did grant me a bagel this morning. Let us hope that I stay in its good graces.
In unrelated news, surely someone with good taste like yours is not going to let these lovely household goods go homeless. Tomorrow night is the end of this gravy train, people! After that you're going to have to pay retail prices. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Posted by hilatron at 07:33 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
September 19, 2004
Start Your Engines
Well, that's the end of the pensive for awhile I think. I do not get spring fever, I get the Autumn Vrooms. And the engine is revving - today I made Josh wake up because it was very important! That we make a big breakfast! And then go get a new toaster oven!* And then clean the house! Because! Can you believe this mess! LET'S DUST!!
Our house is now nearly as clean as a normal person's house, although there is still a large amount of dusting to do, because wow seriously the dust, and Josh is asleep on the couch, poor dear. I should go to bed, but I'd rather organize the bedroom closet. Think about THAT sentence for a minute. But I have to conserve energy because the Vrooms don't last forever and I have only done about one thousandth of the very important! things I planned to do today.
*This was, indeed, important. Our old toaster oven died suddenly over a week ago, and let's just say that a Hilatron without her morning bagel is not a pretty sight.
Posted by hilatron at 10:10 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
September 16, 2004
Spy vs. Spy
So I know I'm checking in late with this, but I've been thinking about the experience of watching the two national conventions. Watching the RNC crystallized something, something scary: let me see if I can recreate the moment of unpleasant "ah-ha!" that I had.
The Republican speeches, unsurprisingly, didn't target me as a listener (which might have made the phenomenon I'm about to mention easier for me to pinpoint than it was during the DNC). To me, they seemed manipulative, dishonest, just plain wrong, all the usual things that one tends to feel about the other guy's presentation. I started to notice that there were certain themes that were pretty much guaranteed to set off a huge audience response. Among them was this: even the most boring speaker could get a little sting out of expressing the basic message "Kick the asses of our enemies, kick 'em hard, and kick 'em before they get a chance to kick us."
Pretty unremarkable so far - the Bush administration makes no secret of its hawkish intent. What I did find disturbing was the feverish joy with which these comments were, to my outsider's perspective, received by the audience. There was yelling, there was cheering, there was chanting - and though my initial reaction was to write it off as gruesome blood thirst, there was a certain additional quality to the response which was naggingly familiar.
Then it hit me. I had not only heard the reaction, but felt it myself - during the DNC. Except that there, different kinds of statements elicited a case of the Hell Yeah's. It's what I felt when I heard people say, in a sort of coded way, "Can you believe this fucking maroon is actually our president?" And it's what I felt when I heard things to the effect of "We need, oh how desperately we need, to bring an end to this burning anger. We need to get past the thirst for revenge that grew out of September 11, and find a way to solve our problems without this escalating violence."
What I felt when I heard things like this, however cynical I am about them actually coming true, was relief. Relief that someone was saying it out loud, relief that I wasn't the only one who thought that way, relief for a break from what I perceived as the dominance of the other side's message of push, push, push, onward to the deaths of our enemies, keep the hate alive no matter what the cost, keep poking that wound. The relief came from the feeling that my side has been woefully under-represented, that there hasn't been enough talk of peace, that there is a concerted and successful effort being waged to keep people angry and scared and hungry for blood. The relief comes from finally feeling like someone is standing up and saying what desperately needs to be said, because there hasn't been enough of that.
Now let's go back to the Republican side for a moment. I am quite sure that the cheering over the "kick their asses" comments came from exactly the same kind of relief, and was every bit as genuine. The people cheering those statements felt just as strongly as I do, except they feel that there hasn't been a strong enough statement of anger and resolve to beat a fearsome enemy, that their expression of the rage and sorrow of September 11 has been repressed by the other guy, and that only in the society of their fellows could they finally let it out.
Because there hasn't been enough of that.
Watching the two conventions forced me to realize that I have a lot more in common with those on the red side of the aisle than I might like to believe: a sense of disenfranchisement, the belief that all those assholes on the other team are hampering any real progress, the feeling that out-of-whack priorities are threatening our nation and our very safety, the fear that while once there was, there might no longer be room in this country for my views and cherished beliefs. Is there anyone left in the country who doesn't think that one or the other of the major political parties is out to destroy the United States, with good intentions or without? Because I haven't met them recently.
I don't know how sophisticated the thinking was of the people who planned the 9/11 attacks, but accidentally or not, they pulled off one hell of a blow. Somehow, the two fairly mainstream political groups with which the majority of Americans identify, two groups which often seem more similar than they are different, have both been maneuvered into the position of extremist camps. I don't even know if anyone could plan anything like this - piggybacking off the culture wars and the hijacking of the Republicans by the religious right and the ineffectual political machine of the Democratic party, perfectly timed to coincide with the tenure of a polarizing president who could be counted on to continually piss off those opposed to him, 9/11 was just the kind of horrifying emotional wedge we needed to become a country who can't even talk to each other anymore.
The fact remains that looking as objectively as I can at the last four years, I still think George W. Bush is a dangerously incompetent moron who I wouldn't hire to lick stamps. So my choice in November is still clear, if depressing. I guess my real question is: what next? People keep saying that a lot hangs in the balance in this election, but I wonder if we've actually missed the deadline and someday we'll look back on these last three years as the slower, subtler demarcation of "when things got bad."
Now I am only one person, one person who pretty much coasted through all her history classes. I know this country has weathered a civil war, Viet Nam and a million other crises that must have seemed just as grim at the time as this does to me. Not only that, but we're a nation pretty much in the bumbling adolescent stage, compared to others. So I guess I am asking for some perspective: are things as bad as I fear? Can we recover? And where should we look to figure out how?
Posted by hilatron at 11:04 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
September 14, 2004
Finally.
The first batch of Monster Stockings has at last arrived at Crafty Robot! I already have a callus. It's going to be a long fall:
Also, a certain Mom of my acquaintance has lovely household goods for sale at 3WAuctions. (Her site is just a few tinkers away from being up and running.) You know you want an apron:
Posted by hilatron at 08:54 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 13, 2004
Why I Love the Bureaucracy
Because things like this happen: I go to visit my dad in the nursing home, and I get there and he isn't in his room. And so I go out to the desk and ask where he might be, thinking to myself "Goodness gracious me! Maybe Dad has decided to participate in an activity for once!" But then the nurses on duty look at me with alarm and say "...Oh." And I know, with the familiar sinking-but-already-resigned feeling, that that is not the case at all.
The case instead is that my father was just picked up to go to a doctor's appointment, a doctor's appointment I knew nothing about because when they moved him from the second floor to the fourth floor, they put the appointment In the Book. In the Book apparently is the final word, and means that everyone who needs to know knows and all is prepared and all is right with the world. Except that, in this case, that was not the case.
So then I make some noises that mean, "You screwed up. Don't do it again, fools" and they make some noises that mean "We really actually feel quite bad about this, but we're afraid to say how bad we feel because that would open the door for anger and abuse from you, anger and abuse we've probably gotten from other Guardians Over the Estate and Person of at other times," and I make noises to the effect that "Okay, I get that, I've been in that situation before, but, really you guys, this sucks."
Then I leave, because after all, the real problem is that my dad just went whizzing off to some doctor's appointment. I am on foot - I do not have a car or time to wait for a ride. I traverse the Concord Hospital campus, conveniently located across the street from the nursing home, but seriously inconveniently designed for people to walk across, in a major way - it consists mainly of a series of ledges with buildings on them, connected by parking lots and driveways down which ambulances and construction trucks careen at alarming rates, not expecting to see someone walking at all, because who walks to the hospital? It's sort of like a video game, a terrible video game of many levels where you have the crappiest powers ever, no superpowered leaps or building-climbing holds or anything, just your regular, stupid feet.
I get to the doctor's appointment and start making excuses, the refrain - despite all the wrong things done by other people - "I'm a bad Guardian, I'm a bad Guardian" running through my head. And I find out from the aide - very world-weary, and about fifteen years old, I'd guess - that this happens "all the time." And Dad is in a tizzy of astronomical proportions, because maybe the one worst thing to do to people with dementia is to surprise them and whisk them off into a new environment with no warning and no familiar face to look at, and that's exactly what happened, because in addition to not having time to stop and think about who knows about what doctor's appointments, no one has the time to go to his room maybe fifteen minutes before the van shows up and say "Hey, you're going to a doctor's appointment, just a checkup, nothing to worry about, I'm going to sit right here with you and tell you what's going on twenty times until you manage to process it."
That's why I love the bureaucracy. It keeps you on your toes, it does - even the most innocent Friday afternoon visit can turn into an emergency. It doesn't let you get complacent - you're never able to relax and think that you're doing all right, you're doing all you can, because what don't you know about? What's going wrong right this second? It keeps you busy, because you are always playing catchup to some unforeseen setback. It gives you whole new coping skills - or, at least, it takes away your ability to panic because you've already used up all your panic on all the other false alarms and wrong information and "Oops, we forgot to tell you about this and it's due today"s. The bureaucracy just wants you to be a better person. Preferably one who doesn't file complaints. Who wouldn't love that, I ask you, who?
Posted by hilatron at 09:47 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 09, 2004
Engraved Invitation
Pssst. Hey, you. I need to talk to you. I think we should run away, you and I. Let's quietly gather our things, put that caller on hold, evade the boss and just sneak out the back door. Chances are no one will miss us. In case they do, we will have put out a note that says, "Gone Spelunking."
But we won't. We'll do this: we'll go home, and we'll put clean sheets on the bed, and we'll open the windows to let out the stale under-housekept air, and we'll turn off the TV and the stereo and the computer and the clocks, and we'll sleep just as long as we want to. When we wake up we will find that there is no need to do anything in particular, and so we won't. Maybe we'll read, maybe we'll make a pie and eat it, maybe we'll sit out on the patio and just turn our faces up toward the sun (the weather will of course be not too hot or cold, dry or wet). The most important thing is that we won'?t be acting in defiance of an internal voice that says "but you have to" anything; whatever we do, it will be free of the distraction that comes from a long list of other, allegedly more worthy, tasks.
Maybe we'll get sick of this serenity. Maybe we'll pack our bags and get in our car - our superbly old-fashioned but mysteriously safe and well-running car - and go on a road trip. We'll take an atlas and a guide to roadside attractions, but other than, of course, Graceland we won't have any destination in particular, or any end date for our travels. We'll just go.
Ideally, you won't mind driving. I'll put my right elbow out the window and you your left, and the pavement will unspool in front of us and behind us like all the road trips in all the movies. All of the music on our mix tapes will be entirely new to the other person, and just right.
We'll sleep in motels when we can afford to and in the car when we can't, and then we'll work for a day or two in a story-rich roadside tavern to make gas money to take us to the next place. We'll pack one fancy outfit each, so that we can bluff our way into hotel conventions and stuff our faces and our bags with free hors d'oeuvres and top-shelf liquor. We'll pretend to be neurologists and members of obscure social clubs, and say things like "I'm Meryl Patherington's niece--from the Cape! Don't you remember her?" No one will ever catch us. Or maybe someone will catch us, but we'll make our escape thanks to an unexpectedly sympathetic bartender.
Relieved of the constraints of expectation, we will be better people than we were. We'll have time to stop and help someone fix a tire, save their marriage, pull a fallen tree from the road, because we're on no schedule. We won't get all wound up about bad service or rudeness, because we are surely having a better day than the person who's let their manners lapse. We'll have the luxury to see every situation from another point of view. We'll listen to everyone's story because when you have no direction, you don't want to miss the cue for a new adventure. And we won't get bored because you and I will have learned the skill of finding charm in almost anything and letting the rest slide on by.
Let's. Just. Go. Are you ready? Are you coming? Did you bring your ballgown and your coolest sunglasses and your comfortable driving shoes?
Posted by hilatron at 12:03 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
September 02, 2004
What I Learned from the RNC
September 11 happened. Lots of innocent people died. Therefore, we should vote for Bush.
And live in fear, because it could happen again, although President Bush will make sure that it doesn't happen, although if it does it is because those terrorists are very wily and also they hate Freedom!
Freedom!
Lower taxes!
Black people are Republicans!
Women are Republicans!
Your gay daughter is good for sitting in the VIP section of the audience, but not for bringing out on stage at the triumphant end of your speech. No word on whether she's a Republican!, though.
It is possible to make a case for the Iraq war simply by mentioning September 11 and Saddam Hussein in the same sentence over and over again.
The entire Republican party has apparently been afflicted with a speech impediment which renders them incapable of uttering the words "Osama Bin Laden."
But, never mind that, Freedom!
Dick Cheney was "not like other teenagers." Huh. Never would have guessed that.
Though it seems nearly inconceivable, Republican delegates have even less rhythm and even worse fashion sense than Democratic delegates.
How to make the Republican delegates cheer wildly: mention crushing "the enemy," talk about your "resolve," or bring out a "Democrat" to spew right-wing talking points (and a leeetle bit of crazy) while his glinting laser-like eyes bore into your very soul PERHAPS IN ORDER TO STEAL IT BECAUSE HE HAS CLEARLY LOST HIS OWN.
How to make the Republicans boo wildly: make a reference to Michael Moore.
How to make the Republicans chant and dance: say "Flip Flop!" or make any mention of John Kerry's ability to respond to changing conditions rather than bull-headedly blasting his way through all situations using the same tactics and the same ten buzzwords again and again despite clear evidence that they're not working. Uh, we mean having "resolve."
How to make the Republicans slowly work themselves up to uncertain, lukewarm, conflicted applause: mention women in the work force.
During the DNC, I muttered, "Jesus Christ! Is it possible to be involved in politics without mentioning your belief in God every five minutes please?" Oh, how innocent I was.
Freedom!
But, remember, we are living in a time of Terror! So, cherish Freedom! But be Afraid!
And enjoy your lower taxes!
Hey, did we mention the really bad things that happened on September 11? Maybe you should vote for Bush, because, you know, he was president when those things happened. Did you know that he went around and comforted people and stuff, and that the deaths made him sad? I mean no other president would have done that, you know.
Also, Freedom!
Remember that people who ask about WsMD in Iraq are just crazy people, because Saddam Hussein was a horrific dictator, never mind that we are the ones who brought up the WsMD as a rationale for war in the first place, because Saddam was really bad. Hey, have we mentioned September 11 and the fact that we live in a time of Terror! Saddam Hussein! Really bad! September 11! Four more years! Uh, we mean four more years of President Bush, of course!
Posted by hilatron at 10:40 PM | Comments (3)
September 01, 2004
Oh-So-Poli...ow ow ow I can't take it.
I was going to suffer through the RNC in order to bring you a fair and balanced exploitation of both conventions' irrelevant, amusing moments. But Monday's event managed to effectively lampoon itself with no help from me in the first twenty minutes of prime-time. I mean what am I supposed to do with this material? Let's review:
1) As C-SPAN made ready for the big wank of the evening, they showed an unidentified band playing woo-hoo-let's-get-revved-up music at an undisclosed location (maybe the convention floor, but it was very hard to tell). The song they were playing? Chain of Fools. In case you were raised in a closet with cotton stuffed in your ears, here's an excerpt from the lyrics:
For five long years
I thought you were my man
Now I've found out
I'm just a link in the chain
You've got me where you want me
I ain't nothing but your fool
You treated me mean
You treated me cruel
The rest of the song goes on in a similar vein, about a woman who's with this terrible man who treats her like crap, but she can't get enough of his good loving and plans to stay with him nonetheless. It's a great song, an undisputed soul classic, but one has to question the wisdom of playing it for this particular cause. Seems like sort of an odd choice for someone running for re-election, don't you think?
2) After some supremely awkward ceremonial woohaw, we were then treated to the traditional singing of the National Anthem. By a 13-year-old girl. With the world's flattest Minnesota accent - some of those long notes just about did me in. Wearing, I shit you not, a camouflage-patterned chiffon dress through which you could see her belly button.
3) And finally, a medley of show tunes that kicked off with a selection from West Side Story including, again I shit you not, excerpts from the song America.
Now I can understand if you are not up with the musical theater, but the Broadway performers staging the medley don't have that excuse, so I have to believe that this was out-and-out subversion. The song America, see, is not exactly a red-white-and-apple pie hymn of praise. Although the performers chose lyrics like "Everything's free in America!" for their medley, the song as a whole is actually a bitter, angry little satire, sung by Puerto Rican immigrants, some of whom still yearn for the American dream and some who point out that "Life is all right in America...if you're all white in America!" Again, not exactly the image the Republicans are going for in their convention. I'm surprised this made it past all the organizers, to be honest - I mean I don't even really like musicals and I immediately associate that song with criticism of that "Land of Opportunity" ideal that the Republicans are so desperately trying to sell us. Who dropped the ball there?
Anyway, then I watched the speeches, and became very afraid and depressed, and now I want to hide in a bunker with a year's supply of Paxil and my blankie, far away from the terrifying image of Ron Silver's angry, quivering, bloodthirsty jowls. But that's a whole other post.
(For funnier stuff, see also 1001 Things to Hate About the Convention. I'm not a huge NYP fan but at least three of my co-workers have come back here to ask what the hell I'm snorting and cackling about today, and I'm only down to #500.)
Posted by hilatron at 02:09 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack