Lock and load

If you locked yourself out of your house, how would you proceed? Would you consult me? Yes? Well done.
As it happens, I have a little experience with this. In my experience you would:

Near Washington, D.C.:

• Realize you locked keys and phone in your apartment.
• Try to remember where a pay phone is in this day and age.
• Go to the one that you vaguely remember at the not-particularly-nearby convenience store.
• Discover that urine-smelling phone doesn't really work.
• Try phone next to it.
• Call your ex who still has a key to your apartment and leave a message you don't expect her to return saying you're locked out and need her key.
• Borrow phone book from the convenience store.
• Call locksmith, talk to answering service, explain that you don't have a callback number but will be waiting at your apartment.
• Wait at your apartment for more than an hour and a half, until your across-the-hall neighbor comes home.
• Introduce yourself to across-the-hall neighbor, who you've been living across from for three years.
• Ask to borrow her phone.
• Call locksmith back and learn that they won't come without a callback number.
• Express some frustration that this was not mentioned earlier.
• Give answering service your neighbor's number.
• Continue to wait outside until neighbor comes out to hand you her phone.
• Talk to locksmith.
• Get locksmith to let you in.
• Prove identity.
• Pay approximately $80.

In southwestern NH:

• Gasp, and feel glad your friend is there.
• Call AAA, just in case they'll send a locksmith, and to ask their advice on locksmiths if they won't.
• Call three locksmiths recommended by the very nice and sympathetic customer service rep at AAA.
• Leave messages for all three.
• Try every door forty times.
• Ask across-the-street neighbor, who you know well, to borrow a hammer.
• Laugh at his horrified expression and explain you just want it to remove a window from its hinge, not to smash stuff.
• Try to remove window from its hinge.
• Fail.
• Go to work, assuming locksmiths will call back soon.
• Look up other area locksmiths on the Internet.
• Call three more locksmiths.
  
• Go to dinner with your friend, assuming locksmiths will call back soon.
• Come home.
• Decide you can't bear to smash even a small window, because that's breaking the house you own, deliberately, but hand the hammer to your friend.
• Be impressed both at the strength of the window and at the strength of your friend.
• Return hammer to neighbor who does not at all say I-told-you-so.
• Tack cardboard up over the window.
• Never, ever get a return call from any of the six locksmiths.

Food (and drink!) rules

Whimsy demanded it, and though I am not prompt, I am obedient.

1. There is no place in my life for hot lettuce.
2. It is apparently either impossible or undesirable to make cheap candy that tastes like the fruit it claims to taste like. However, some fruity flavors are nonetheless delicious if you just don't worry about accuracy (lemon, orange, lime, cherry, grape). Some artificial fruit flavors are just gross (watermelon, banana, apple), and will not be tolerated.
3. "Pumpkin-flavored" usually means "clove and nutmeg flavored." I am fine with that in many parts of my life. I am psychologically incapable of handling it in my beer. Please don't try to make me.
4. Chicken salad can be made many ways. All of the good ways involve the addition of something vegetative and crunchy and sweet, generally sweet pickles (traditional) or grapes (fancy!).
5. Given the choice between ice cream (or sherbet or sorbet) and almost any other food, I will choose ice cream. Given the choice between frozen yogurt and starving to death, I will think about it a long, long time.
   
6. If you say "sherbert," I will not correct you, because in general, I don't believe in correcting adults on pronunciation, even if they're wrong. But it is still spelled "sherbet."
7. Hey, while I'm not correcting you on your pronunciation of "sherbet," how 'bout you shut up on my pronunciation of "tomato." And while you're shutting up about that, do not ask if I also say "potahto." Because nobody says that, except that song.
8. Putting a drink in a martini glass does not make it a martini. A martini has vodka or gin in it, and vermouth (or the aura of vermouth). It does not have chocolate syrup. It decidedly does not have Sour Apple Pucker schnapps, whatever the hell that is. See rule 2.
9. Matzo ball soup properly has matzo balls, chicken, celery, carrots, onions, salt, pepper, and anything else you have in the refrigerator or cupboard that seems like it might go at all, to taste. I don't know what you think that bowl of weak broth with a matzo ball in it is, but it does not deserve the same name as anything made by Rhoda Sakowitz or me.
10. Baked potatoes shall be scrubbed very thoroughly before baking, and then shall be consumed thus: Cut potato in half. Put one pat of butter (or the equivalent) on the plate. Using fork, empty potato insides onto plate. Put half of butter onto pile of potato insides, and one quarter in each half of skin. Add salt and pepper to pile and each skin-half. Eat pile, mushing (slightly) to ensure a little butter, salt, and pepper in each bite. Eat each skin-half as if it were a pita sandwich, delicately.
11. Peanut butter sandwiches must be eaten with milk, regardless of what other fillings the sandwich contains.
    

Whimsy's rules are here. What are yours?

Hey, remember that time when I had a blog I updated semi-regularly?

Me too.

I also observe that a bunch of the cool-kid bloggers I read have done some kind of observationy listy round-up post. I could do the same.

• Hey, you know what a bunch of bloggers I read also have in common? Some kind of alcoholic beverage in their banners.
• Several movies I've watched recently take place partly or entirely in India. Of those, 100 percent feature at least one scene filmed in front of the Taj Mahal. Easily 75 percent of what I know about the Taj Mahal comes from tour guides in these scenes.
• I had an amazing weekend at camp with a bunch of women friends and their women friends. I really, really enjoyed myself. So did most of the rest of my gang. The person who seemed most obviously to be having a good time has been most vocal about having had a miserable time. Luckily, she does not have a blog. But if you're a woman, you should totes come with us next year, because it was awesome.
• One of my favorite things about Women's Weekend is that I like trying stuff I wouldn't ordinarily do (out of fear, lack of opportunity, whatever). Sometimes, the end result of that is wounds that are only mostly healed four weeks later. And sometimes, it is a not-quite recognizable charcoal drawing of a ladle.
• I also spent another recent weekend in New York, with a fun friend I couldn't get to go to Women's Weekend with me, but who had tickets to a bunch of events at the New Yorker Festival, including an extra ticket for me to see Rachel Maddow interviewed by Ariel Levy. Awesome.
• Saturday night of that weekend, I stayed home at her apartment and watched practically everything on her TiVo, and also watched Saturday Night Live. James Franco made a cameo-y guest appearance, which is odd, because my friend was out at a 10 p.m. event, featuring James Franco. That young man must have had a very busy evening.
• The best thing about the DVD of the documentary Helvetica is the special features, which is pretty much another two hours of interviews with the same people they interviewed for the film, but the juicy stuff is in the special features. The worst thing is that is makes you hyperaware of strange uses of Helvetica, including in all the publicity materials for the New Yorker Festival.
  
• Part of why I have not yet seen The 40-Year-Old-Virgin is that I am afraid I will hate it, and so far, I have loved everything I have ever seen Steve Carrell in. That one just seems like the kind of thing I would hate.
• Speaking (kind of) of The Office, have you all seen "Subtle Sexuality" yet? I could embed the video, but I'm not going to, because the video is only part of the magic that is their online presence, so I will let you go check that site out yourself.
• I'll make a deal with you people, OK? If every time you read something that really entertains you here on CMC, you'll pass it on to one person you think would be similarly entertained by it, I will post at least once every other day in November.
  

On to more serious matters...

OMG you guys.

It seems that I have been so busy freaking out about what to wear for Halloween that I have completely forgotten to freak out about what to wear to my 20th high school reunion on Saturday.

So, please help.

I am open to suggestions for reunion, Halloween, or both (but please identify which you're giving, to avoid later embarrassment). If it matters, this is the venue for the reunion (which is more urgent, if not more important). Don't make me resort to Yahoo! Answers.

A day late

Yesterday was a big day for us American queers. National Coming Out Day, the big march.

To the best of my knowledge, I spent the whole day not communicating with any other queers in any way. I looked at the pictures of the march and wished I was there. I thought about calling one of my closest queer friends, not out of solidarity, but because we hadn't chatted in a while. I looked at someone cute at an online dating site, but shyly did not make the first move. I did not come out to anyone, which is actually unusual for me, because as someone who can pass but chooses not to, I come out in some small way almost every day, especially in the last year.

So here it is, a little belated, and I'm coming out to you people, who pretty much already know, right? I'm a big queer. If you didn't know, hi! Welcome to City Mouse Country!

Here are my invitations to you today:

• Come out in the comments. As whatever you are — if you're straight, do it to remind all of us that straight is not the default. If you're queer, show the other queers we're not alone. If you're genderqueer or trans, please tell us. If you're questioning your place in the world, let us know that. If you hate labels and have a whole thing prepared on that subject, go for it. I've got time and space. Do it anonymously, if you must, but ask yourself why you must, what you're hiding from.
• Come out to someone in your real life. See above.
• Ask some questions about queerness generally, or about my queerness, specifically, in the comments. I cannot promise that I know all the answers, but I can promise that I know a lot of great resources on the Internet that I can steer you to. Ask goofy questions, dirty ones, ones you are worried might seem bigoted. Again, ask anonymously if you feel you must, but I can almost promise me you will not ask anything more horrifying than the things I've been asked in the past. No, that is not a dare.
  
• Tell us what you can/will/do do to make LGBTQ folks less scared, to come out, to be out*. Tell us how you will help make Coming Out Day seem weird and quaint to the generations ahead of us.
  

Obviously, you don't have to do all of that. But I'd love it if you'd do what you can.

Oh, also, here's this. It's one of my favorite things about outness, and it's been taken down, and I hope that link to the cached version still works.




* Some of my well-meaning straight liberal friends will not totally know what I mean. I have been an out queer for about 17 years, have never been directly physically threatened with violence because of my orientation, and yet in each of my last two relationships, I have thought of Matthew Shepard and hesitated to kiss the person I was dating in semi-public, out of fear. I have feared for my own safety, and in my last relationship, feared deeply and often for my significant other's. I have had guests who were queer harassed by my police-officer-neighbor for kissing in their car. That is what it is (so far, still) like.

A public service announcement for those of you who are not having trouble with Facebook

I am.

I am not the only one, either.

I went away last weekend (ironically setting my Facebook status to something like "[bzzzzgrrrl] will be offline for a few days. Don't panic."), and when I got back, I started getting an error message when I tried to log into Facebook:

"Your account is temporarily unavailable due to site maintenance. It should be available again within a few hours. We apologize for the inconvenience."

That persisted for several days.

Staring yesterday, I started getting messages from my friends (no, I am not picking on you; I got nearly identical e-mails and IMs from several people who are all apparently worried about either me or the status of our friendships):

"You're not available on FB any more!!! Did you unfriend me?"

Starting this morning, attempts to log into Facebook were met with a longer error message:

"Sorry, due to site maintenance your account is unavailable at this time.

"We are currently experiencing an extended site maintenance issue that is preventing some users from accessing their accounts or Pages they may administer. Rest assured that your account has not been deleted or compromised. Your original account will be restored as soon as possible so there is no need to create a new one. We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience you've encountered while attempting to log in to Facebook during this time.

"You can stay updated with the progress of this bug by visiting the Help Center."

So, now you know about as much as I do it. It's apparently affecting lots and lots of irritable people, but not everyone, and as far as I can tell, no one else I know, but scads of people who use Yahoo! Answers. Your takeaways:

• No, I did not unfriend you.
• If you are one of my several new friends, I am not avoiding being your friend.
• If you have other friends who have mysteriously disappeared from Facebook, they are probably in the same boat I am.
• Just because I am hooked on Facebook and miss it so so so so much doesn't mean it doesn't suck.

Hey

Hey, would you do me a favor?
Go read this very long and possibly disturbing/triggering thing, and then come back here and tell me what you think.
If you feel compelled to comment over on her blog, go ahead, but then come back here and tell us what you wrote. Do it anonymously if you feel like it.
If you want to have exactly the experience I just had, read it while listening to the Beth Orton alternative version of "Ooh Child." But I am pretty sure that is not necessary.

Deadly

If you're like my friend bzh, you might think this is the greatest infographic ever. And, fair enough. It's funny and informative, and I am in favor of both.

But I think it reaches its full awesome potential if you look at each map once, just focusing on New Hampshire. And then go through again, looking just at the D.C. area.

I'm just sayin'.

Closed

For the first time ever, I need to close comments on a post. No, it's not something you did. Well, maybe, if you're an Asian spammer. If you have something more to say on the subject originally discussed in that post, or something to say about Asian spammers, you may comment here.
Asian spammers, go away. In fact, all spammers, go away.

Reflections on having to ask a coworker to drive me home in the middle of a weekday afternoon so I can change into jeans and pop a couple of Advil

Remember this bit, from the pilot episode of Seinfeld?



You know who makes jokes like the one that starts at about the 1:04 mark?

Male comedians.

Felix to my Oscar, and also vice versa

A million years ago, I asked for your requests. I'd planned for my next one to be a food rant, per whimsy's request. I even planned to beat her to the punch. But then she did her own food rules, so I won't beat her. I may as well do another one that comes more naturally right this minute, also from whimsy:

... please do give details about the roommate. Roommates are intensely blog-worthy.

Sure.
The roommate, or TR as he's been called elsewhere here (I swear, I'll wrap that story up) is one of my very dearest friends. When I used to go to Lake Placid? That was to see TR. We've known each other at least somewhat since 1993, been close friends since a few years after that. We have seen each other through lots of crap, TR and I, and I love him very much.

But I suck at living with people now. I have lived alone for so long that I seem to have kind of a few control issues about my space. TR's old roommate from Lake Placid (who we will call DS) (the D is for Dreamy) came to visit a few weeks back, and before TR got home from work, DS and I had a beer on the deck.
"Will you miss having TR as a roommate?" he asked.
"Nope," I said, too fast. I quickly amended that: "I mean, I'll miss having him around, like I always do. But I won't miss having someone else living here."
DS made the next leap even quicker than I would have: "What if you someday get involved with someone?"
I went on at some length about how that wasn't going to be the same, if it ever happened, because there'd be some incentive to make living together work. With TR, there's just incentive to keep the friendship alive through five weeks. (It did not occur to me until much later, and by "much later," I mean, "yesterday," that maybe the actual answer is that I can't live with someone I'm involved with and I just don't know it because I haven't tried yet.)

And alive the friendship has remained, even through last week, when we had a million houseguests (and by "houseguests," I mean "members of my extended family") for a whole week.

Here's the kind of guy TR is:

• When my city-dwelling houseguests (see above) locked him out, and he came home at 3 in the morning, rather than disrupt my (or their) sleep by calling to be let in, he slept in his car.
• When I bought ingredients to make Lisa's meatballs so we could eat them together and then forgot about it until the last night he was going to be here, he agreed to spend his last night in town as a meatball guinea pig. (I'll let you know how they are after we eat 'em.)
  
• When he was looking for activity to procrastinate packing, knowing that he was leaving town, he did not spend that procrastinatey time on the Internet or watching Star Trek. He spent it making home repairs to my house.

Love that guy.

Star Trekking

So I've been watching the first season of the original Star Trek. I'm about halfway through the fifth episode now.

I could do reams of observations like my last post, but today, I feel that I should save you some time, rather than waste it.

In case you were going to do the same thing, for the plot, rather than for the entertainment value of the props and costumes, here is the storyline of each of the first five episodes:

Some creature that is or appears to be human (usually appearing to be a member of the crew) has a dangerous combinations of superhuman powers and pathological personality. The crew of the Enterprise is confused for a while, and havoc is wreaked; in some cases, someone claims they've never seen anything like this before, despite having seen it in the two or three preceding episodes. A female crew member is generally threatened with sexual violence as evidence of the creature's power and evilness. She's not actually violated, due to her fingernails or a convenient intervention on the part of a passing male crew member or both. Then the Enterprise's crew figures the confusion out and fixes it. In the first few episodes, several people die in all the chaos. In the next few, everyone's OK in the end.
The end.

I know that some of my readers are much more devoted followers of Star Trek than I am. Heck, I didn't even know who Gary Mitchell was until last night. Did I get any of that wrong?

Some thoughts while watching "True Romance"

• Interesting that the Blu-ray people would advertise the Blu-ray format on a Blu-ray disc. I mean, the only people who will see it are the people who are already on board, right?
• I forgot that I used to eat Chef Boyardee ravioli. Like, I used to think of ravioli as something filled with beef, that came out of a can.
• My theory that any movie with Brad Pitt in it is good, no matter how small his part, holds true. This movie demonstrates, in fact, that that theory trumps my theory that anything with Bronson Pinchot in it is terrible, no matter how small his part, if both Brad Pitt and Bronson Pinchot should happen to be in the same film.
• Why did I put True Romance on my Netflix list in the first place? Who or what suggested to me that I would like this movie? I mean, I do, but why would I think that? Maybe because I liked Donnie Darko?
• I have personally seen several much better Elvis impersonators (at the Lithuanian Hall in Baltimore, for starters) than Val Kilmer is in this movie.
  
• Wait, Val Kilmer?
• Yup. Val Kilmer.
• Why is the part of Elvis credited (and subtitled) as "Mentor"?
• This is the second movie in a week that I've seen Jack Black in from before I knew Jack Black existed.
• This is also the second movie in a week that I've seen Samuel L. Jackson in from before I knew Samuel L. Jackson existed.
• Seems like I watch a lot of movies.
  
• How do you know when it's too many movies?
  

The story of my new hot water heater, told in narrative and Facebook status updates (Part 1)

Last Saturday (7/25), I got up early, and decided to do a little laundry. I gathered my dirty clothes together and found a leak in my water heater and about an inch of water in the basement.

Awesome, right?

I called the emergency plumbing and heating number and asked for a plumber. The answering service said she'd have him call me "right back." I woke up the temporary roommate to let him know what was going on. After an hour, I called the plumbing company again; they were still trying to reach the plumber. So much for emergency service. That gave the roommate a chance to convince me that actually, if we cut off the supply to the water heater, we wouldn't have an emergency, and I wouldn't have to pay an emergency rate for the plumber. When the plumber finally called back, he agreed.

So, temporary roommate (hereafter known as TR) shut off the water, and spent several hours getting water out of the basement. Then, like the bad person I am, I abandoned TR to keep working on water removal and return the roofers pump to Home Depot while I ran off to get my hair cut before my stylist went on maternity leave. Sorry, TR.

[bzzzzgrrrl] has had a hell of the day: hot water heater's still broken, basement is mostly not flooded anymore, hair looks fabulous, valuable information actually gleaned from an issue of Cosmo. Any questions?
July 25 at 6:18pm

A good homeowner might have cleaned up the remaining pooling water Saturday night, or Sunday. I am not that homeowner.

Instead, I did nothing about the smallish amount of water in the basement and went to stay with my sister and help her with the baby on Monday. That also left TR and my parents to deal with plumbers on Monday (outside emergency hours), which they did, wonderfully. Poor TR did without hot water for almost a week, in fact. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I had a high old time (including showering) with my sister, brother-in-law and niece, with periodic breaks to call plumbers, utility companies, TR and my parents.

[bzzzzgrrrl] is home. And still dealing with the hot water heater.
July 30 at 11:43am

My new plumber of choice came out to the house on Thursday and gave me an estimate for replacing the water heater. We booked him to come the next day.

[bzzzzgrrrl] is listening to the sweet sweet sounds of a new tankless water heater being installed.
Fri at 12:08pm

The plumber (with some, but not a lot) of help from another plumber installed my new water heater. There was some trouble draining the old one, but he got it done.

As he was cleaning up, we chatted. It seems the good folks at this particular heating and plumbing organization have had some hard times lately. One guy was injured by a 700-pound propane tank falling on him. The guy who had helped my plumber's grandmother had just died. And my plumber had a close friend die just a few years ago of an unfortunate stomach-stapling-related complication.

Anyway, the friendly plumber got my check, fixed my license plate to my car, and was on his merry way.

[bzzzzgrrrl] started the dishwasher, then jumped in the shower, then started a load of laundry and told the roommate he could get in the shower.
Fri at 5:42pm

Stay tuned for Part 2. It's way shorter. I promise.

Home, sweet and sour home

I had lots of great requests for blog posts, and I will try to get to them all.
Today, we'll start with the easiest, because that's what I can handle right now.

From Amanda:

List all the cities/towns/burgs you've ever lived in and tell us what one thing do you miss most and one thing you'll never miss about that place.

Lebanon, NH, 1971-74 (This one's hard, because I was two when we moved, and really have only two memories of being there. We'll call one of them positive and one negative.)

• Do miss: Using the dough box on the porch as a pretend rowboat with my friend Emily.
  
• Don't miss: Looking down the steep back stairs into the kitchen.
  

Kingston, NH, 1974-85

• Do miss: Playing with neighborhood kids in our connected yards. I had no idea at the time how awesome our yards were, and how awesome for my sister and me that we were in the middle, age-wise, of our neighbors.
  
• Don't miss: Living soooooooooo far away from school and town. Missing the bus was a real ordeal.
  

Wayland, MA, 1985-89 (or 93, depending on how you count)

• Do miss: Hanging out in basements. I don't know why we spent so much time in so many people's basements, but we did, and I loved it.
  
• Don't miss: The culture of tolerated dishonesty. Living in Wayland was totally formative for me; I went from being a kid with a maybe slightly overdeveloped sense of "fair" to someone who was really unable to abide cheating, due largely to being exposed to so much of it in that environment, so blatantly. People have commented in my adult life that I am very ethical, sometimes to the point of self-righteousness. That is entirely a reaction to Wayland. It was like a vaccine.
  

Madison, NJ, 1989-93

• Do miss: All the people. I had a professor (Psychology of Stress and Stress Management) who freaked out the class (which consisted of mostly second-semester seniors, though I was a first-year student) by reminding us that this was the last time in our lives we'd ever be surrounded by so many people of our own age, with similar interests. It was true. Making and maintaining friendships was easier then. And there was always stuff to do, even if some of it wasn't all that smart.
  
• Don't miss: Being a student. I'm not all that good at it, or all that interested in it.
  

Washington, DC, 1993-94

• Do miss: The people I lived with, my view of the Cathedral, and Sunday evenings watching Murder She Wrote with my grandmother.
  
• Don't miss: The $100-a-month stipend we lived on, and even that is not as bad as it sounds: We also had housing, health insurance, and an extra $90 a month for food. But still.
  

Hanover, NH, 1994-95

• Do miss: Dinner club. One of my best friends from high school (who was still an undergraduate, in that town), had a club of folks who would take turns cooking for each other. I have replicated it in small ways, but never to the degree we had then. I have rarely eaten so well, and the company was terrific.
• Don't miss: The stupid dog who came with my house. The woman who owned the house was renting it to me at what she assured me was a great deal, while she was out of the country. But she had a dog, which, no big deal, I like dogs. But this particular dog needed to have a door open for her at all times. In Hanover, NH. In the winter. She was also very needy. The dog, not the owner, although a case could be made there, too.
  

Jaffrey, NH, 1995-96

• Do miss: The house and property, kind of. It was a great house, but it was a group house full of strangers, so I mostly kept to my room, instead of using the rest of the house. Still, it was really pretty.
  
• Don't miss: The unease of living with a drug dealer. It was just weed, and he and his girlfriend were both always very nice, and I didn't even know they were dealing until he got arrested, but still, it was weird.
  

Walpole, NH, 1996-97

• Do miss: Living in an apple orchard with those great roommates. We had a helluva time, a lot of the time.
  
• Don't miss: Living in the middle of nowhere. It was a twenty-minute drive to the nearest anything. Also, one of my roommates often drove that twenty minutes drunk, which made me very nervous.
  

Keene, NH, 1997-99

• Do miss: My upstairs neighbors and their foosball table (which they eventually gave me). We had a good time.
  
• Don't miss: One of a series of creepy relationships with a creepy creepy dude. In fact, now that I think about it, I had two of those in those days in Keene. They were so creepy it's hard to picture myself in those situations, but I have wound up in several of them over my life. The second most memorable and one of the two creepiest were in Keene in this period.
  

Arlington, VA, 1999-2007

• Do miss: Individual people. I made some fantastic friends there, some of the best of my life, and I miss them very, very much. I also miss having a group of coworkers who were always up for getting a beer, although I realize now that we were not always in the healthiest patterns when we did that, at either of the two Arlington places of employment where I had that. Sometimes we were, though. Sometimes, it was just fun, moderate bonding.
  
• Don't miss: The constant feeling that people thought they were better than anyone else around them. It manifests itself in the craziest rudeness. That was what was eventually too too hard.
  

Enough about me; what do you think about me?

I know some of you are wondering where all those posts you demanded are, and I promise I'm working on (at least two of) them.

But right now, I need a little help.

I'm filling out a form that you absolutely don't need to know or speculate what it's for, and it asks a bunch of questions that are difficult for me, because they are ridiculous.

So, I would like you to answer them for me. And I mean "for me" in many senses: "for" as in "on behalf of," but also "in support of" and "not against."

Because, really, who better to answer these questions than my family, closest friends, and a handful of strangers who only know what I choose to display on the Internet?

Here it is, for those of you who have some time and energy to spare:

• What am I most passionate about?
• What are the three things I am most thankful for?
  
• Other than my parents, who has been the most influential person in my life and why?
• Other than my appearance, what is the first thing that people notice about me?
• What are five things that I "can't live without?"

Needy

This is one of those memes that goes around, and I thought I'd done it already, but now I think maybe not. You Google your name and "needs," and post the first five answers that come up. Mine (using my real first name) go like this:

• [bzzzzgrrrl] needs a home.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] needs to be bonked.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] needs a haircut.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] needs braces.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] needs tacos.

Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Right?
Oh, no.
So much better when done with "does not need."

• [bzzzzgrrrl] does not need the help of any paintings or pictures to make the varied combinations of colors and designs on her wall hangings.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] does not need a bigger penis, doesn't play video games, hates ringtones, and despises advertising of any kind.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] does not need permission to enter her own official residence, as she is the president's wife.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] does not need added income, and the foundation fees will not be a large part of her annual income.
• [bzzzzgrrrl] does not need to sleepwalk to express herself.

So NOW what'll the little lambs eat?

Remember this, a month and a half ago?
Here's today:

That's right, sports fans. Today, a guy in a cherry picker came and cleared the ivy off my window (and, presumably, the windows of others in my building). I smiled at him and said, "thank you!" cheerily, but he either ignored me or couldn't hear me over the entire cacophony of the cherry picker.

I suddenly feel very exposed.

Three things you should read on the Internet — by me

Remember how I promised you a twist this week? No? I did it yesterday. Are you worried about this memory loss?
Anyway, here's Whimsy's twist, for which I give her a great deal of credit and no blame whatsoever, because I am apparently a much bigger showoff than her other blog friends:

I want everyone to pick three of their OWN posts. Not a time for modesty, folks. I personally think that we're our hardest critics, but also, we know when we've actually done something pretty well. I want to get some recommendations from you, about you. Three of your favorite posts. Doesn't matter WHY they're you're favorites - but I'd like to hear your reasons too, if you'd like. Otherwise, how's THAT for an easy blog post: here are three things I wrote and I feel pretty good about them. The end.

So, here are three things I wrote and I feel pretty good about them:

1. Great Interview, Batman. This is the one where I am a big cheat who wants three more wishes. I do love this one (thanks, PMJG), but I admit it's mostly on the list because it's a pretty good intro to CMC, and because it has links to lots of other posts.
2. Ice tongue. I am not sure whether it is funnier if you know the players or don't. Either way, you know, it's what we do best around here: funny stories at my expense.
3. Rick Rolling. This is not as funny as it sounds like it'd be from the title. It is very long, and very unfunny. But also, I think, worth reading.
   

Tidbits! (Now, with more tid!)

So, the last post I wrote was last Friday, when I steered you to three things on the Internet to read. Tomorrow, I'll do the same thing (with a twist, special thanks and much credit to Whimsy).

And I cannot bear the thought that the only posts I have written lately are the posts specifically meant to help others combat blog-drought.

I have thought of two potentially excellent topics for essays this week, but they are both about plumbing the depths of my insecurity, and they are not at all funny, so they'll go somewhere that is not City Mouse Country.

So here are some of the boring and trivial things I have been thinking about this week. If you're also my Facebook friend, some of these things will sound familiar. But not all!

• There has been a Society for American Florists for 125 years. I also learned this week that its charter was signed by Grover Cleveland, and that it has its own chapter of the United States Code, 36 USCS § 200101 et seq.
• I think 17 minutes is just too long for a straight dance sequence in a movie, even if it's the most brilliant dance sequence in cinematic history, especially if it's not related to the plot and happens right before the end of the movie.
• My niece? Is still, like, crazy-cute. That is perhaps to be expected, as she is a baby, and her parents are both adorable, and I am very biased.
  
• Baby head smell, which captivates everyone, apparently, has no magic powers over me.
• My blog robot name is B.Z.Z.Z.Z.G.R.R.R.L.: Biomechanical Zeta Zombie Zoned for Zealous Gratification, Rational Repair and Relentless Learning. Which, right? I'm not sure how I feel about the zombieness, but I am all for zealous gratification, rational repair and relentless learning
• I found out that all this time I've been trying to remember who went to that one concert with me? It was Duana.
• Weekly 25¢ ice cream is the greatest thing a place of employment can do for its employees. It builds community, and is also delicious.
  
• Starting this weekend, I will have a roommate for the first time since summer 2000. It's only for about five weeks, but still, it'll be interesting. Expect posts about that.

So, here's your job: What do you wish I would post about? That's how I'm going to get past any potential droughts. You're going to be your delightful and bossy selves. What do you people want from me?

Three things you should read on the Internet

(For Whimsy's Three for Friday):

• iPhone Cinema from I Blame The Patriarchy (and the followup)
• 15 Creepiest Vintage Ads of All Time from Retro Comedy
• In fact, I have her edit my posts from dooce

Have fun, kids.

Wait, what?

My parents are priests. Have I mentioned that before? Anyway, they are.

So there was something extra-special about this post for me, which may be the greatest thing I have read all week (except for what you wrote, of course. You are my special favorite.).

I love my parents very much, but did not know that one of the things I have to be grateful for is that they have never asked me to keep a giant porn collection safe while they went on vacation. I am grateful for that, indeed.

Clotheslined

This progression to country mouseness is a gradual one. At some point this June, I decided to let environmentalism and the weather justify temporary laziness. There is no earthly reason, I thought, to waste power drying clothes when I could just hang them out on the line.
Those of you who do not live in the Northeastern U.S. may not know that we had approximately a thousand days of rain up here. Therefore, I could not possibly do any laundry.
Eventually, I ran out of clothes, and did just one load with the dryer.
Then, like a miracle, it got sunny. The old joke up here is that New Hampshire has two seasons, winter and the Fourth of July, and boy howdy, did it feel true this Fourth. Glorious indeed.
So on the fifth, I did laundry, and brought it out to hang on the line.
But you know how, in the fabric-softener commercials, crisp white sheets and bright-colored shirts all snap in the breeze? Yeah, some of us separate our colors when we do laundry. And some of us, having been city mice, have a lot of dark clothing. So some of us now have the gothest-looking clothesline in the universe, right out there for all the neighbors to see, and, no doubt, mock.
"Now?" you say. "Why haven't you brought in your laundry from July 5 yet?"
Because obviously there have been enough soaking rainstorms since then that every dark piece of clothing I won has had enough opportunity to almost dry before getting soaked again, repeatedly.

Gender deconstructionism

It will surprise exactly none of you to know that the phrase "crying like a little girl" irritates me. For many, many reasons, which we can get into in the comments if anyone is interested. Which nobody is.
That said, I want to parse whether the phrase even makes any sense as anything other than sexism.
So, parents of (or folks with experience of) young children of either sex:

• Is it your experience that little girls are more likely to cry than little boys? Less likely? The same likely?
• Is it your experience that little girls are more likely to scream than little boys? Less likely? The same likely?
• If "more," is it your opinion that this is true before the heavy-duty socializing efforts occur? Like, before the child has friends who are capable of peer pressure, or adult role models who are enforcing gendered behavior?
• Is it your experience that when little girls do cry or scream, it is in a less-tough way than little boys?
• If so, before the child has friends who are capable of peer pressure, or adult role models who are enforcing gendered behavior?

Honestly interested in answers here; I'm not trying to be argumentative. Yet.

Seeing stars

If any of you readers are actually bloggers who get stuck from time to time (or if you're just bored on the Internet a lot), allow me to recommend Five Star Friday to you. People nominate great blog posts, and then those great blog posts all get sent out in one big roundup weekly.
I do not always have time to read them all, but I find that, when I do, I am almost always inspired to write more, and better.

You're so lucky I'm around

Although I watch a lot of DVDs (and now, thanks to Todd, Blu-rays), I am not generally a consumer of romantic comedies, for many reasons. I only rented Dan in Real Life because I didn't know that's what it was, and I am a sucker for both Steve Carell and advice columns.
But, having viewed it, I gotta say, I loved it.
Things I loved about Dan in Real Life:

• The cast. I was going to try to single people out, but it's a big cast, and a phenomenal one. Full of, "Oh, it's that guy!"
• Norbert Leo Butz. OK, I really wasn't going to single people out, but I have a soft spot for him, because I saw him on Broadway in Wicked, where he was delightful. He is also delightful in this film.
• The family dynamic. In some ways, this is a movie about a guy who feels left out of his own family, kind of. I discovered from the special features that the rest of the cast had a week of rehearsal without Steve Carell. It works.
• The line, "You are a murderer of love!" You think that might be the best line ever, certainly the best line possible in this film, and then, a few minutes later, it comes up again, better.
• My own reexamination of "Let My Love Open the Door." God, what a perfect song. Go listen to it right now.

Baby love

My sister had her baby late Tuesday. Which is pretty awesome. She is my first niece, my parents' first grandchild, both her parents' first child. She is amazing and perfect and tiny.

So amazing, in fact, that on Wednesday afternoon, as my parents and brother-in-law crowded around my sister and this stunning infant, my father proudly declared her to be the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen.

Someone (OK, I) pointed out that it would perhaps have been more tactful not to say that in the presence of the people who've grown out of the only other two newborns he's ever seen.*

Whatever, though. We all got what he meant.

(*- Realized in typing that that I can think of a fourth newborn he's known. Oh, well, glad to complete the circle of insult by sharing it here with Cousin Mouse.)

I scream, you scream

I did not grow up in a neighborhood with an ice cream truck.
Where we lived when I was in high school, the truck would come along once in a while. Its tune was weird to the point of creepy. I best approximated it by playing three different music boxes, all playing different songs, at the same time.
Then, no ice cream truck for nearly twenty years.
My current neighborhood has an ice cream truck, with discernible tunes, but again, they're weird. a friend once noted that it was playing the theme from Love Story. I was just impressed that she could identify the theme from Love Story, as she was born fifteen years after that movie came out. But she was right, and I've heard it play a number of other weird tunes since.
Tonight, I jotted down what I could make out as the truck made its rounds:

• "The Battle Hymn of the Republic"
• "Deck the Halls"
• "Clementine"

Proud

Today's a big day.

Some of you know.

40 years ago today, a bunch of misfits in a bar made a lot of noise when the folks who were there to serve and protect (whom?) got rough with them. For two days, a bunch of other people joined them, and a bunch of other people watched. A year later, the first Gay Pride marches happened to commemorate the event. And so, many folks argue, the modern LGBT rights movement was born.

I had, like, a million things to say about this, but I realized I was approaching it like a sermon, looking for a moral. I don't have a moral. I'm queer and out and grateful, and there are lessons to be learned from Stonewall and the more recent battles and our righteous disappointment, but I am unable to pick just one, and who am I to tell you what your lessons should be, anyway?

So, then, a few links for more reading, for those who are interested.

• The Wikipedia version
• An eyewitness account
• Frank Rich's acknowledgement of, among other things, what hasn't changed

And a few questions for folks who feel like having a conversation in the comments. You obviously don't have to answer all of these; pick what strikes your fancy:

• Did you think about Stonewall today (or yesterday)? What did you think about Stonewall today or yesterday?
• Do you remember Stonewall? Tell us a story.
• Do you remember any big queer awarenesses? That you were, that I was, that civil rights matter? Tell us about it.
• Are you mad at Barack Obama? More or less mad than you were at Bill Clinton? Tell us about it.
• What are you celebrating today?
• What are you mourning?
  
• Who are your queer heroes, and why? If you don't have any queer heroes, why? You can't just pick me. (Note I said, "just.")
  
• Why haven't you found me a nice girl yet?

In which I overdo the italics, for what seem like good reasons

This may shock you, but I was a pretty surly 13-year-old, in total contrast to the ray of sunshine I am now. It's true.

At the age of 13, I got what many 13-year-old girls only dream about: A do-over. On my whole life.

We moved the summer between eighth grade and ninth grade, from rural New Hampshire to suburban Massachusetts. I was sure that the dorky, isolated kid I'd felt like would vanish, leaving a totally cool new me — the real me — with tons of friends who really understood. My new school would be filled with people who could appreciate me. Teachers would cease to care that I didn't do any homework because I was brilliant. Students would not be able to believe what a hole had been in their lives before I moved to town. Fashion would suddenly dictate that being a little heavy with giant glasses was the new black.

Yeah, OK. That didn't so much happen. Some things were better in the new school, many things were worse. I survived it and am now the very very well-adjusted blogger you all know and love. You will note my "About me" covers the suburbs differently than the country.

But the point is, when I left the old town, I left it completely, severing virtually all ties. Did not one bit cling to my old friendships. Hell, no.

And then came Facebook. Last night, my childhood best friend found me, filled with nostalgia from thinking about her upcoming high school class reunion. Excellent. I can't wait to hear more about her life. My Facebook stalking suggests she's happy, is married with kids, lives in the town we all used to live in, and is still in contact with many of our old classmates.

This morning, another elementary-school and middle-school friend found me. We were not best friends. He might be surprised to hear that I think of our childhood friendship as sort of love-hate, because I thought we were similar, and I did not want him or anyone else noticing that, even as I thought he was hilarious and neat. He was a little weird, in a way my adult self would love. We were both smart, and not tough, in a place where tough equaled cool. He embraced his weirdness and smartness. I just frantically wanted to be very, very normal.

So, this is getting very long. But let's face it, if you're still reading now, you're going to keep reading. And we both know it. You're all but a hostage here.

So this guy found me this morning. And we traded details of our lives, in a sort of twenty-years-in-twenty-lines format.

I think he might be setting his high school classmates up for a reality-show version of Grosse Point Blank. I am not going to share all of his twenty years with you because:

• I at least sort of respect for his privacy, and
• If we maintain this friendship, I might let him see this blog, and
• You would think it was a work of fiction, and I am mostly sure that it is not.

Suffice it to say that every single year has something as astounding as these highlights:

1988 first daughter born; join Army
1989 graduated [high school] and left New Hampshire for the Army
...
1994 Chop off fingertip after 100' vertical ice axe ascent of Portage Glacier-
...
1997 Traveling announcer for Sport Parachute demonstration team- shatter leg after freefall mishap
...
2001 Third marriage- Decide flying for a living isn't what I want to do after life-changing experience- change jobs (and design a simulator for RPGs now used worldwide in war games)
...
2009 Start two graduate programs (making up for lost time)- first grandchild born in Maine- Moving back to Germany (August)

Which, are you kidding?

Two things:

• What have I been doing for the last 25 years? My list reads like, "moved a bunch of times, got a job as a teacher, got a job as a waitress, got a job as a writer, moved."
  
• This is the kid I was worried about being like? Because we have not done one thing that was similar since 1985.

In the sun I feel as one

So, I'm sorry, gang.
I haven't been posting because I wanted to keep fixing the design, but I haven't been fixing the design because I don't know what I want to do yet.
I do know that this is not the final redesign, much as I know that I am not going to leave my bathtub peeling and multi-colored, but in both cases, it'll have to do for now, because I need to post and I need to bathe. If you have great ideas for what I should do, other than keeping black-on-white (which I will do) and getting rid of the scary cat (which I will probably do), let me know.
Meanwhile, onward and upward.

Minor changes

I like to call this one "minima lefty (not stretch) with scary awesome cat picture."

Thoughts?

Shopping

So, this week, I'm going to try some new themes in the design of the blog. Those of you who read regularly, please check in and see what you think. I'll post a post every time I post a theme, and I'll try to leave each theme up for at least a day. Comment to tell me whether you like it or not, and what aspects, specifically, you do and do not like.

A dear friend of mine and regular reader of this blog, who just did a big redesign of her own, said, "It feels to me like putting on a new outfit, or buying a new pair of shoes."

And that's the thing, isn't it? The old wardrobe feels outdated, both in terms of fashion and in terms of who I am right now. But also, I get inclined to stick with the old stuff, because shopping feels like such a pain, even though I am almost always pleased when I do get the new thing. Periodically, all my old shoes wear out at the same time, and like it or not, I have to shop for new ones. Which I generally love so much that I wear them pretty much exclusively until they, too, wear out.

This is way too long a post to say, here's Minima Lefty Stretch.

Debating, rather than dueling

Some coworkers were listening to A Prairie Home Companion last weekend, and heard k.d. lang assert that playing the banjo was "a chick magnet."
The coworkers in question have extrapolated that to mean that I should start playing the banjo.
Discuss.
(Oh, and feel free to share and solicit opinions from your banjo-playing or chick-magnetic friends.)

Why all these dudes wearin' brown flip-flops?

When I lived "in D.C." the most recent time, I actually lived in Arlington, one of the closer-in suburbs in Virginia.
In fact, my employer, which had "Washington" in the name, was also in Arlington.
Arlington is most famous nationally as the home to Arlington National Cemetery. But it is famous in the Capital Region for, well, all the stuff in this video, which has been sent to me by approximately 16 different people, as well as popping up on bunches of Facebook statuses.
Enjoy, friends.

Ivy update

(Previous ivy updates here)