The weather here has been windy, but we didn’t get any storms, thankfully. It looks like we dodged a huge, tornadic bullet.
Tornado near Henryville, Indiana
Tornado
Tornado near Henryville, Indiana
Category: News & Politics
Tornado near Henryville, Indiana
A Tree
This was not taken today. Oh no, it was not, because today, it rained and rained and rained and rained. ALL DAY LONG. And, in fact, it is still raining. O gross!
Also, in case there is anyone out there who has not seen THIS, I am sharing it. You’re welcome. Because apparently we as a nation think it’s Just Fine to treat our own citizens like the enemy. It looks like things are going to get a whole lot worse, so we may as well laugh at Officer Asshole while we can.
Rapture
Rapture by Blondie
Harold Camping has disappeared. Now, the cynical among us might think he’s hiding out or that he’s died of embarrassment after May 21st came and went and we weren’t all Hoovered up into Heaven. I, however, prefer to think that his rapture visions were true, but that he misunderstood, and that yesterday God called him–and him alone–home. Or maybe it was Satan. I get those two mixed up sometimes.
Cutting Edge: The Virgin Daughters
I’ve been reading a lot of fundamentalist Christian blogs lately, and one of the things that has especially bothers me is the purity pledge phenomenon. The fathers promise to protect their daughters’ hymens until the girls are married, at which point ownership of the daughter is transferred from father to husband. The girls–some of them just 5-6 years old–must promise to abstain from sex until marriage. There is, of course, no corresponding ceremony for mothers and sons, because boys have no responsibility to remain pure. The girls must not only police their own sexuality, but that of the males as well. If the boys stray, it’s the girls’ fault, because girls are all dirty dirty whores deep down inside. It’s “she was asking for it” with a fundie twist.
Anyway, romantic dates with dad? O gross!
Dear Mitch Daniels
Mitch Daniels, grossly over-estimating the size of his shriveled little heart
Dear Mitch Daniels,
I’ve long suspected that you were even smaller on the inside than you are on the outside, and today you’ve proved it. Planned Parenthood is many women’s only access to health care. And now you’re doing your best to make sure they don’t have even that.
Every time I see a photo of your smug, self-righteous face, I get angry, because it reminds me that men are still in control of women’s bodies. You will never, EVER become pregnant, so you will never, EVER have to decide whether or not YOU should have an abortion. So what makes you think you are at all qualified to make that decision for one woman, much less hundreds of thousands of us? What makes you think it’s your place to ensure that women–many of whom voted for you, for some unfathomable reason–will not receive basic health care? Care that can and does save women’s lives? How many women’s death warrants did you sign today, with one sweep of your pen? What have women done to you, to deserve that? Nothing, of course, except to be born women.
You’re a malicious, misogynist, malignant cancer on the ass of humanity.
Guess What?
It’s raining. AGAIN.
This was the wettest April on record for Bloomington. According to the local paper, it rained 18 out of 30 days last month, most of that in the last two weeks, which had only three rain free days. It’s wet, y’all.
Alsoplustoo, Miss Brown would like everyone to know that going outside to pee in the rain really, really, REALLY sucks, and that she deserves an extra special treat for doing so.
In entirely-unrelated-to-the-weather news, I’m a little nauseated by all the joyful joy that people are feeling at the news that Osama bin Laden was killed. The whole thing makes me feel skeevy. Yes he was a pretty awful human being, but killing people is always wrong. Executing someone without even the pretense of a trial is evil. When we give in to vengeance, we become no better than terrorists ourselves. When we dehumanize people by painting them as monsters, by turning them into something not human, then we give up all moral high ground. Even Osama bin Laden had a mother and father who loved him once.
What we did? It was not justice, and it was not something to be joyful about.
A Dream
I had a dream last night that the Obamas came to game night at a friend’s house. We were playing Apples to Apples, and after one round, Mr. President stood up and said he had to pee. We all laughed. Mrs. Obama asked what was so funny, so I explained to her that Hoosiers always announce when they’re going to the bathroom. Which, of course, means that Mr. Obama must be from Indiana. Take that, birthers!
Milestones
Today is the 90th anniversary of the ratification of the 19th Amendment to the United States Constitution. And today, the last of the US combat troops pulled out of Iraq.
Suffrage Hay wagon (LOC), ca. 1910-1915, Bain News Service
Repository: Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C. 20540 USA, hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.print
General information about the Bain Collection is available at hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.ggbain
Persistent URL: hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ggbain.14108
Call Number: LC-B2- 2813-8
A Thing or Two
So after 24 hours of toothy bliss, the damned thing decided to start hurting. Right in the middle of our staff meeting. You know what else happened right in the middle of our staff meeting? The person sitting across from me decided to explodiate in a sneeze, without covering his nose or mouth. Freaking disgusting. I felt like I needed a Silkwood shower afterward. I swear, sometimes I think I work with kindergartners.
Headline of the day. Hell, it might be headline of the whole year: Defunct teen idol Leif Garrett busted on heroin possession charge. Defunct? Is that really the word they wanted?
Now, according to dictionary.com, defunct means:
adjective
1. no longer in effect or use; not operating or functioning:
a defunct law; a defunct organization.
2. no longer in existence; dead; extinct:
a defunct person; a defunct tribe of Indians.
noun
3. the defunct, the dead person referred to:
the survivors of the defunct.
So is Mr. Garrett no longer functioning, or worse, is he dead?! I don’t think that word means what they think it means. Anyway, here he is, back when he was functioning and/or alive:
I’m pretty sure I still have that record around here somewhere.
Rantypants, Ahoy!
First: Because there evidently are not enough shopping holidays (who knew?!), Kmart decided that Martin Luther King Day, a day that is meant to be a day of service and of working for social justice, should be turned into Consumerpalooza. I’m kind of horrified. I don’t know what Kmart was thinking, but they should be ashamed of themselves.
Second: The numlock and capslock lights on my laptop are blinking disconcertingly. I found the manufacturer’s LED error code list, but it doesn’t describe the actual problem I’m having. I’m hoping that it’s just a weird fluke, and that it’ll sort itself out when I reboot. On the other hand, maybe it’s an harbinger of DQQM, and if I try to restart, my computer will explodiate. Aieee!
Third: The lights in the laundry room, in the Blackest Pits of Hell (conveniently located in my building’s basement), are not functioning. Or, at least, the motion sensors seem to be out of whack. This makes two weeks since I called and complained about it. I won’t mention how long ago I called about the dryer vent that’s disconnected. We are now reckoning time in the months, not weeks, if that’s any indication.
Fourth: Asshole neighbors are still letting their vicious MinPin run loose. The little shithead[1] barks and snarls at anyone walking by him, and he insists on peeing all over my patio. Needless to say, this does not favorably impress Miss Brown.
Fifth: Gov. Daniels’ State of the State address is tonight. I swear, seeing him on TV makes me even angrier than seeing GWB. The man is a menace. And apparently Newt Gingrich thinks Daniels would make a dandy GOP candidate in 2012. O gross! The man has all the faults and none of the kooky charm of GWB.
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1. I’m actually pretty favorably inclined toward shitheads of the canine variety. I have one of my own. So I don’t hate the dog, and I don’t blame him for being a horrible little brat. The fault for that lies squarely on his breeder’s and owner’s heads.
red paper boat 