The Easter Bunny

So I’m in the car with my mother and I mention to her that certain wingnuts believe there is now a War on Easter, inasmuch as some people in some places have referred (the horror!) to the Spring Bunny rather than the Easter Bunny.

So I said to Mom, “Before they can establish that this is anti-Christian, they have to explain what the bunny thing has to do with the Resurrection of Christ.”

And Mom said “That’s easy. Christ hopped onto the cross.”

“No, no!” says I, “He hopped out of the cave!”

“Hoppity hoppity” adds Mom.

Now my driving is in risk because I can’t stop giggling.

“Hoppity hoppity” she says.

Oh. My. Gods.

To call tonight’s experience a Date From Hell is to insult the actual Dates from Hell I’ve been on.

I looked nice. I didn’t put on makeup until just before I left the house so that it would still look fresh and not blotchy. I had on my magic Date Bra.™ I got a pedicure today. I smelled good.

This guy-thing-creature-person was smelly. Smelly. And unkempt. A front tooth appeared to be chipped. Slightly cleaner than a homeless person. I’d bet he could win a homeless guy beauty contest if he entered. And that’s as far as I can go.

And also? I’m a catch. Okay, fat. But if you like ’em large, I have everything you could possibly desire in womanly womanness. I’m smart. Accomplished. Stable. Own my own home. Funny. A good mom. And did I mention the smelling good? And I think I should be able to go out with guys who can meet me on more or less equal footing. I think there should be parity of catchfulness. I think creepy unemployed smelly guys who collect SSI because of mental disability and BLOW THEIR NOSES IN THEIR SHIRTS should not ask women like me out. Should. Not. Ask. Date within your own species, mofo.

Friday Kittenblogging: The All-Mingo Edition

Fanty is very cute. Very, very cute. But she’s jumpy. She’s our Fraidy Fanty. So if she’s doing something cute, and I go get the camera, it startles her and she runs away. Thereby making her damned hard to photograph.

Both cats love the shower. The drain is our friend.
If you turn it on, I'll be pissed.
» Read more..

Power breeds the love of power

The Founding Fathers knew. The Founding Fathers hated government, because they knew that power breeds the love of power. They’d have started another revolution over “Unitary Executive Powers,” over “signing statements,” over warrantless spying.

It’s not that power corrupts. I mean, power does corrupt, but that’s another story. It’s that power loves to keep power, just as wealth loves to keep wealth, just as bureaucracy loves to perpetuate bureaucracy.

Life seeks self-preservation. Not just individual life, but all things about which we might say ‘they take on a life of their own’: Communities, nations, causes, institutions. That which has a life seeks to preserve its own life. That’s the nature of things. Not wrong. Just is.

Institutions are founded for reasons, but soon their raison de etre is the preservation of the institution. This may or may not breed corruption, but the mission is lost. Part of why we stay in bad relationships, or dead-end jobs, or hold on to outmoded notions, is simply the self-sustaining urge we apply to each of these things.

So to be in power is to seek to preserve your own power. And the more power you have, the better able you are to do that, until at last you create tyranny. The Founding Fathers created checks and balances, gave primary power to Congress, designed a government that would kick the President in the ass if he went too far, because they foresaw this. They foresaw that to be powerful is to seek to steal power from others. In a word, they foresaw George W. Bush. That’s why they gave Congress the power to stop him (or at least slow him way down). All Congress has to do is act.

The War on Christians

There’s just so much good in this article (Shakespeare’s Sister gets the hat tip). I think this is the money quote:

“This is a skirmish over religious pluralism, and the inclination to see it as a war against Christianity strikes me as a spoiled-brat response by Christians who have always enjoyed the privileges of a majority position,” said the Rev. Robert M. Franklin, a minister in the Church of God in Christ and professor of social ethics at Emory University.

In fact, these people are so whiny and bratty that even a false alarm is out to get them:

Several attendees called the fire alarm suspicious, though a hotel spokesman said it resulted from a mechanical problem in a distant location.

Something should also be said about the viciously anti-Semitic Jews willing to say things like this:

Don Feder, founder of a group called Jews Against Anti-Christian Defamation, urged the crowd not to blame “the liberal, self-hating Jews in Hollywood.”

“Remember, the people in this audience are more Jewish than people like Barbra Streisand, because you embrace Jewish values, she doesn’t,” he said.

People like this make me sick, lap dogs to the Christian Right, willing to pander to people who condemn them.

Socket covers

The room is painted. Really looks good. I mean, for an empty room with a couple of pieces of furniture shoved into the middle it does.

You have no idea how much stuff is in a room until it all gets moved into the hall.

Now I have to figure out what to do about the socket covers. Paint them? Buy sorta matching ones? Decide not to give a fuck? Decisions, decisions.

Update on the Subgenius Custody Case

Jason has the skinny. Remember, humor is bad, satire is worse, and mothers shouldn’t indulge in either.

The Redecorating Project

Redecorating is just a roiling, festering crisis that ruins your life right up to the very minute it is a pleasure.

Arthur the Wonder Teen wanted his room redecorated. And this was reasonable; he still had the cool bunk beds he got when he was five. But figuring out how to redecorate, and putting the steps in the proper order, was like hell on wheels. And then there’s the execution. (An apt word, I begin to suspect.)

First pick out furniture. Then clean room such that furniture could be moved in. Then get rid of great huge honking bunk beds. Pick out paint colors. Then paint. Meanwhile, Grandma makes curtains. (Grandma, not for nothing, is a decorator, and has been the major force behind the furniture and color selection, bless her.) Then get furniture, assemble. Live happily ever after.

Let me explain about the great honking bunk beds. » Read more..

Question for Bloggers and Blog Readers

For Bloggers: Do you ration posts? If you have a really kickass day of writing, with like six or more posts, do you save some for light writing days (excepting those that are time-bound)? Do you have a rule about minimum and maximum posts per day?

For Readers: Do you have a maximum you’re going to read at a blog on a given day? If you visit a site and find ten new posts, will you read the top three and then move on? Contrarily, how long will you forgive a blog for light posting before giving up and moving out?

Monday Movie Review: Frankenstein Unbound

Frankenstein Unbound (1990) 6/10
In the 24th Century, a scientist (John Hurt) invents a weapon with the unfortunate side-effect of creating rips in the space-time continuum. Falling through one such rip, he lands in the 19th Century, where he meets Victor von Frankenstein (Raul Julia), his monster, and Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin (the future Mary Shelley—Bridget Fonda). Directed by cheese-master Roger Corman.

This is the sort of movie that is very hard to review. An objective rating is impossible, as one’s love of bad camp, high corn, and general silly antics must come into play. The movie combines some extremely pseudo-intellectual philosophizing with enthusiastically gruesome violence. The sex is, sadly, underemphasized in favor of the gore and Deep Meaning.

Personally, I prefer my cheesy movies with nipples.

None of the philosophizing makes all that much sense. Hurt makes a maddeningly unscientific scientist. He doesn’t care a damn bit about the repercussions of time travel, and never notices that every other scientist who has ever discussed the subject has been concerned with changing the future by introducing modern technology into the past. His character, Dr. Buchanan, is simply delighted to show anyone who’ll look his cool car, his cool watch, and even a printout of the book Mary Shelley has not yet finished. Having created a horrific phenomenon with his laser weapon, he has no apparent compunctions about using it again, even as it becomes more and more destructive to reality. All this while acknowledging that he, too, is a Frankenstein, having created his own monster. Maybe the point is that mad scientists love their monsters. Despite all the verbal rumination, they never got to that idea, but Raul Julia expresses it indirectly in a mad, look-at-my-crazy-eyes sort of way. Julia was cool.

Dr. Buchanan is incurious about the past, he just wants to have fun in it. He thinks it’s cool to meet people he’s read about, and he thinks he can save people from their errors (ignoring, again, the time paradox) simply by saying, quite forcefully, that he’s right. It’s amusing how John Hurt is so emphatically not an action hero. In scenes where he’s in a hurry, where Bruce or Arnie or Clint or Pierce would race like the wind, Hurt sort of gently trots, at a pace just enough above walking to convey he is concerned.

Buchanan’s characterization is problematic, the stupid enormous plot holes considerably less so. One doesn’t watch a movie like this because it is smart. Dumb would be great if the hero were not so much a dork.

But hey, Frankenstein Unbound has fun moments. You have to admire a movie that has the future Mary Shelley say “Byron and Shelley preach free love. I practice it” before getting the hero into bed. And my heavens he looks so happy afterwards! That is one fine post-coital moment. And any movie in which a monster rips off his own arm in order to beat someone with it has got to earn points for enthusiasm. Way to go! I don’t usually find “funny” gore funny, but come on, that’s a riot!