tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18327486443985838712024-03-13T06:32:24.745-04:00quidquid quidquidquodcumque volo facioquidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-12134482009724028842013-02-24T21:25:00.001-05:002013-02-24T21:26:29.799-05:00my celebrity rider<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/45162bd6-b3e4-4937-b86f-885af66a4e8d_zps0b9ff825.jpg"></center><br />
The other day, my work wife and muse Stephanie said the following essential sentence to me: "I would have the dopest celebrity rider." Those seven words were enough to finally snap me out of my months-long blog silence.<br />
<br />
As I'm sure you know, celebrities often send a list of requirements for their comfort to a venue prior to their appearance. You can browse a whole bunch of riders on <a href="http://www.thesmokinggun.com/backstage">The Smoking Gun</a> in case you're curious--and you should be. These things are amazing.<br />
<br />
The public visibility of riders started with Van Halen's famous request for <a href="http://www.thesmokinggun.com/backstage/hall-fame/van-halen-82">a bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones picked out</a>. It is said that these silly requests are meant to gauge how comptent and attentive the staff is at each venue. But then you learn that <a href="http://www.thesmokinggun.com/backstage/hall-fame/prince">Prince</a> requires a doctor on call to administer him a B12 shot, or that <a href="http://www.thesmokinggun.com/backstage/divas/barbra-streisand-0">Barbara Streisand</a> insists that each arena undergo a full K9 police team sweep before she'll enter, and it makes you wonder if celebrities really just want to savor the fruits of being rich, important, and a little insane.<br />
<br />
So, without further adieu, I bring to you my very own celebrity rider. Just in case any of you were planning to hire me for a speaking engagement or bat mitzvah or anything.<br />
<br />
<ul><li>3–4 ice sculptures of early classical period Greek warships filled with Alaskan maki rolls (hold the scallions)</li>
<li>large cut-crystal bowl filled with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dweebs_(candy)">Dweebs candy</a>. (These have not been available for purchase since approximately 1994 so plan ahead.)</li>
<li>brushed aluminum SubZero minifridge full of nothing but neat rows of Dom Perignon, Evian and Diet Dr. Pepper. Freezer should contain Oreo ice cream sandwiches, which KMJD will consume surreptitiously. Staff is forbidden to acknowledge these ice cream sandwiches nor look directly at KMJD while she is eating them.</li>
<li>black cashmere hoodie and black cashmere pajama pants, in size XL with tag cut out and replaced with M tag. Should be warm from dryer when KMJD arrives and accompanied by some kind of amusing plush novelty slipper in a ladies size 9.5.</li>
<li>assortment of artisanal hot pink wigs and locally produced headwear with animal ears. (ABSOLUTELY NO Mickey Mouse ears, as they make KMJD feel upset)</li>
<li>complete Baby-Sitters Club series (MUST include Super Specials, Mysteries optional, no Little Sister), shelved in numerical order, and author Ann M. Martin available on call to answer questions about Claudia’s outfits</li>
<li>basket of hypoallergenic designer puppies with red satin ribbons tied around their necks (at least one border collie is recommended)</li>
<li>two canaries (yellow or green, NOT orange) in a vintage wire cage that have been trained to sing the <i>Golden Girls</i> theme song and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDC88qw38yM">"Mardi Gras Mambo"</a></li>
<li>10-20 Calico Critters toys, new in package. See attached list for the ones KMJD thinks are weird; these should be avoided</li>
<li>all staff should be dressed in pink satin bomber jackets. See visual reference below. If pink satin bomber jackets of an appropriate quality cannot be located and personalized in time, sequined figure skating dresses are an acceptable substitute. Staff should also have > 1 inch visible roots. Body glitter recommended.</li>
</ul><br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/01f95429-78ca-4a2b-b157-851a80f41d0c_zps6724d746.jpg"></center><br />
<b>DISCUSSION QUESTION:</b> What would be on your rider?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-91504262563359768592012-10-30T19:15:00.001-04:002012-10-30T19:26:20.638-04:00The national treasures of Great Britain as ascertained by my twelve-year-old self<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
I am headed to the UK on Saturday to work out of my company’s Oxford office for a week. It has been 17 years since my first trip to England, but the impression the experience made upon me was indelible.<br />
<br />
What follows is a comprehensive list of the very best things about England as determined by my very wise twelve-year-old self, punctuated with photographs of me at a delightfully awkward moment in my adolescent development.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Benetton sweatshirts</b></u><br />
We arrived in London in June 1995, ready for a sunny summer week in Merrie Old England. Boy, were we surprised to discover that the high temperatures in London that week were barely going to reach the 50s Fahrenheit. Our Tennessee flipflops and tank tops suddenly seemed woefully inadequate. Possibly this was for the best.<br />
<br />
I proposed that we take advantage of the plush spa robes in our hotel for outerwear:<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/KatieTowel2.jpeg"></center><br />
But my mother did not think this was a tenable solution. So we had to make some purchases. Mama bought me a United Colors of Benetton sweatshirt, and by some miracle of the internet I have found a stock photo of the exact sweatshirt:<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/vintage_sweater_7363.jpg"></center><br />
And just like that, I fit right in in foggy Londontown.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Take That</b></u><br />
The only song in London that summer was “Back For Good” by Take That. It played on MTV Euro approximately a dozen times per hour. I became instantly obsessed. It was cold and rainy outside, and if I had had my druthers I would have spent the entire week ordering room service and watching Take That croon soulfully in a rainstorm on the TV installed above the bathtub in our hotel room.<br />
<br />
Hearing the opening notes of this song still gives me a pang. I was furious when the song became popular stateside a few months later and my own private England song became available for public consumption.<br />
<br />
<center><object width="450" height="253"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/N2ICtCO8TCw?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/N2ICtCO8TCw?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="450" height="253" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
<b><u>tiny cars</b></u><br />
We went to Lloyd’s of London headquarters to visit my uncle Larry, who was based out of NYC but who commuted to the UK regularly for work. We took a van so small that I probably could have reasonably brought it onboard my return flight to Nashville as a carry-on.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Lloyds.jpeg"></center><br />
<br />
<b><u>mango chutney</b></u><br />
I had my first proper Indian meal in London that week. My dad and I went for a special dinner, just the two of us.<br />
<br />
<img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/KatieDadu2.jpg"><br />
<br />
We were served fresh mango chutney. Our Middle American eyes had never seen such a condiment. We tried it--and we liked it. And then we talked about it for years to come. Mango chutney is still just about the fanciest thing to me.<br />
<br />
<img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/53858.jpg"><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Harrods</b></u><br />
Apparently Americans aren’t the only people who enjoy a giant department store. Harrods is like Walmart, if Walmart was REALLY fancy. Their motto is <i>Omnia Omnibus Ubique</i>, which is Latin for <i>Everything for Everyone Everywhere</i>. (Name another country where even the department stores have Latin mottoes.) While I appreciate the jaunty Latin (and you know I do), I would amend it to <i>Omnia Divitibus Ubique</i> or <i>Everything for Rich People Everywhere</i>. <br />
<br />
I begged and begged my mom to let me try the sushi at the famous Food Hall. She said I had to wait until we were back in Nashville where I could get to a doctor if I needed to. Sushi is dangerous business.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>wax sculptures</b></u><br />
I mean, we had to go to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madame_Tussauds">Madame Tussauds</a>. <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/KatieBeatles2.jpeg"><br />
<br />
<img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/MaSaddam.jpeg"><br />
<br />
<img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/KatieShakespeare3.jpeg"></center><br />
<br />
<b><u>scones</b></u><br />
A lot about English culture seemed really foreign to me, but they have one tradition that I found very easy to get on board with: afternoon tea. I truly don’t understand why Americans haven’t adopted this brilliant custom. Fancy snacks with tea? YES PLEASE. I had never had a scone before this trip. My family enjoyed afternoon tea so much that we had it every day we were in London. The waiter spoke with a heavy accent that has resulted in my family referring to to milk as “mik” for the last seventeen years. We are highly impressionable people.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8U1c5D5KTvc/TC0GY7LoacI/AAAAAAAAAGU/CML5OKJ5mm4/s1600/6a00e008dadb798834010536d1ea58970c-800wi.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
<b><u>stones of scones</b></u><br />
Enthusiastic as I was for afternoon tea, I was STOKED about going to see the <a href-"ttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stone_of_Scone">Stone of Scone</a>. Just imagine my disappointment.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://www.johnpratt.com/items/docs/lds/meridian/2003/images/chair.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
As you can see, I am pretty much an expert on England. That’s why I’m so looking forward to my glorious return. I have been promised a cream tea by my colleagues. I THINK THAT MEANS SCONES Y’ALL<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion question:</b><br />
Have you been to England?<br />
</div>quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-10296001612809395932012-09-19T21:45:00.001-04:002012-09-19T21:51:04.109-04:00Over vs. Overdue for a Comeback<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<center><object width="400" height="225"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2lTB1pIg1y0?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2lTB1pIg1y0?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="225" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
I am pleased to share with you my first Over/Overdue for a Comeback list. The Overdue for a Comeback component of my list has been a long time in the making. Coolio has been on this list since <i>1999</i>. It was with a heavy heart that I removed Whitney Houston from the list last fall.<br />
<br />
The Over list, however, is constantly changing. You can't step into the same Over list twice. Once something has been Over long enough, I'm too over it to even acknowledge it on the list. And once something is THAT Over, it's due to wind up on the Overdue for a Comeback list before too long anyway.<br />
<br />
I have painstakingly culled this list with the help of a highly discerning team of Internet experts. Thanks to those who helped me brainstorm.<br />
<br />
Without further adieu, I present to you:<br />
<br />
<b>OVER</b><br />
cupcakes*<br />
mustaches<br />
Talk Like a Pirate Day<br />
kombucha<br />
Keep Calm and Whatever Whatever<br />
neons with neutrals<br />
QR codes<br />
SomeECards<br />
Justin Timberlake (actor)<br />
fake wayfarers with neon arms<br />
bacon**<br />
<br />
<br />
*Eating cupcakes will never be over, I'm just over it as a <i>thing</i>. <br />
<br />
**Eating bacon will never be over. But can we please pick another tasty symbol of American decadence??<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>OVERDUE FOR A COMEBACK</b><br />
Coolio<br />
Debbie Gibson hats<br />
Caboodles*<br />
overalls<br />
side ponytails<br />
Planters Cheez Balls<br />
body glitter<br />
girl groups<br />
Justin Timberlake (singer)<br />
cottage cheese**<br />
chokers<br />
<br />
*<a href="http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/business/2012/09/caboodles-brings-back-vintage-1987-case/">Apparently I was not alone on this one</a><br />
<br />
**I know you're scoffing, but who could have predicted the recent meteoric rise of Greek yogurt?<br />
<br />
So if anyone needs me, I'll be listening to "Fantastic Voyage" and trying to figure out how to fit my Debbie Gibson hat over my side ponytail.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/DebbieGibson_zps1bec920a.jpg"></center><br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b> What's Over and what's Overdue for a Comeback in your part of the world?<br />
<br />
</div>quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-59729201920983053592012-06-05T11:33:00.002-04:002012-06-05T11:33:37.921-04:00The Texas Two-Step: Step Two<center><object width="420" height="315"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5EcHjq1W8v4?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5EcHjq1W8v4?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
As promised, today I bring to you Part 2 of the bizarre story of caucusing for Obama at the Texas Democratic primary in 2008. If you like rodeos, then you’re in the right place, padnah.<br />
<br />
<center><b>THE TEXAS TWO-STEP<br />
STEP TWO</b><br />
<i>Originally written in March 2008</i></center><br />
<br />
On Saturday morning, I awoke at 4:45 with only one thought in my mind: BARACK. It was time to get up and <b>Barack the vote</b> at the Travis County Democratic Convention.<br />
<br />
You might remember that Nick and I were selected as alternate delegates from our precinct to the county convention. We got a phone call a couple of weeks ago letting us know that we had been <b>promoted to full delegate status</b> and that we would need to meet up with the other 66 Barack delegates from our precinct at 6:15am at the HEB. Woohoo! We can sleep when we're dead.<br />
<br />
We met our fellow dazed delegates and caught a ride to the Travis County Expo center with a nice couple. The wife turned out to be a freelance copyeditor for UT Press -- SMALL WORLD. We were about a mile away from the expo center when traffic came to a dead stand-still. It took us nearly 45 minutes to make our way up to the expo center, where two traffic attendants were taking their time collecting $5 from each car for parking. Talk about a <b>barrier to voting!</b><br />
<br />
We made it up to the south side of the expo center and discovered multiple lines snaking through the parking line, and numerous people roaming around with hand-made signs with precinct numbers on them. We eventually ascertained that we needed to check in with our precinct leader, get our alternate credentials in long line #1, and then proceed to long line #2 to get our delegate credentials. We knew that we had to be signed in by 10am for our vote to count. From 7:30 to 9:55am, we dutifully stood in our lines and chatted with the folks around us. At 9:55, after much pushing and shoving and elbow-throwing, Nick and I finally clawed our way to the front of the line to sign in for Obama. We cheered triumphantly and smugly looked around at all of the poor chumps who would not be able to sign in. That is, until we saw a hand-written sign proclaiming that <b>sign-in had been extended indefinitely.</b> Gulp.<br />
<br />
We knew that we would be waiting until all of the thousands of signatures were hand-tallied, so we decided to walk down the road a mile or so to the closest sign of humanity -- a Conoco gas station. Nick and I set off with Jessi, a friendly girl from our precinct, and picked our way down to the main road and down to the gas station. The traffic situation had evidently become untenable, and the main road, as well as the road leading to the expo center, was littered with abandoned cars. It was <b>like a zombie movie, or the Rapture</b> -- eerie quiet, dozens of empty cars, and confused-looking people wandering around the barren landscape. We reached the Conoco station and bought taquitos and danced to reggaton coming from cars in the parking lot. We were realizing just how much time we were going to have to kill.<br />
<br />
We made it back to the expo center a little before noon to begin the <b>Afternoon of Waiting</b>. We sprawled in the lawn in front of the expo center, we napped in the grass, we tossed rocks into holes and shredded blades of grass. It was a lot like this:<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/bored.gif"></center><br />
<br />
Eventually we went inside to begin several hours of Buddhist-style sitting meditation.<br />
<br />
The expo center is huge and well-suited for rodeos. But on Saturday, we were <b>herdin' Democrats</b>. The bleachers and chairs on the expo floor were divided up by precinct, and we dutifully took our place with our precinct on the floor. The day's entertainment was an endless parade of local politicians who all gave variations on the same speech: "Is today a great day to be a Democrat in Texas, or what???? WOOOOOOOOOOO!!! We gotta get those Republicans out of office! WOOOOOOOOOOOO." As you might imagine, we began to crave the brief moments of silence between speeches. I entertained myself by watching the sign language interpreter, who signed with such emotion and gusto that I could have understood most of the speeches with earplugs in.<br />
<br />
Every so often, someone would assure us that we were mere moments from getting started with our caucus . We knew better. The crowd became restless. The food was expensive and inadequate; it was extremely hot and noisy inside the giant expo center; the lights were all blue generator lights that gave everything a sickly pallor and seemed to give everyone the same headache; the feedback from the microphone created an <b>intense constant background throbbing that must be akin to the sound of being inside a womb</b>. A woman passed out. Someone started the wave and it traveled around and around the expo center, gaining intensity. People would half-heartedly start chants: O-BA-MA versus HIL-LA-RY or just <b>Sí se puede! Sí se puede!</b> By far the highlight of the day was a frazzled father, who approached the podium clutching a screaming baby. <b>"If anyone has Huggies size 3 diapers, please--please approach the podium.</b> Thank you." He was mobbed by concerned-looking woman with diaperbags. Someone snapped a photo of him with his new stack of diapers and still-screaming baby.<br />
<br />
Finally, around 5:30, things started happening and we actually conducted our caucus. What anti-climax! We were handed post-it notes by our precinct captain and instructed that we would vote when she held up a clipboard with our number. They predetermined our votes to maximize the number of delegates we got...or something. Basically, we were good little ducklings and we raised our hands when the nice lady told us to.<br />
<br />
And then...that was it. We were free! The folks who drove us over decided to stay until the bitter end and sign up to be at-large delegates. We didn't know what that meant and we did not care to stick around to find out. I grabbed literally the next person who walked by who was wearing our precinct teeshirt and begged a ride back to town from her. We ended up piling 5 deep in the cab of a pick-up with two seats. On the way home, we rolled down the windows and shouted platitudes to other Obama folks. We also bypassed approximately two miles of cars lined up patiently, waiting to turn right, and at the last minute cut in front of a lagging car. I had spent all day hating the people who were cutting in line ahead of me, but I was so thankful that the stranger driving the truck decided to be a jerk. All the sooner to come home and collapse in exhaustion.<br />
<br />
<i>--31 March 2008, Austin, Texas</i><br />
<br />
And that, my friends, is how I helped get Obama elected: by shredding blades of grass outside of a rodeo arena in Texas for twelve hours. I suppose there are many ways to get something like that accomplished. Sí se puede, y'all!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b><br />
What’s your favorite way to get involved in the political process?<br />
quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-36030660625481825812012-06-04T15:15:00.001-04:002012-06-04T21:55:11.708-04:00The Texas Two-Step Primary: Nominating a Presidential Candidate the Crazy Way<center><object width="420" height="315"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dKjctDvF0e8?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dKjctDvF0e8?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
Last week, Texas held their <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas_Republican_primary,_2012>2012 primary</a> for the Republican presidential candidate. I don’t think much of anyone noticed, since Mitt has got the nomination on lock.<br />
<br />
In <a href=” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas_Democratic_primary_and_caucuses,_2008
“>2008</a>, the primary situation in Texas was very different. Obama and Hillary Clinton were in the midst of a fierce battle for the nomination, and the large number of delegates out of Texas meant that the Lone Star State became the focus of much attention from both candidates. If you were a Democrat, it was an amazing time to live in Austin. I got to see both Barry O. and Hill speak live at a rally following one of the debates, and I even got to see Bill Clinton give a stump speech from the back of a pickup truck in the parking lot of the Clinton campaign headquarters. Should I have given into my considerable desire to throw my panties at any of the three of them, I was close enough to hit them easily. It was a magical time.<br />
<br />
But the most exciting part of the whole election was the primary. If you ain’t never done the Texas Two-Step, then boy, you don’t know how we do things in a democratic republic. Please enjoy this piece I originally wrote in 2008 about the strange little process we call the<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/horiz_2step.jpg"></center><br />
<center><b>TEXAS TWO-STEP</b><br />
<i>originally written in March 2008</i></center><br />
<br />
In Texas, for some reason, everyone gets <b>two votes</b> in the Democratic primary. Once you vote in the primary, you are eligible to vote in the caucus as well. The primary accounts for 2/3 of the vote, and the caucus for 1/3. Here's how it works: <br />
<br />
-Each precinct gets a set number of delegates.<br />
-After the primaries close, voters are invited to return to their voting place and sign their name on a sheet of paper in support of their presidential candidate.<br />
-After everyone has signed their names, each party selects three supporters of each candidate to conduct independent counts of the signatures.<br />
-While the count is being conducted, the precinct votes on resolutions sent in by members of the community to send on to the Texas state legislature.<br />
-Once the signatures are counted, the precinct delegates are assigned in proportion to the number of signatures for each candidate.<br />
-Then supporters of each candidate organize and assign one person to fill each delegate slot assigned to their candidate, and then one alternate for each delegate. Each delegate must come to a day-long convention later in the month to cast their votes.<br />
<br />
<br />
So Nick and I set off last night on our bikes to our voting place, an elementary school about a mile away. Nick's friend Tyler texted him that the lines would be long and we should bring a book. We took heed and stopped and got <b>Goldfish crackers and M&Ms in lieu of an actual dinner</b>. We got there and found that the voting line still stretched out the door and down the sidewalk, and that the caucus line was already about 100 people deep.<br />
<br />
We took our place and noticed that behind us, instead of lining up into the parking lot, the line was <b>creeping out into the street.</b> There were families with strollers standing in the middle of the road! I called out that maybe it would make some sense to run the line into the parking lot. Everyone moved, and it's a good thing -- another 400+ people showed up for a total <b>over 500 in our little precinct!</b> For comparison, only 35 showed up to the 2004 presidential caucus.<br />
<br />
We stood in line for <b>2.5 hours</b>. It was chilly and we were hungry but we made friends with the folks around us line. We looked at constellations and talked about politics and really managed to have a lot of fun with our neighbors. About an hour in, some fellow pulled out of the parking lot across the street too fast and <b>smashed into a Volkswagen</b> that was sort of hanging out into the driveway. He smoked a cigarette, paced around, talked on the phone, and then left. About half an hour later, the owner of the Volkswagen came out, gave the car a quick look, and drove away. It was pretty wtf because the car looked like it was smashed up pretty bad. <br />
<br />
We finally got inside and signed our names and were turning to leave when I spotted Lyric, my favorite student from my TAship with Doug Parker. She cried out, "Katie! <b>You can't leave!</b> Our precinct gets 90 delegates [one of the highest numbers in the county] and we have to have at least 180 people here to be delegates and alternates!" Nick and I sighed, looked at our watches (9:45pm now), and turned back around and went inside.<br />
<br />
There were clearly less than 180 people sitting in the small elementary school auditorium. There was a tiny old TV playing MSNBC, flashing maps of the state of Texas flashing <b><i>TOO CLOSE TO CALL, TOO CLOSE TO CALL.</b></i> The Hillary supporters gathered in the back corner of the room and the Obama supporters took over the rest of the auditorium, as we were the majority by 3:1. We had to nominate someone to conduct the caucus, a caucus secretary, and a speaker, as well as three counters from each camp to count the signatures. This, as you can imagine, in a room full of people <b>only vaguely familiar with parliamentary procedure</b>, took a considerable amount of time. We sent them off to count signatures and settled in to vote on the 40 precinct resolutions on the table.<br />
<br />
In the course of an hour and a half or so, our precinct voted to <b>send resolutions to the State of Texas legislature</b> to:<br />
<br />
-<b>decriminalize marijuana</b>/stop the war on drugs<br />
-<b>pull out of Iraq</b> by the end of 2009<br />
-support a national rail system and make public transportation and walkability a top priority<br />
-to give all state employees the same percentage raise and to adjust the figures for inflation<br />
-to <b>make discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation illegal</b><br />
<br />
…and several other things I can't remember. The proceedings were so informal and only loosely followed parliamentary procedure. There was a lot of yelling and laughing and I basically <b>could not believe it was an official government proceeding.</b> We got a lot accomplished, but we did it with all of the parliamentary acumen of this golden retriever:<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/i_have_no_idea_what_im_doing_meme_640_07.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
We didn't even get halfway through the resolutions before our counters came back with the results. We needed 68 delegates for Obama and 22 for Hill. We split up and for whatever reason it took over half an hour get everything settled and get Nick and I signed up to be alternate delegates. It looks like our precinct is going to be fine for both candidates in terms of delegates -- the Obama campaign already had a number of people lined up who had to go home before 11:30pm when they finally started electing delegates. IMAGINE THAT!<br />
<br />
Nick and I left after that. I imagine a couple of die-hards stuck around to finish out the resolutions.<br />
<br />
anyway, 4.5 hours later, this was the <b>most exciting, most hands-on exercise of my democratic rights</b> that I have ever experienced as an American. so exciting! <br />
<br />
<i>--5 March 2008, Austin, TX</i><br />
<br />
<br />
It's not over yet, folks! What do rodeo arenas, taquitos, and size 3 Huggies have to do with Obama’s winning presidential campaign in 2008? Check back later this week to read about mine and Nick’s experience serving as precinct delegates for our county caucus to find out.<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b><br />
Discuss a time you exercised your rights.<br />quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-6357927862308238832012-05-13T10:33:00.000-04:002012-05-13T19:25:03.980-04:00Ways to make $$$ on the Internet--some excellent, some stupid--by the woman who has tried them allI recently passed the dubious milestone of having made <b>$500</b> on the internet over the last few years, so I figured it was high time I collate all of my knowledge on the subject into one handy blog post for y'all.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/gifs/07c845c9c76c.gif"></center><br />
<br />
There are a lot of ways to make a little cash on the internet. Some are amazing. Some are dumb. Let me help you sort the wheat from the chaff. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b><big><center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/ebates-money-man1.gif"><br />
<a href="http://www.ebates.com/rf.do?referrerid=7kw5Vy2L6Wu%2FOtazE8TYeQ%3D%3D">EBATES</a></b></big></center><br />
<br />
If I could recommend but a single website for making a little money on the internet, it would be Ebates. Ebates offers cash back (right into your PayPal account!) at practically every online retailer you can think of. I've gotten <b>$62.05</b> through Ebates in the last year with virtually no effort. If that's not enough, you get a free $10 gift card (I picked Target) after you make your first purchase. There is literally no reason you should not use this for online shopping! If you stack your cash back with a coupon code (I love <a href="http://www.retailmenot.com/">retailmenot</a> for coupon codes), you can ridiculous deals. If you decide to sign up, use my <a href="http://www.ebates.com/rf.do?referrerid=7kw5Vy2L6Wu%2FOtazE8TYeQ%3D%3D">referral code</a> and I'll get a little kickback.<br />
<br />
TOTAL I'VE MADE: <b>$72.05</b> ($62.05 cash and $10 gc) since 2011<br />
QUIDQUID RATING: <b>A++: MANDATORY FOR ONLINE SHOPPERS</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><big><center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/swag-logo.jpg"><br />
<a href="http://www.swagbucks.com/refer/quidquidquidquid">SWAGBUCKS</a></b></big></center><br />
<br />
Swagbucks is a strange, addictive little site that offers a zillion different ways to earn Swagbucks, which are redeemable for gift cards and trinkets and other stuff. For some reason the prevailing wisdom on this site seems to be that the $5 Amazon gift cards are the best value. I guess that's why I've gotten <b>$220</b> worth of them in the last couple of years. You can earn Swagbucks by searching through their search engine, watching videos, taking polls, doing tasks, etc etc etc. They also give Swagbucks away via codes posted on their blog, Twitter, and Facebook. Sign up for this awesome <a href="http://groups.google.com/group/shoppingfrugal">email group</a> to get email alerts when there are Swagcodes to be found. If you decide to sign up, use my <a href="http://www.swagbucks.com/refer/quidquidquidquid">referral code</a> and I'll get a few extra Swagbucks.<br />
<br />
TOTAL I'VE MADE: <b>$220 in Amazon gift cards</b> since 2010<br />
QUIDQUID RATING: <b>B+: GREAT PAYOUT BUT OPTIONS CAN BE OVERWHELMING</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><big><center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/wrapp-logo.png"><br />
<a href="http://www.wrapp.com">WRAPP</a></b></big></center><br />
<br />
This crazy little app allows you to send free gift cards to friends. I've been sending out free $5 Sephora, H+M, Threadless, and GAP gift cards to my pals all week, so you'd better believe I've gotten some back. I literally do not understand how this is free. Y'all better jump on this before these people bankrupt themselves.<br />
<br />
TOTAL I'VE MADE: <b>$30 in various gift cards</b> just this week alone<br />
QUIDQUID RATING: <b>A+: LIKE TAKING CANDY FROM A BABY</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><big><center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/lv_01_m1a_upromise.jpg"><br />
<a href="http://www.upromise.com">UPROMISE</a></b></big></center><br />
<br />
Upromise is a neat site that gives cash back for groceries, travel, online shopping, and all kinds of other neat stuff. You just enter your store loyalty cards, and if you choose your credit cards, and you'll get a percentage back on some items. The money goes into a college savings fund, but you can get the money out at any time. I've made <b>$141.92</b> over the last 10 years doing absolutely nothing. And hey! I've got a leg up on my future kids' college funds.<br />
<br />
TOTAL I'VE MADE: <b>$141.92</b> since 2003<br />
QUIDQUID RATING: <b>B-: I MEAN WHY NOT?</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><big><center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/inbox-dollars-300x65.png"><br />
<a href="http://www.inboxdollars.com/?r=ref3555112">INBOX DOLLARS</a></b></big></center><br />
<br />
I signed up for InboxDollars a few years back when I was really hard up for cash. They have a few different ways of earning, like polls and special offers (like Netflix free trials), but the main event is the paid emails--you get 2 cents for clicking a link in an email. Yes, I said 2 cents. Once you get to $35, they'll send you a check.<br />
<br />
Y'all, don't do this. That's like 1750 emails you have to open to get $35. I can't quit this stupid site. After I finally got to $35, they gave me like a $10 bonus, which sucked me back into trying to get to $35 again. WHYYYY. Every time I try to delete my account, I see my balance (now at $18.25) taunting me. If you care to join me in this torture, at least use my <a href="http://www.inboxdollars.com/?r=ref3555112">referral code</a>.<br />
<br />
TOTAL I'VE MADE: <b>$53.25</b> since 2007<br />
QUIDQUID RATING: <b>F--: WHY GOD WHY</b><br />
<br />
<br />
I also can't forget gems like <a href="http://www.groupon.com/r/uu376129">Groupon</a>, which has given me several hundred dollars in credit for referring friends (and in turn a boatload of free goods and services); <a href="http://www.foodler.com/ref/661f749/MA/Boston.html">Foodler</a>, which gives nice, fat rewards for ordering takeout; and <a href="https://www.thelevelup.com/">LevelUp</a>, an app that allows you to pay at certain businesses using your phone and gives you rewards for doing so. Paying for stuff with my phone makes me feel like a wizard, and it has saved me $18 so far at my favorite lunch spot. (If you sign up for LevelUp, use my referral code 66221.)<br />
<br />
Thanks for all the money, internet!<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question</b>:<br />
What's your favorite way to make a little $$ on the internet?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-60125633468371906892012-03-14T20:06:00.000-04:002012-03-20T20:04:44.520-04:00I don't care that you know the difference between "your" and "you're."I'm an editor for a living, so people love to send stuff like this to me.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/tumblr_lzq3yt3bVR1qz6z0no1_500.jpg"><br />
<i>comic from <a href="http://thegrammarnazi.tumblr.com/">this dumb tumblr</a></i></center><br />
<br />
And I generally give a kind little laugh, because I understand why they'd think I'd like it, but here's what I'm thinking: <i>This is dumb.</i><br />
<br />
When it comes to language, you're either a <b>linguistic descriptivist</b> or a <b>linguistic prescriptivist</b>. Lots of people have described this distinction better than I'm about to (such as this brief and brilliant <a href="http://www.lsadc.org/info/ling-fields-prescrip.cfm">manifesto</a> from the Linguistic Society of America), but basically, <i>De</i>scriptivists seek to describe how a given language <i>is</i>. <i>Pre</i>scriptivists seek to describe how a given language <i>should</i> be. If you're a self-described "grammar nazi" (and by the way, <i>ew</i> at that name too), then you're a prescriptivist.<br />
<br />
I'm not a linguist. But I have studied a lot of languages, mostly ancient ones, so I do know this much. They say you can't step in the same river twice. Language is the same way. It is a breathing, evolving, crazy thing that is created by the people who use it. What's unthinkable today is standard tomorrow. Did you really ever think we'd start saying <b>'blog</b>, short for <b>WEBLOG</b>?? I, for one, did not.<br />
<br />
Linguistic prescriptivism is like trying to catch a falling star. It's futile.<br />
<br />
But more than that, it has some pretty classist and even racist implications.<br />
<br />
To say that some language is right and some is wrong is to make a value judgement. Many people who use "nonstandard" language were brought up speaking dialects. Some language features are divided along regional lines. But some are divided along class and cultural lines. These dialects and language features are often derided as having "no grammar" or "bad grammar," when in fact they have distinct, legitimate, and well-documented grammars all their own. They're just different than what is considered to be standard. <br />
<br />
In some cases, they even address gaps in the "standard" language. Consider <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_American_English">Southern American</a> <i>y'all</i>, and <i>yous</i>, which is heard among working-class northeastern Americans. They created a second-person plural where standard English lacks a distinction between the singular and plural.<br />
<br />
Growing up in Tennessee, I grew up immersed in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_American_English">Southern American English</a>, which I heard to a greater or lesser extent from most of the people in my life (with the notable exception of my Midwestern father). There is no greater punching bag among American dialects than my native one. Writers love to give a stupid character a deep drawl. Laughs at the overdone accents of Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel and Kenneth Parcell are, in some ways, at <i>our</i> expense.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/il_fullxfull208664663.jpg"><br />
<i>buy this amazing wall decor on <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/78225389/hey-yall-sign-southern-slang-home-decor">Etsy</a> if you're so inclined</i></center><br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, I beg the "grammar nazis" around me to consider how they came to know the difference between <i>who</i> and <i>whom</i>. They were fortunate to be educated in those differences. Not everyone has had the same opportunities. And if anyone would care to retort that these skills are taught in elementary school, which is compulsory in the US, I would invite those people to spend a morning in, say, an underprivileged New Orleans public school 3rd grade grammar class on an empty stomach. Just the fact that most people attend elementary school in the US does not mean that we are all afforded the same opportunities.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But...I'm an editor. How do I reconcile my heartfelt feelings about language prescriptivism vs. language descriptivism with my profession? Why on Earth would a person with such touchy-feely ideas about language ever ever ever want to wield a red pen and a Chicago Manual of Style for a living?<br />
<br />
I love language. I'm a perfectionist. And my whole life, I have really excelled at making text conform to a given style. Linguistic descriptivists generally agree that there is a value to a measure of standardization to mass communications. Keeping mass-consumed informational texts fairly standardized allows us precision of language where it is needed. So I run a tight ship when it comes to grammar, syntax, spelling, and style in my books. But I do so with the full acknowledgement that <i>my</i> way is not the <i>only</i> way.<br />
<br />
And that's why I think groups like <a href="https://www.facebook.com/search/results.php?q=their+they%27re+there&init=quick&tas=0.7019645379141338">this</a> are unimpressive and silly.<br />
<br />
So go forth and write however y'all damn well please.<br />
<br />
Oh, and if you're interested in hearing what someone much more intelligent and interesting than me has to say about this issue, read David Foster Wallace's <a href="http://instruct.westvalley.edu/lafave/DFW_present_tense.html">amazing article</a> "Tense Present: Democracy, English, and the Wars over Usage." (High five pal Julia for that totally apt link.)<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion question:</b><br />
What is your favorite non-standard English word or expression?<br />quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-5672285873661215162012-02-09T13:56:00.000-05:002012-03-20T20:05:16.247-04:00Ways I would die in the Hunger Games<center><object width="400" height="233"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kij2kzRC_YA?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kij2kzRC_YA?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="233" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
I just read <i>The Hunger Games</i> for the first time, and despite the fact that I longed to edit nearly every page of it, I really enjoyed reading it. But I couldn't help but think as I read it what a terrible contestant I would be in a fight to the death.<br />
<br />
For this reason, I present to you<br />
<br />
<b><big><center>TEN WAYS I WOULD DIE IN THE HUNGER GAMES</center></b></big><br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/TheHungerGamesMockingjay.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
-Shot with blowdart while running for pink backpack with Hello Kitty decal at Cornucopia<br />
<br />
-Knocked over head with rock when given away by aroma of shrimp and grits cooking over fire<br />
<br />
-Speared while tucked into a tree writing a poem about my feelings<br />
<br />
-Beaten to death when neon pink Doc Martens prove to be ineffective camouflage<br />
<br />
-Bled out after shooting self in leg with crossbow sent by well-meaning fans<br />
<br />
-Mauled in hand-to-hand combat with a groosling<br />
<br />
-Gangrene from Bedazzler injury stemming from attempt to to sass up my uniform<br />
<br />
-Poisoned by what appeared to be a wild katniss but was in fact a discarded tennis shoe<br />
<br />
-Tried to make friends with especially cute tracker jacker<br />
<br />
-Collapsed into immobile, sobbing heap the moment the games begin; dog-piled by other tributes<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b><br />
How would you die in the Hunger Games?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-70845336150947100992012-02-08T22:09:00.000-05:002012-03-20T20:06:12.942-04:00Things I think you should do in the French Quarter<center><object width="420" height="315"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/oXDzhPM8nJk?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/oXDzhPM8nJk?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
<br />
Once again, I have been lured away from the YA I'm writing right now and back to ma blog to address a request. It seems that a number of my dear friends are visiting New Orleans this fall and need suggestions for things to do. Well. WELL.<br />
<br />
Anyone lucky enough to be heading to New Orleans for the Mardi Gras can go armed with the sage knowledge I provided in my <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/02/dos-and-donts-of-mardi-gras.html">Mardi Gras Do's and Don'ts</a> post, but what about folks heading to the Big Easy for the other forty-someodd weeks of the year? Don't worry. I've got y'all's backs with some hot picks from a former NOLA resident.<br />
<br />
The French Quarter is only six blocks by thirteen blocks, but most people have a hard time remembering to go anywhere else when they come to New Orleans. There's just so much to do! French Quarter residents have reported to me that they've literally gone six months without leaving the bounds of the Quarter. So without further ado, I present to you:<br />
<br />
<big><bold><center>QuidQuid's French Quarter Picks</big></bold></center><br />
<br />
<center>FANCY FOOD</center><br />
<br />
My pick: <b><a href="http://www.galatoires.com/">Galatoire's Restaurant</a></b><br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/6036076371_3954d12d07.jpg"><br />
<i>photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jussissippi/">jussissipi</a>'s flickr</i></center><br />
<br />
You have to eat some French Creole food while you're in New Orleans. You just have to.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because it's the first place I ever ate in New Orleans, I don't know. There are a lot of fancy historical French Creole restaurants in the French Quarter--<a href="http://www.antoines.com/">Antoine's</a>, <a href="http://www.broussards.com/">Broussard's</a>, <a href="http://www.tujaguesrestaurant.com/">Tujaque's</a>--but Galatoire's is the spot as far as I'm concerned. This is French Creole cuisine at its finest. I'd recommend something on the menu, but why bother? Chicken Clemenceau? Poisson Meunière Amandine? Close your eyes and point at one. It's all incredible. <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/IMG_5320.jpg"><br />
<i>I don't even know what this is and I'd eat it</i></center><br />
<br />
It's expensive, but hey, this is the Fancy Food section! It doesn't' matter how much you spend, anyway. You will walk out of that place feeling like you should probably just Lieutenant Dan it into the Mississip' out of pure prandial delight. Just don't forget to have a cup of the turtle soup au sherry before you go.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>NONFANCY FOOD</center><br />
<br />
My pick: <b><a href="http://www.vertimartemenu.com/">Verdi Marte</a></b><br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/278767922_8b279459a6.jpg"><br />
<i>photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/melinnis/">melinnis</a>'s flickr</i></center><br />
<br />
Sandwiches are a very important part of New Orleans cuisine. You've got your <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muffuletta">muffulettas</a>, of course, which can only be purchased at <a href="http://www.centralgroceryneworleans.com/">Central Grocery</a>. If you need a burger, you head to <a href="http://portofcallnola.com/">Port of Call</a>. But far and away the most important sandwich in NOLA is the po boy. It's a sub sandwich done as only New Orleans can do it--on halved French bread with incredible fillings like fried shrimp, roast beef, or even french fries.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/photo7.jpg"><br />
<i>photo credit: <a href="<http://ryan.boren.me/2011/03/16/verti-marte-sandwiches/">Ryan Boren</a></i></center><br />
<br />
If you need a po boy--and believe me, you need a po boy--you need to take yourself to Verdi Marte. You're going to get there and say <i>Are you kidding me?</i> but trust me. This is the best fast food in the city. It <a href="http://www.nola.com/news/index.ssf/2010/05/pre-dawn_fire_shutters_landmar.html">burned down</a> a couple of years ago, but it's cool--Verdi Marte is back and better than ever. So go get you some.<br />
<br />
You should probably also have breakfast at <a href="http://www.mothersrestaurant.net/">Mother's</a> on Poydras (just outside the Quarter), lunch at <a href="http://angelirestaurant.webs.com/">Angeli on Decatur</a>, and cafe au lait and beignets at <a href="http://www.cafedumonde.com/">Cafe du Monde</a> across from Jackson Square. You're going to need to eat a lot while you're there.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>JAZZ CLUBS</center><br />
<br />
My pick: <b><a href="http://snugjazz.com/site/music.htm">Snug Harbor</a></b><br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/SnugHarbor.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
Sort of like you're going to need to eat a po boy, you're also going to need to see some jazz. Even if you think you hate jazz. Trust me. There's nothing quite like sipping a cocktail and listening to a little bit of jazz in the midst of your crazy New Orleans night.<br />
<br />
The best jazz bar ever ever ever was Funky Butt, which, unfortunately, never reopened after Hurricane Katrina. It was dark and full of couches and shadowy nooks, the music was always hot, and the bartender Wheaties knew how to keep a glass full of Funky Butt Juice. Funky Butt was my go-to French Quarter hotspot. New Orleans perfection. RIP.<br />
<br />
With Funky Butt dead and gone, I must send you all instead to a very different establishment: Snug Harbor. Snug, along with <a href="http://www.spottedcatmusicclub.com/">The Spotted Cat</a>, is on Frenchman Street, which means its actually just outside the French Quarter in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faubourg_Marigny">Faubourg Marigny</a>. But trust me, it's still the place to go. While four hundred tourists try to climb into <a href="http://preservationhall.com/">Preservation Hall</a>, you'll be up on the second floor with plenty of elbow room and a bird's eye view of the best jazz musicians in New Orleans. Charmaine Neville plays here on MONDAY nights, if that gives you any idea. Just look at this <a href="http://www.snugjazz.com/calendar/index.php">schedule</a>. Definitely worth checking out any night of the week.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>BARS</center><br />
<br />
My pick: Chart Room (300 Chartres St)<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/DSC06296.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
If you are looking for a bar in the French Quarter, my friend, you are in the right place. You can't swing a whatever in New Orleans without hitting a bar.<br />
<br />
First up, you have to walk down Bourbon Street and see what's up. Marvel at the flashing lights and all the drunk people. It's like an R-rated Disney World. If you want to party where your loved ones can keep tabs on you, go to <a href="http://catskaraoke.com/">Cat's Meow</a>, which has a live streaming webcam of the karaoke stage. Take advantage of the lack of open-container liquor laws: buy a daiquiri or a hurricane at an open-air bar and then just walk back out with it to the street. I once--and this is 100% true--bought a frozen daiquiri in New Orleans so large that it came with a commemorative plastic tub and <i>neck strap</i> because it was too heavy to carry unassisted when full.<br />
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But when you're done with all that mess, check out one of the more chill bars. <a href="http://www.lafittesblacksmithshop.com/Homepage.html">Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop Bar</a> is (arguably) the oldest bar in the US. Hookah Cafe on Frenchman is now <a href="http://hookah-club.com/">The Hookah</a> on Decatur, but I bet it is still an excellent place to smoke hookah and get your drink on. I really adore Chart Room, a small rowdy bar on Chartres I love going to with my pal Karen. It's straight up French Quarter--open to the sidewalk, big beautiful bar, cheap drinks. It's an old familiar favorite.<br />
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<center>THINGS TO DO</center><br />
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Food and drinking is enough to keep a person entertained in the French Quarter pretty much indefinitely, but I guess if you get bored with that somehow, you could...<br />
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<b>Go shopping!</b> Hit the <a href="http://www.frenchmarket.org/">French Market</a>, or the antique stores on Royal Street. Be sure to stop by <a href="http://www.fleurtygirl.net/">Fleurty Girl</a>--I love their shop on Oak Street Uptown, and I bet their new Quarter shop is amazing too! If you're going to buy any souvenirs, do it at Fleurty Girl and support a very cool local business.<br />
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<b>Get pierced!</b> <a href="http://ringsofdesire.com/">Rings of Desire</a> might just be the best piercing parlor in the country. Elayne Angel, the master piercer, has pierced over 40,000 people. She has hands so gentle a person can barely feel a thing. And she's trained a whole team of amazing piercers to give the same kind of care. These people specialize in serious piercings, and they're they only people on Earth I'd ever trust to pierce my goodies with metal if I ever decided to go that route. Just don't try to do it drunk--they will not go near you if you are.<br />
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<b>Go to high tea!</b> After you get your goodies pierced, head over to the <a href="http://ritzcarlton.com/en/Properties/NewOrleans/Default.htm">Ritz-Carlton</a> for high tea. I can't explain it, but there is something really fun about doing something so proper in the City That Care Forgot.<br />
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Have fun!!!!<br />
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<center><img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y141/katherinemorrow/sparkles.gif"><center><br />
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<b>Discussion Question</b>: What's the most fun you've ever had in the French Quarter?<br />
quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-21766002139472774132011-12-13T20:02:00.000-05:002012-03-20T20:07:17.855-04:00Sketchy Academic Functions: A story about Karl Rove, my big rack, and a fellowship I didn't getThis is something I've needed to write about for a long time.<br />
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I just read <a href="http://jezebel.com/5867298/female-philosophers-object-to-sketchy-job+interview-parties">an article on Jezebel</a> about <a href="http://beingawomaninphilosophy.wordpress.com/2011/11/15/the-smoker-what-are-we-as-a-profession-thinking/">this blog post</a> about sketchy job interview parties at the American Philosophical Association meeting, and it is hitting so close to home that I am taking a break from doggedly trying to finish my novel to write this post.<br />
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Even though I've never been on the academic job market, I am all too familiar with this scene. I worked behind the scenes for years at the annual meeting of the American Philo<i>logical</i> Association, which is the academic organization for professors of Latin and Greek. I have to say before I weave this tale of outrage that the people who run the APA are genuinely some of my favorite people on Earth. Integrity for miles. It's just too bad you can't say the same for all of the attendees.<br />
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Through the years, I saw it all at the APA. I went to every VIP cocktail party, met all the muckity-mucks. I worked the whole Saturday night circuit. I know the cheap yellow Chardonnay, the cheese cubes, and the endless uncomfortable chatting. As an undergrad with a plum internship, I got to see the fanciest side of being a professor of the classics.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Cocktail-Party-big-1.jpg"></center><br />
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I also got to learn early in my academic career about the seamier side of the profession. I learned at the conference about the absolutely prodigious amount of drinking that goes on. The hotel bar on any night of the conference is positively crawling with academics and overstressed bartenders. We'd hear at the post conference briefs about the shortage of limes, of clean high-ball glasses. I heard from hotel staff again and again that academic conferences often meant good business for the prostitutes who hung out at the hotel bars. <br />
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And as I went, I learned about the antiquated gender and class politics of Classics. That the profession is an Old Boy's Club. If you're not familiar with that term, here's roughly what it means: if you're not a rich white male, you are in trouble. <br />
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I experienced what you might call the perfect storm of these components when I interviewed for the Lionel Pearson Fellowship at the 2005 annual meeting. I was a freshman in college when learned about the fellowship, which funds one year of graduate study in Classics at an English or Scottish university, and I instantly set my sights on it. My amazing advisor <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/06/january-to-december.html">Davina</a> did an incredible job grooming me for grad school and for fellowships, and I in turn worked my ass off in school and at umpteen jobs and extracurriculars and leadership positions. I ended up applying to something like six schools and eight national fellowships for grad school. But I had my sights set on going to Cambridge on the Lionel Pearson. I nearly wet my pants with glee when I was named one of four finalists and was invited to come interview at the annual meeting.<br />
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The meeting was in Boston that year. It was my first trip to the city I now call home. I arrived with just a few hours to go before I was supposed to meet up with my fellow potential fellows and the fellowship committee for dinner.<br />
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When I arrived at the appointed meeting spot, it was a cluster of men. Young men, old men. The committee, the candidates. All men.<br />
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And do you know where we went for dinner?<br />
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Do you?<br />
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You do not.<br />
<br />
Here's where we went for dinner.<br />
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<blink><big><b>DICK'S LAST RESORT</b></big></blink><br />
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If you've never had the misfortune of visiting this particular chain, the schtick at <a href="http://www.dickslastresort.com/">Dick's Last Resort</a> is that all of the waitstaff are incredibly rude to you. The restaurant features dishes like Crab Balls and Pork Bonerz. Each guest is outfitted with a rolled up white paper dunce cap that reads somewhere between Dime-Store Pope and Ku Klux Klan, upon which your rude server will write a rude nickname for you. I think they should rebrand and change their name to Patriarchy's Paradigm. Go big or go home, you know?<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/47381631p1.gif"></center><br />
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If this sounds unbearable as a matter of course, I invite you to imagine being subjected to this in the company of the people who will make or break your greatest dream for your undergraduate career. Imagine, if you can, being the only woman at the table.<br />
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Imagine, if you can bear it, your hat says <b>DOLLY PARTON</b>.<br />
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If you pull it off immediately, will you ruin everyone's fun? If you storm out of the restaurant, will you be disqualified from the fellowship? If you concentrate really hard, will you melt into the floor and disappear? These were the questions that filled my head.<br />
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I pulled the hat off. But I did not storm out of the restaurant. I ate my fried basket of whatever and sipped a beer and tried to make the best of it. But I have never felt so negatively aware of my body and myself as a woman. My breasts felt huge under my smart Oxford shirt. When I got back to my hotel room, I was left with a slimy, uncomfortable feeling. When I called my dad to tell him about it, he told me he thought I was probably toast.<br />
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Are you wondering what happened the next day? I bet you are. Luckily, it's also a good story.<br />
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I don't remember much of the interview, to be honest. I don't think we really got through many questions before one of the professors--whom I long to call out by name but whom I will describe only as a professor from a small liberal arts school in the South--hit me with the most balls-out crazy interview question I've ever gotten.<br />
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<i>Ms. Jones, imagine you get a phone call from Karl Rove. Here's what he says. We'd like your expert opinion on how to protect our country from Islamic extremists, based on your study of the suppression of the Bacchanalia in Rome. What would you tell him?</i><br />
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I was gobsmacked. That man smacked my gobs. But as soon as I regained my ability to speak, I knew the answer. "Well," I said. "I'd tell him that the suppression of a rogue religious element, like the Bacchanalia, in a nation with state-sponsored religion, like Rome, doesn't really have anything to do with the suppression of a faith in a nation with a specifically outlined separation of church and state, like we have here in the US." For a moment, I felt smug. It had to be the answer he was looking for.<br />
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However, this was not an acceptable answer. The professor who had asked the question pushed me further and further, trying to force me to offer some advice to Mr. Rove. But I stood by my response. He lost his temper. Here are the last words I remember of that horrible interview: "Ms. Jones, you are being very evasive!" That's when I knew my dad was right.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Karl-Rove-chron-1.jpg"></center> <br />
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And I totally was. I didn't get the fellowship.<br />
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So, that's how Dick's Last Resort, Karl Rove, and unbelievable academic bullshit lost me the fellowship I'd spent four years working toward. I still stand by that answer, though. What a dumb question.<br />
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Luckily, my interview for the Mellon Fellowship a few weeks later went a lot better, so I wound up with a bigger, better fellowship in the end. I wound up going to the University of Texas. And, well, you know how <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/why-i-decided-to-leave-grad-school-in.html">that</a> went.<br />
<br />
...the Aristocrats!<br />
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<b>DISCUSSION QUESTION:</b><br />
What's the worst interview you've ever had?<br />
quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-28213853187270968852011-10-26T11:03:00.000-04:002012-03-20T20:07:31.012-04:00Guest Post: You're Mufasa's Boy<center><i>Today's guest post comes from Julia Reed, Harvard PhD student in theology and women, gender, and sexuality (aka Sex and God) and my friend since 1st grade. You've already enjoyed her wisdom on the topic of <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/07/talkin-bout-old-folks-too.html">old people having sex</a>, and today she will regale you with an insightful deconstruction of </i>The Lion King.<i> Read my review of mine and Julia's recent viewing of </i>The Lion King<i> <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/10/when-lion-king-came-out-in-summer-of.html"> here</a></i>.<br />
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My first year in graduate school I stuffed my schedule with courses in philosophy of religion and gender and queer theory; the material in those courses not only became central to my own work and teaching, but burned the circuitry of my psychic life. The lion’s share of my emotional vocabularies, coping structures, and understandings of self and love and loss comes from the texts and pedagogies of those baptismal months. And with all due respect to the years of work behind and ahead of me, maybe the best way to tell you about the relationships between Freud and Augustine and Judith Butler and Jesus and me might be to say that most of it I learned many years earlier from a scene in <i>The Lion King</i>. <br />
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Full disclosure, however: despite my, like, amniotic love for the <i>The Lion King</i>, there are aspects of the film that make me uncomfortable and angry, even though I know they are perhaps the only politically viable stories to tell in a Disney film. Scar is what queer readers might call a "deadly sissy"-- a malignant threat to a heterosexual dynasty, infuriated by his impotence, marked by physical weakness and leanness, resentful, malicious effeminacy, treachery, and association with other outcast deviants (the hyenas). Mufasa and Simba, on the other hand, are manly, monogamous tanks. Once Scar deposes the reigning heterosexual family, the circle of life is broken--the landscape literally becomes a black, bleak, lifeless boneyard---until Simba's triumphal life-ejaculating roar re-colors the savanna. (NB: Lion prides are not dynastic, and young males usually leave between 2 and 3 years old to take over other prides, kill the resident cubs, bone each lioness, and nap. Though I remain unconvinced that the cubs don't ride around on ostrich asses, because, please.)<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_lt2lq9HVHT1qghkx5o1_r1_250.gif"> <img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_lt2lq9HVHT1qghkx5o2_250.gif"></center><br />
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The scene I'm talking about, however, is during Simba's exile. Rafiki, having caught Simba's "scent" in the air--the scent of the promise of life, restoration, latency, unclaimed birthright--has followed him to his No Worries Hakuna Matata land of plenty and anomie. Taunting Simba with nonsense, he finally whispers, "You're Mufasa's boy," prompting Simba to run after him. "You knew my father?" Rafiki responds, "Correction, I know your father." The scene's pulse quickens, the music becomes martial and insistent when Simba sighs that his father died long ago. Rafiki jumps up excitedly: "He's alive. I'll show him to you. I know the way." What follows is a masterful dreamlike pursuit sequence through the bases and roots of knotted trees. We don't know if we're above or underground; Simba, the brick-house big cat, crawls slowly, clumsily, desperately curious. I remember watching this scene the first time and feeling electrified at the possibility, the hope, that Simba would in fact meet his resurrected father in the open beyond the gnarled gauntlet. Rafiki stops Simba, parts a sheet of tall grass, and whispers, "Look down there." Simba peers down into a perfectly clear shining pool and sees himself. Deflated, he looks away: that's not my father, that's just me. Rafiki: "look… harder. He lives in you." But Mufasa is not Aslan. Unlike Bambi's mother, we have seen his dead body. (Like a reverse doubting Thomas, I could not quite believe it.) He appears as a specter in the sky to say, "Mark me. Remember me"--the words of Hamlet's father's ghost.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_lrsbinbMLp1qghkx5o1_r2_500.gif"></center><br />
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"Remember me"; "remember who you are"--I heard these exhortations, and still hear them, not as reminders of Simba's divine right of kingship, but in a literal, physical sense of the words themselves. Re-member yourself. Re-member your members. Put back together the parts that make you up--what in Freud's German literally translates to "investments" or "the places you've set yourself in." Which is only to say that the loss of these loves, these parts, would transform you and will transform you. Which is to say, says the father's ghost, you do not remember me because you have not grieved me; you have not re-membered yourself. Make my death a part of your life and your living. Not because you have rejoiced in it, but because it is a loss that brakes and builds you. <br />
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For me this does not mean that you will take your father’s place, that you will fully re-member yourself through your identification with him, and that he has therefore been successfully mourned as an honored legacy continued in and by you. (For Bible breathers: “Seeing you have put off the old man with his deeds; and have put on the new man, that is renewed in knowledge after the image of him that created him” (Colossians 3:10)). It does not mean that we become the fully re-membered, resurrected bodies of our fathers, mothers, formative loves and teachers. We are never fully re-membered in memory and resurrection (Mufasa, the father) by those who re-member us and thus re-member themselves (Simba, the son, who becomes a father in the end) because losses and absences are real and cannot be undone, even by love and helpful meerkats. After his famous conversion in the Milanese garden—“Pick up and read, and put on the new man, Jesus Christ”—Augustine in his Confessions gives us one of the most beautiful passages in theological literature on memory and desire, continually pursuing the God whom he loves, who is in him and eludes him. “Late have I loved you […] late have I loved you. […] You called and cried out loud and shattered my deafness. You were radiant and resplendent, you put to flight my blindness. You were fragrant, and I drew in my breath and now pant after you. I tasted you, and I feel but hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am set on fire to attain the peace which is yours” (Book X.27.38). Augustine has converted, but there is no consummation; though he seeks God in the “vast fields and palaces of memory,” again God retreats. “If I find you outside my memory, I am not mindful of you. And how shall I find you if I am not mindful of you?” (Book X.17.26) We’re not talking about a dead God here, but a God that is always greater than we can remember. So Augustine’s love beckons him to the perpetually unfinished re-membering of himself and God.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_ljsdcvqGyB1qghkx5o1_400.gif"></center> <br />
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Full disclosure, encore: J. Christ is not in my wardrobe. But Augustine’s ongoing re-membering—both of his spiritual body “after” conversion and of his God in his memory—takes place between the presence and absence of the beloved, the old man and the new one, the realities of loss and the possibilities of remembering. It’s about the fog of desire, memory, and the parts of us that are made up of our love for the living and the dead. It’s about what we say to the dead to keep them alive: “Wait. Don’t go. Don’t leave me,” as Simba says to the sky.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_lm4r0cfFFk1qghkx5o1_500.gif"><br />
<i>Thanks go to <a href="http://fuckyeahthelionkinggifs.tumblr.com/">this tumblr</a> for this and all of the incredible gifs in this post.</i></center><br />
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<b>Discussion Question:</b><br />
What important life lessons have you learned from children's movies?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-72921848258643875622011-10-25T12:06:00.000-04:002011-10-25T12:07:19.821-04:00Everything the light touches is our kingdom<center><object width="400" height="233"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vX07j9SDFcc?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vX07j9SDFcc?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="233" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
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When <i>The Lion King</i> came out in the summer of 1994, I was 11 years old and about to start middle school--probably a smidge too old to nerd out on a Disney movie.<br />
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But nobody told me and my best buddy Julia that. We saw <i>The Lion King</i> together one sweltering Tennessee afternoon and declared that we wanted to see it again. And then again. And then again. We saw it over a dozen times in the theater that summer, and our enthusiasm never waned.<br />
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I was a child obsessed. When I wasn't begging my parents to take me to the umpteenth matinee of <i>The Lion King</i> at the Carmike Cinemas, I was making up dances to the soundtrack, or combing the Bellevue Mall for Simba paraphernalia, or just wishing the internet existed so I could write <i>The Lion King</i> fanfic the livelong June. I clipped every article I could find that mentioned the movie and collected them in a file folder, like I was Simba's senile old relative.<br />
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I had all the Burger King toys and the bedding and even the coveted trading cards, which I begged my parents to buy me approximately every five minutes. There was a <i>Lion King</i> Trading Cards Swap Night down at Bellevue Mall one special night. I spoke of nothing else for weeks leading up to the event. Mama took me but I was too territorial over my collection to let the other children even LOOK to see if they wanted to trade. That is...not a strong negotiation tactic.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Photo-credit-Daniela-Ratzenberger-H.jpg"><br />
<i>Not my bedroom but close enough</i></center><br />
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In the 17 years since the film was originally released, I have Hakuna Matata'ed my way into adulthood and eventually stopped clipping <i>The Lion King</i> articles. And, much in the way Simba and Nala joyfully and unexpectedly reunited, I have rekindled my friendship with dear Julia, who is now working on a PhD at Harvard but still shares my predilection for musicals and eating gummy bears.<br />
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So when we found out The Lion King was being rereleased, we knew what we had to do.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_lp207bR6Rc1qghkx5o3_250.gif"><br />
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<big><b><blink>LUAU!</big></b></blink><br />
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We chose Fresh Pond Theater for our Sunday afternoon viewing--it seemed fitting to go to a theater that clearly hasn't been renovated since the original release of <i>The Lion King</i>.<br />
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We walked into the theater and we were the only ones there.<br />
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Julia, always resourceful, had smuggled in a bottle of wine, and I had a near-endless bag of gummy bears. We had our favorite movie and an empty theater.<br />
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I let out a barbaric yawp of joy.<br />
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We sang each of the songs at the top of our lungs. We ran up and down the aisles dancing with joyful jazz hands for "Hakuna Matata" and with soulful lyrical interpretation for "Can You Feel the Love Tonight." Julia stood on the armrests to sing "Just Can't Wait To Be King." The wine was gone by the time Nala and Simba reunited.<br />
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We sobbed when Mufasa died but we wailed when Simba met up with Rafiki and decided to go back to Pride Rock. By the time Rafiki intones, "He lives in you!" we were holding hands and letting the tears roll down our faces without wiping them away.<br />
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We knew we'd love seeing <i>The Lion King</i> again but I don't think either of us were prepared for how grown-up the movie really is. This movie is positively Homeric in its scope--you deal with love, death, family, power, and a whole passel of other themes in the course of this 90-minute children's movie. We couldn't get over how unexpectedly sexy it is--Simba's weirdly anthropomorphic and masculine body. The whole "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" scene. Look at Nala's come-hither stare!<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_lo8n3dXEL91qghkx5o1_500.gif"><br />
<i>That was the night Simba became a man. Er...lion.</i></center><br />
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On our drive home, emotionally exhausted in the extreme, I asked Julia if she'd write a few words for me about the experience of seeing the movie again all these years later, now that she's armed with all kinds of information about how to interpret texts. Tomorrow I'll be sharing Julia's ridiculously insightful essay about <i>The Lion King</i>, so don't forget to tune in!<br />
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I leave you with this. Everyone likes to try to sing the opening of <i>The Lion King</i>, which goes something like NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASIBANYA BABADEEZIBABA. Here I present to you opening lyrics of "The Circle of Life" <a href="http://joanofmark.blogspot.com/2011/05/zulu-words-to-opening-verse-of-circle.html">translated</a> from Zulu into English:<br />
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<center><b><i>Here comes a lion, Father<br />
Yes, it's a lion<br />
We're going to conquer<br />
A lion and a leopard come to this open place</center></b></i><br />
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The stirring opening notes of this song are basically HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY A LIONNNNNNNNNNNNNNN IT'S A LION OVER THERE! Disney, you so literal.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/tumblr_lqa8ynU6mh1qghkx5o1_500.gif"><i>Many thanks to <a href="http://fuckyeahthelionkinggifs.tumblr.com/">this life-affirming Lion King gifs tumblr for this and all the LK gifs in this post.</i></a></center><br />
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<b>Discussion question:</b><br />
What's the most fun you've ever had seeing a movie in the theater?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-31263638036151868472011-10-07T11:15:00.000-04:002012-03-20T20:41:57.967-04:00all roads lead to quidquid<center><object width="350" height="267"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BnD6ojjA0OA?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BnD6ojjA0OA?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="267" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<i>confession time: I really do not care for U2</i></center><br />
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I have recently hit 20,000 unique visits to my dumb little blog. In honor of this milestone, I’d like to share some statistics with you.<br />
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I <i>love</i> Google Analytics. I love combing through the stats and seeing how people get to my blog. Many come from Facebook or Twitter, but 20% of my traffic comes from search engines. And Google Analytics allows me to see what everyone is searching for that brings them to my blog. These searches fall into a few different categories:<br />
<br />
<b>DID NOT FIND WHAT THEY WERE LOOKING FOR</b><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/05/things-i-must-begrudgingly-admit-i-like.html">blueberry aioli recipe</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">cabbage drug</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/03/remember-on-sesame-street-how-each.html">Chaka Khan marinade</a><br />
dogs pulling airplane on snow<br />
floppy melon doggy floor<br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/why-i-decided-to-leave-grad-school-in.html">grad school classics social life</a> (haha)<br />
“hello kitty and pocohontas” (I assume they were looking for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melanie_Yazzie">this</a> but instead found <a href="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/PA290012.jpg">this</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/search/label/boston">I like Boston</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">Jerry Doreen cabbage patch value</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">living in a cabbage truck</a><br />
meeting a perfect person<br />
one of the reasons was difficulty<br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/03/jury-selection.html">Rodney King verdict</a><br />
<br />
<b>FOUND EXACTLY WHAT THEY WERE LOOKING FOR…</b><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">Babyland General Hospital</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-celebration-of-being-naked.html">being naked is awesome</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/02/in-which-bright-lights-of-biloxi.html">Biloxi pirate ship</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/search/label/boston">culture shock for a southerner living in Boston</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/06/true-meaning-of-all-set.html">everyone in Boston says all set</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/why-i-decided-to-leave-grad-school-in.html">grad school classics bad idea</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/spectacles-in-surf-seeing-and-not.html">I lost my glasses in the ocean</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/02/dos-and-donts-of-mardi-gras.html">Mardi Gras do’s and don’ts</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/06/satc-2-must-have-had-small-carbon.html">satc 2 carrie selfish brat</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/tips-for-southerners-on-surviving-new.html">surviving New England winters</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/why-i-decided-to-leave-grad-school-in.html">terrible experiences in grad school</a><br />
<br />
<b>…DESPITE ALL ODDS</b><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/05/on-value-of-useless-trinkets.html">American girl Samantha watercress sandwich</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/01/goodbye-boudreaux-dog.html">Boudreaux Jenkins</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/02/whateva-whateva.html">cartman twelve gangs</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/05/harrowing-tale-of-nicks-adventures-in.html">cauterized uvula</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">definition of imagicillan</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-celebration-of-being-naked.html">healthworks naked or nude or nudity</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/12/total-loss.html">jack rabbit acceleration Toyota Avalon</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/06/lambert-sheepish-lion.html">lambert the sheepish lion discussion</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/02/black-and-geauld-super-beauwl.html">mardi gras tablescape</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/05/on-synesthesia.html">number and color synesthesia mental math</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/tips-for-southerners-on-surviving-new.html">shaq snow measurement boston</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">tree gives birth to child</a><br />
<br />
<b>POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS</b><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/02/sunday-dinner-baked-chicken-legs.html">chicken parts</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/why-i-decided-to-leave-grad-school-in.html">classics grad school that will pay for me</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/04/despite-all-my-rage-im-still-just-chick.html">despite all my rage I was still just a level 3 mage</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">having s*x with a cabbage patch kids doll</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-celebration-of-being-naked.html">naked site:quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-celebration-of-being-naked.html">naked womens changing room celebrations</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/07/talkin-bout-old-folks-too.html">old s*x in the bouet</a> (I think this one is my favorite)<br />
quidquid, human body party<br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/08/didnt-roll-off-cabbage-truck-yesterday.html">rub some baby powder on the cabbage patch doll</a><br />
<br />
<b>GOT ANSWERS TO THEIR QUESTIONS</b><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/05/children-are-impressionable.html">are children impressionable?</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/06/guest-post-outsiders-guide-to-new.html">do New Englanders dislike southerners?</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/04/non-rhoticity-six-foot-snows-and-boiled.html">do southerners hate New Englanders?</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/08/my-own-private-lilith-fair.html">do the indigo girls do private gigs?</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/02/dos-and-donts-of-mardi-gras.html">is it bad luck to pick beads up off the ground at mardi gras?</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/02/why-i-decided-to-leave-grad-school-in.html"> should I go to grad school in classics?</a><br />
<a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-celebration-of-being-naked.html">what do women think about being nude in the locker room?</a><br />
<br />
and finally, there’s a category that I can only call<br />
<br />
<b>GOOGLE IS MAGIC</b><br />
classy bitches in fur coats<br />
fingernail’s grip on reality<br />
Georgia peach season in New England<br />
grad school is like a vodka drinking contest<br />
hit the players club bout a month or two<br />
starburst mouth burns<br />
the worst kind of mischief that can get into the country<br />
<br />
<b>DISCUSSION QUESTION:</b>: What’s your favorite stupid search term that led to my blog? What’s your favorite quidquid post? Thanks so much for reading my blog and sharing the link with aw your peeps.<br />
quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-53137429338390891992011-09-12T20:00:00.000-04:002012-03-20T20:42:23.403-04:00in celebration of being naked<center><img src=http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/SpencerTunick-Brugge2.jpg><p> Brugge 2 <i>by Spencer Tunick. Installation of 700 naked people arranged in a theatre in Bruges.<p> <b>There are brave souls in every land <br />
Who worship nature, grand and nude, <br />
And who with swift indignant hand <br />
Tear off the fig leaves of the prude.<br />
--Robert Ingersoll</center></b></i><p> I recently bit the bullet and splurged on a membership to the local fancypants all-female gym. This place is incredible. I’m talkin soothing eucalyptus steam rooms and unlimited towel service, y’all. It’s the swankest gym I’ve ever been to and I adore it.<p> So I was surprised to see that the <a href=http://www.yelp.com/biz/healthworks-fitness-centers-for-women-cambridge>Yelp</a> score for my gym was only 3.5 stars. What more could anyone want out of a gym??<p> A quick read through the comments revealed a troubling trend: women were voting Healthworks down because of the<b> naked women in the locker room</b>.<p> Wait, what?<p> Okay everyone, listen up. This is important.<p> <b><big><blink>BEING NAKED IS AWESOME.</b></big></blink> <p> Just ask this girl.<p> <center><img src=http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/a0071-000341.jpg></center><p> Locker-room nudity has long been a source of anxiety for me. Even when I was a small child, I assumed that a room like a locker room that was designated for single-sex clothes changing would be an acceptable place to take one set of clothes off and put another set on. <p> I was wrong.<p> Surrounded by my blushing cohorts, each one modestly turned to face the lockers, all of whom somehow knew how to change clothes without exposing one square centimeter of flesh (I still haven’t figured this one out), I quickly realized that I’d better follow suit or risk being considered an underage Sapphic exhibitionist. So I dutifully turned toward the lockers and learned how to put a swimsuit on without removing my teeshirt.<p> Even then, I knew the truth.<p> These girls were full of shit. <p> Being naked is great.<p> I’m not alone in my ~radical~ views on nudity. The ancient Greeks didn’t just go naked in their locker rooms—they did their <i>entire workout</i> in the buff. That’s why gyms are called <i>gyms</i>—the name is derived from the Greek word <i>gymnos</i>, which means <i>naked.</i> These people are complaining about nudity in a place that we basically call the nakedtorium.<p> Modern luminaries like Alexander Graham Bell, Leonard Nimoy, and author Robert Heinlein are also vocal proponents of the benefits of nudity. Abraham Maslow, the brain behind <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maslow%27s_hierarchy_of_needs>Maslow’s hierarchy of needs</a>, states "I still think that nudism . . . is itself a kind of therapy." In fact, there are thousands of people all over the world who believe in the benefits of nudity. They’re called <i>naturists</i> or <i>nudists</i>.<p> Are there tangible health benefits to nudity? Yes. No. I don’t know. WHO CARES? It feels great. Sleeping naked keeps your temperature regulated nicely, not to mention the feeling of cool sheets pressing against your body. Swimming naked means no nasty infections from wet bathing suits, not to mention the feeling of water rippling across your body. Sunbathing naked stimulates vitamin D production—which we northern dwelling creatures need so badly in the winter--not to mention the feeling of warm sunlight warming all of the palest, most secret places. The mental benefits? Immeasurable. Being naked does a body good.<p> So here’s your imperative: Go take your clothes off!<p> Not sure what to do with your new nude self? You can participate in <a href=http://wngd.org/>World Naked Gardening Day</a>, or the <a href=http://www.worldnakedbikeride.org/>World Naked Bike Ride</a>. <a href=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naturism>Wikipedia</a> helpfully suggests nude activities like skinny dipping, nude snorkeling, nude canoeing (or “canuding”), or even nude hiking or <b>”naked rambling.”</b> (I participate in an alternative version of naked rambling, wherein I stand around my apartment in the nude and talk to myself.) If you also enjoy thumpy music and flashy lights, you will love going naked at Burning Man and other regional burns, where clothing is optional. My particular tribe of burners have pioneered the field of nude line-cooking at our annual Pantsless Pancake Breakfast.<p> It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you try doing it without clothes.<p> Now go forth and naked your world up!<p> If anyone needs me, I'll be naked in the locker room giving my gym a bad name. <p> <b>Discussion question:</b><br />
Do you like to get naked and run around? If you think I'm nuts, please tell me, because that will be fun too. quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-43535562532943630392011-08-29T17:00:00.003-04:002012-03-20T20:42:59.554-04:00My Own Private Lilith Fair<center><object width="350" height="292"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/miqUNlX6ig8?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/miqUNlX6ig8?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="292" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object> <br />
<i>It's only life after all</i></center> <br />
<br />
It was the late 90s and I was a child of Lilith Fair. <br />
<br />
It was a great time for female singer-songwriters. My CD tower toppled with titles like <i>Little Plastic Castle</i>, <i>Under the Pink</i>, <i>Fumbling Towards Ecstasy</i>, and <i> This Fire</i> that spun on constant rotation on my 3-CD changer. If it had sandals, an acoustic guitar, and a vagina, I was listening to it in 1998. <br />
<br />
So you can imagine my reaction when I learned that the next assembly at my Tennessee high school would be an <b>Indigo Girls concert.</b> <br />
<br />
In an unprecedented move, the Indigo Girls decided to kick off their summer 1998 tour with a <a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1430293/indigo-girls-tour-high-school-college-campuses.jhtml">tour of Southern high schools</a>. I've never understood why. But I didn't care why. I just knew it was going to be the best day of school <i>ever.</i> <br />
<br />
When the fateful day came, I was ready. I picked out the perfect outfit: my offwhite Lilith Fair t-shirt from summer 1997, a floor-length maroon hippie skirt, Birkenstocks, and the pièce de résistance: a crown of maroon flowers for my head <i>that I made myself out of an embroidery hoop and fake flowers from Michaels</i>. I submit the following photographic evidence, taken that very morning: <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/meandlani-1.jpg"> <br />
<i>Lanier and I pose like this in most pictures</i></center> <br />
<br />
I sized myself up in the mirror that day. The tiny bells on my crown were tinkling optimistically. The naked Venus figure on my t-shirt offset my long tiered skirt perfectly. I just knew that the Indigo Girls would know I was a true fan. <br />
<br />
When we filed into the auditorium, I was nearly breathless. I snapped this photo of my friends Chris and Jessica waiting for the show to start. <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/chrisandjessica.jpg"></center> <br />
<br />
Imagine the scene. Franklin High School auditorium, 1:00pm. I am perched in the 2nd row on the edge of my red plastic seat, tearfully wailing <i>How long til my soul gets it right</i> in exuberant harmony with the Indigo Girls. Rocking. The Fuck. Out. <br />
<br />
The rest of the student body...is not. <br />
<br />
They are restless, bored--watching the show with approximately the same enthusiasm as had been displayed at a recent assembly featuring actor <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chris_Burke_(actor)">Chris Burke</a>, best known as Corky from <i>Life Goes On</i>. <br />
<br />
This is my life, y'all. <br />
<br />
When Emily and Amy said they'd have time for a few questions at the end, a hot wave of excitement rushed through me. <i>What would I ask them??</i> The resounding silence from the other 800 people in the auditorium meant that I was going to have to think of something, fast. <br />
<br />
It was a total accident. Someone, I don't remember who, had recently returned a little stuffed sheep to me that they had had for some reason. It was in my backpack. <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/chrisandlamb.jpg"> <br />
<i>Chris with sheep</i></center> <br />
<br />
I called out to them that I wanted to give them a present. I handed the little sheep to Amy. She thanked me and put it on one of the amps along with a few other little doodads. A little <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_sheep">black sheep</a>. <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/indigogirls-1-1.jpg"></center> <br />
<br />
It turned out to be a fitting gift. A number of high schools ended up canceling the scheduled Indigo Girls concerts, ostensibly because of profanity in their music, but actually because the Bible Belt often has problems with The Gays and especially The Gays exposing themselves and their lifestyle to Our Children. <br />
<br />
Huge, HUGE props to Doug Crosier, our principal, for being such a cool guy. Check out this Rolling Stone clipping about the cancelations, where Doug nails it with a pitch-perfect soundbite: <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/article.jpg"></center> <br />
<br />
And as for my sheep, well...That summer, when I saw them play at Lilith Fair, I was sure that I spotted him on top of their amp. Wishful teenage thinking or a symbol of solidarity between the Indigo Girls and their shameless superfan? I may never know. <br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b> <br />
What's the best school assembly you ever had?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-90541685657773968082011-08-23T20:05:00.003-04:002011-08-23T20:06:55.135-04:00who's it gonna be?<center><object width="350" height="292"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/B9VWu7N7rZw?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/B9VWu7N7rZw?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="292" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>
<br /><i>you know you lookin at a winner</i></center>
<br />
<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Photoon8-18-11at726PM2.jpg"></center>
<br />
<br />Thank you, internet. I knew you'd help me find the perfect home for these size 10 men's hot pink Converse All-Stars. And you did. The <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/08/who-shall-rock-kicks.html">entries</a> were all amazing in their own way but there could only be one. The public has spoken.
<br />
<br />
<br /><center><b><blink><big>CONGRATS DAVID SHIFREN!</center></b></blink></big>
<br />
<br />David's days of being shoeless on the playa are over. This lawyer-by-day, burner-by-night wild man has vowed to party in these beautiful footboats until he drops. I think he's the perfect forever home for these poor orphan sneakers.
<br />
<br />David, I hope you'll take a pic of you tearin it up in these bad boys for me to post here. I'll shoot you an email to make arrangements for shipping.
<br />
<br />YAY INTERNET!!!
<br />
<br /><b>Discussion Question:</b>
<br />What's the best thing you've ever won in a contest?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-11359400663774165062011-08-22T11:10:00.007-04:002011-08-22T13:14:53.657-04:00who shall rock the kicks?<center><object width="300" height="255"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1hYV-JSjpyU?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1hYV-JSjpyU?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="255" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>
<br /><i>Only one of you will walk out of this with a new pair of shoes.</i></center>
<br />
<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Photoon8-18-11at726PM2.jpg"></center>
<br />
<br />In case anyone is just joining us, I made a <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/08/converse-all-stars-sneakers-giveaway.html">blog post</a> last week announcing to the world that I was giving a pair of <b>men's size 10 hot pink Converse All-Stars</b> to the person who could give them the best home.
<br />
<br />The entries are in and they are amazing. We've got men, women, and even a <i>couple</i> vying for these subtle foot coverings.
<br />
<br />Now it's time to <b><blink>vote!</b></blink> Just leave a comment on this entry (with your email address! no anon comments!) telling me who you think should win these shoes. On <b>Tuesday at 8pm EST</b>, I will tally the votes and name a winner.
<br />
<br />Now meet your contenders!
<br />
<br /><b>ENTRY #1
<br />Meg Z: Hangover Warrior</b>
<br /><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/pepto-bismol.jpg" align="left" ><i>i will wear them every saturday when i am hungover chugging pepto bismol as a sign of solidarity from my feet to my liver, stomach and butt.</i>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><b>ENTRY #2
<br />Matt Flagg: Road Runner, Road Runner </b>
<br /><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/failntrunning-8c2bf934298c6c20815f9b5de5e2c9ff_m.jpg" align="right" ><i>I require these size ten pink sneakers. My shoe size is 9.5. I have sentimental regards towards Converse because I used to run road races with my poppin Allstars. I'll never forget running the River Run in Jacksonville in some Converse and looking down from the Hart Bridge to the St. John's River while running over a wet open grating.
<br />
<br />PLUS
<br />
<br />If you give me these sneakers, I will strive to go to Burningman. And wear these bad boyz.</i>
<br />
<br />
<br /><b>ENTRY #3
<br />painsthee: Spousal Style Synchronicity</b>
<br /><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/mismatched-shoes-191844.jpg" align="left"><i>Actually, my feet are that gigantic, and as a bonus, my hubs and I wear the same size. And then we could do that thing where we each wear ONE of the pink shoes and one black shoe. And then this could be incorporated into a "make everyone nauseous with our twee-ness" but then perhaps could morph into some sort of crazy black and pink harlequin halloween costume, or better yet, a pink and a blue shoe, and then we could rock the "shim" gender confusion costume. THE POSSIBILITIES!</i>
<br />
<br />
<br /><b>ENTRY #4
<br />David Shifren: Shoeless on the Playa</b>
<br /><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/iso-is098r7mw.jpg" align="right"><i>These shoes are just my size - and style. I'm a regular at NYC Burner parties (i.e., every weekend) and at the Burn. I have an extensive playa-fabulous wardrobe, including more hot pink than even my female and gay friends.
<br />
<br />But I'm currently without fun shoes since my last pair recently fell apart (mid-party - I kept dancing with my shoes held together by duct tape). I've been reduced to wearing my extremely boring dress shoes (I'm an attorney by day).
<br />
<br />I promise to provide an excellent home for these shoes, giving them TLC to make sure they last despite my wearing them every weekend (and many weeknights). I want these shoes so badly I'd even be willing to come to Boston to pick them up.</i>
<br />
<br />
<br /><b>ENTRY #5
<br />Captain Gonzo: A Simple Man with Simple Needs</b>
<br /><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Gonzo-Journalism-41262.jpg" align="left"><i>They will fit the Gonzo nice & you know I will rock them hard and hug often :)</i>
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<br />
<br /><b>ENTRY #6
<br />Meghan: Pink-Shoe Prom Queen and Tasteless Tastemaker</b>
<br /><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/the-peggy-horror-picture-show-20070126053055878.jpg" align="right"><i>I am also named Meg and I ALSO WEAR A 12!!! You know how hard it is to find shoes? Peggy Hill and I have a sororal bond when it comes to shoe sizes. For the most part, I have to buy all of my shoes online, without trying them on. Before the internet, I was subject to men's gym shoes and for occasions like prom, forced to wear dress shoes that were obviously manufactured with tasteless trannies in mind.
<br />
<br />I would wear them while sitting on the subway eating a combination of keilbasa, mexican street corn and baklava and carrying a Welsh Corgi. Just think of the conversations I could strike up with all the tasteless trannies who are gonna be soooo jealous...</i>
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<br /><b>ENTRY #7:
<br />bluestarfish’s sister: World-traveling DIYer</b>
<br /><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/1249TDEarth.jpg" align="left"><i>so I'm not entering since I'm only a men's 8.5, but my sister has bigger feet than me. Converses are like her favorite. I think she owns at least four pairs, but none of them are pink. She would love the shit outta them. I think the only ones that aren't decorated are the tie-dyed ones, because those are already super awesome. I can't promise that she would decorate them, but I would bet she does. She is about to go on a big adventure... She's is studying abroad this semester, so in a month she's leaving for France! Those shoes would see the WORLD. She gets off a plane in London on her way back, and I think she has plans to visit Italy and some of those other countries nearby. She could wear those shoes all over!</i>
<br />
<br /><b>Discussion Question:</b>
<br />Who among these seven entries is most deserving of a brand new pair of shoes? Comment and vote!
<br />quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-59305053154568880692011-08-18T19:51:00.005-04:002011-08-18T20:24:39.535-04:00converse all-stars sneakers giveaway<center><object width="420" height="345"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/np0solnL1XY?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/np0solnL1XY?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" height="345" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>
<br /><i>these shoes are free as a bird now</i></center>
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<br />How I got these shoes is not important. What's important is that I'm giving them away.
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<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Photoon8-18-11at726PM2.jpg"></center>
<br />
<br />I have a pair of <b>brand new men's size ten hot pink Converse All-Stars</b> that are looking for the perfect home. But shoes this magnificent can't be sold willy-nilly. They need the right owner. Not just <i>any</i> man (or giant-footed woman) can rock these puppies. I know someone out there <i>needs</i> these shoes.
<br />
<br />Is it you? Is it someone you know?
<br />
<br />If you or someone you know needs or wants these shoes, <b>comment on this post and tell me why</b>. Would you wear them every day? Are they the perfect finishing touch for your burn night outfit for Burning Man? Would you turn them into an amazing art project? Be convincing.
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<br />On <b>Monday night</b> I'll post the finalists and you'll have <b>24 hours to vote for a winner</b>. Whoever gets the most votes will have these beauts shipped to their door posthaste. (If you're headed out to Burning Man and want to wear them, I'll do my best to get them to you before you leave.)
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<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/3401898489.gif">
<br /><i>this is how fast I will ship them to you</i></center>
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<br />Tell yo mama. Tell yo friends. Tell anyone you can convince. Please, <i>please</i> repost this link! Even if you don't need these shoes, I bet someone you know does.
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<br /><b>Now it's time to Paul Revere it and let your set know about this remarkable opportunity.</b>quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-40462382423835136792011-08-17T19:48:00.004-04:002011-08-17T22:28:06.658-04:00tips for moving (learned the hard way)<center><object width="350" height="229"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8buJ2-oD02E?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8buJ2-oD02E?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="229" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>
<br /><i>working too hard can give you a heart attackackackackack</i></center>
<br />
<br />I have moved every summer for the last 10 years--with one sweet exception in college. My <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/09/instructions-for-moving-far-far-away.html">considerable consternation</a> with moving has been <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/07/hell-is-half-packed-house-pass-packing.html">well documented</a>. I was pretty sure I'd said all I have to say about the matter.
<br />
<br />But now the time has come once more for me to cram all of my worldly possessions into boxes and schlep them into my next apartment, and just like clockwork, I want to write about it. I recently noticed that last fall's post <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2010/10/tips-for-living-in-tiny-apartment.html">Tips for Living in a Tiny Apartment</a> is my 2nd most popular blog post of the year, so I think it's time for a followup. Let's talk moving.
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<br />
<br /><b><i><center>BEFORE YOU PACK</b></i></center>
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<br /><u><i>purge</u></i>
<br />It's time for some dehoarding, whether you're moving across the globe or just across the street. Go through every single object you own and get rid of anything that's damaged or that you don't use. If you're getting rid of a lot of stuff, I suggest throwing a party with a <b>Drunk Thrift Store</b> theme. Ask your guests to bring some booze, and in return invite them to raid designated boxes of your possessions. Everyone will get looped and start putting your clothes on and leafing through your old Seventeen magazines and you'll save yourself a trip to the Goodwill.
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<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/lindsay-lohan-hoarding2.jpg"></center>
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<br /><u><i>plan</u></i>
<br />Get all of your parking permits and address changes squared away a few weeks before the move, because lord knows you won't have time for anything responsible like that once your life is in boxes.
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<br /><u><i>do all that stuff you've been meaning to do</u></i>
<br />Over the course of your dehoarding, you no doubt found some things that needed dry cleaning or mending or supergluing. Do it <i>now</i>. While you're at it. clearly mark all of your mostly empty consumables like foods, bath/beauty products, cleaning products, etc. <I><b>USE ME</b></i> and do your best to use them up before the move. Whatever you haven't taken care of by your move out date gets chucked--it wasn't important anyway.
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<br />
<br /><b><i><center>WHAT YOU'LL NEED</b></i></center>
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<br />-lots of packing tape
<br />-new box of garbage bags
<br />-one thousand newspapers (I unscrupulously take stacks of the free ones advertising cars or apartments.)
<br />-a few sharpies
<br />-cleaning supplies set aside for cleaning up at the end
<br />-bags packed with essential clothes, medicine, personal care items that you'll need throughout the move
<br />-<b>all of the boxes</b>. This is the most important part. My favorite boxes for moving are white bankers boxes, because they have tops that fit on without being taped (although I do recommend taping them!) and because it is physically impossible to pack them too heavy. Aside from these priceless gems, never pay for boxes. Get them free off <a href="http://www.freecycle.org/">Freecyle</a> or <a href="http://www.craigslist.com/">Craigstlist</a>, or at virtually any local store. Liquor stores usually have a zillion boxes.
<br />
<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/1247134068_maru-jumps-out-of-box.gif">
<br /><i>YAY BOXES</i></center>
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<br /><b><i><center>PACKIN ALL YOUR STUFF</b></i></center>
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<br /><i><u>start with the least essential stuff</i></u>
<br />Picture frames, decorations, books, DVDs, off-season clothes, etc. Then handle your kitchen stuff, pantry, and linens--things you'd generally use daily but can live without for a few days. Save your clothes and bathroom for last, since those things are the most disruptive to be without.
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<br /><i><u>label the bejesus out of your boxes</u></i>
<br />Write the name of the room the box should go in on all four sides of the box so you can see it no matter how it is stacked. Write what's in the box too. When you get there, you can set each box down in the room it belongs in <i>the first time you set it down.</i>
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<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Cardboard-moving-boxes-Wal-Mart-.jpg"></center>
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<br /><i><u>pack smart</i></u>
<br />-Pack your glasses and other breakables in wine boxes from the liquor store. They come with perfect cardboard dividers.
<br />-Pack your books and other heavies in white bankers boxes or other small boxes. Otherwise they will be too heavy to carry.
<br />-Cushion your breakables with towels and clothes instead of bubble wrap when possible.
<br />-Pack linens and clothes in double-bagged garbage bags. Gather clothes in your closet in groups of 5-10 garments at a time, then pull the garbage bags up over them. Tie the bag at the top around the hangers. Clothes can hang here until they're ready to move. At the new place, you can just hang the clothes up and cut the bags off of them. VOILA your closet is intact!
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<br /><i><u>put everything in a box</i></u>
<br />You are going to hate yourself if you have to carry a bunch of odds and ends out of your almost empty apartment one at a time. There are going to be things that don't want to fit into boxes--fans and shower caddies and sleeping bags and other randoms. Save a couple of bigass boxes for the very end to throw all of the last-minute stuff into.
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<br />
<br /><b><i><center>MOVIN ALL YOUR STUFF</b></i></center>
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<br />
<br /><i><u>invite a bunch if people</i></u>
<br />You cannot have too much help doing this. With two people, it will take two miserable hours to move out. With five or six, it will take half an hour. Bribe them with snacks and beer and the promise of helping them move when their time comes.
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<br /><i><u>load smart</i></u>
<br />Put the boxes in the truck first and the furniture last. When you get there, get the largest furniture in place before you start moving any smaller items in. Otherwise you could be setting yourself up for a very unpleasant game of 3D Tetris when you try to set your rooms up.
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<br /><i><u>order a pizza</i></u>
<br />Nothing is better than ordering a pizza the first night in a new apartment. It's good practice for remembering your new address.
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<br /><center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/pizza-o.gif"></center>
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<br />
<br /><b>Discussion Question:</b>
<br />What are some of your hot tips for moving?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-27031752165926930062011-07-28T15:30:00.001-04:002012-03-20T20:43:28.879-04:00talkin bout the old folks too<center><object width="350" height="229"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7EICvNdKRnE?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7EICvNdKRnE?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="229" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<i>69-year-old DJ Ruth Flowers starts her set with O FORTUNA. How sick is that??? Someone please invite this fierce beast to Transformus to camp with us at IHOP.</i></center><br />
<br />
When the phrase <b>"the last taboo"</b> caught my eye in an internet article recently, my interest was piqued. In this ever-changing world in which we live in*, what could <i>possibly</i> qualify as the last taboo? Incest? Torture? Stirrup pants?<br />
<br />
No. It's <b>sex among the elderly.</b> This <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Health/ActiveAging/story?id=3511604&page=1">according to</a> Dr. Virginia Sadock, professor of psychiatry and director of the Program of Human Sexuality at New York University.<br />
<br />
<i>Pfft.</i> "That," I thought, "is the <b>least scandalous scandal ever</b>." Shouldn't we all be so lucky to remain sexually active into our twilight years? How could something like geriatric sexology take the crown for a dubious distinction like "the last taboo?"<br />
<br />
So I decided to engage in some hard-hitting journalism and go straight to a <b>reliable first-hand account</b>. It seems that a dear friend of mine, who is octogenarian and FABULOUS, has had the very same subject on her mind recently. She gave me the following account of living the last taboo:<br />
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<center><i>Ten years ago I found my last sweetheart in the old folks exercise class at the "Y." I was 69 and he was 71, and we started a hot sex life that has endured for 10 years. The only problem is we aged as we reached 80 and 82, which has put a crimp in our hot sex. We figured it was all over at first. However, we still have desire and keep our once-a-week date which we both look forward to. We cuddle and kiss a lot until we head for the bed and continue kissing and caressing and manually pleasing each other. There's no penetration but we both feel satisfaction and lots of affection. And we've discovered "back scratching" is sort of an aphrodisiac and a wonderful aperitif after making love. (The gorillas obviously were onto the "back scratching" too.) Then we have coffee and watch "Family Guy." And laugh a lot....[Her boyfriend] and I still can't keep our hands off each other after 10 years! The taboo is all in our heads.</center></i><br />
<br />
Admit it. You're <b>clutching your pearls</b>.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/5707225026_6193a0fe8a.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
But why?? Why are we so squicky about the idea of older people remaining sexually active? Is it a vestige of our Judeo-Christian notion that <b>non-procreative sex is verboten</b>? Or is it just a symptom of the <b>rampant ageism</b> in our culture? <br />
<br />
When I have big squishy questions like this about sex and religion and the Western tradition, I turn to my dear friend and fellow Nashvillian Julia, who is working on a PhD in theology and women, gender and sexuality (aka <b>Sex and God</b>) at Harvard. And we <strike>gchat about it</strike> have a Platonic dialogue.<br />
<br />
<b>Julia:</b> i think generally speaking sex is structurally normative, as in: there are powerful political, cultural, social, etc. forces that structure the sexual and sexualized body as heteronormative, meaning: YOUNG, straight, able-bodied, etc. many of our prejudices about what an able body is, in fact, have to do with its sexual capabilities.<br />
<b>me:</b> WHOA so true<br />
<b>Julia:</b> what is an "impotent" body?<br />
<b>me:</b> if someone is disabled, one of the first questions that arises in the brain: can they still have sex?<br />
<b>Julia:</b> EXACTLY<br />
we have very similar prejudices about the aged body<br />
<br />
So it seems that it's <i>both</i>--that <b>our ageism is wrapped up in our idea of the heteronormative sexualized body</b>. WHOA. Leave it to a Harvardian to blow your mind.<br />
<br />
So what does this all mean? Sure, geriatric sex is a taboo. What does it matter?<br />
<br />
Here's how it matters. 26% of the American population belongs to the aging Baby Boomers generation. Among them, 87% of married men and 89% of married women in the 60-64 age range are sexually active. Among Americans over 80, 29% of men and 25% of women still engage in sexual activity. That means we're looking at <b>millions and millions of sexually active elderly folks in the coming years</b>.<br />
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That part isn't the problem. The problem is that our cultural taboo related to geriatric sex creates an inability to acknowledge the phenomenon in any meaningful way. <b>Sexual support and sexual health care for the elderly is severely lacking.</b> <a href="http://std.about.com/od/stdsspecificcommunities/a/elderlystd.htm">STD rates</a> among the elderly are out of control. Just like abstinence-only education for teens leads to skyrocketing teen pregnancy rates, lack of sexual support among the elderly can lead to the spread of STDs and other public health issues. And, according to another of my many Nashvillian friends pursuing higher education with an emphasis in sexuality:<br />
<br />
<center><big>"When you combine lack of knowledge with lack of resources, you get gonorhyphallis."</big><br />
--Lanier B., sex educator extraordinaire</center><br />
<br />
And nobody wants that.<br />
<br />
So what can we do to avoid this <b>public health crisis</b>? Start here: <b>don't be afraid to talk to the elderly folks in your life about sexual health.</b> You're bound to learn something interesting from them, and maybe they'll learn something important from you. I mean, Grandma Moses didn't start painting until she was in her 70s. It's never too late to learn new tricks.<br />
<br />
<i>*apologies to Sir Paul McCartney</i><br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b><br />
Talk about how awesome you will be when you hit your golden years. Will you rock DJ sets with Ruth Flowers in Paris, or simply enjoy postcoital viewings of Family Guy with your hot boyfriend/girlfriend?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-8786116682336545792011-07-07T18:31:00.006-04:002012-03-20T20:44:06.834-04:00where everybody knows your name<center><object width="300" height="255"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7KtAgAMzaeg?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7KtAgAMzaeg?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="255" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<i>When it gets to "Wouldn't you like to get away?" I totally lose it</center></i><br />
<br />
I grew up watching <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheers">Cheers</a> with my dad on what seemed like a nightly basis. Despite the fact that I was, say, 24 months old and had very little in common with a cast of New England barflies, I <i>loved</i> Cheers. I still think it's one of the great sitcoms of all time.<br />
<br />
I think it's my lifelong love of Cheers that's kept me searching for a place where everybody knows my name.<br />
<br />
I went home to Tennessee recently to visit my family, and I made more than one trip to my favorite watering hole, The Pond. <a href="http://www.thepondinfranklin.com/">The Pond</a> is a fine drinking establishment in Franklin, owned by the wonderful Eddie Martin and his son Justin, fellow Grassland General and <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/06/look-away-look-away.html">Franklin Rebel</a>. It opened nearly a decade ago, and just in the nick of time for my friends and me to start turning 21. Everyone used to hang out at Waffle House in high school, but you can't smoke there anymore and they don't warm up your coffee after you've been there awhile, so everyone started convening at The Pond instead.<br />
<br />
One particular day, I settled down belly up to the bar with my bff Emily and a big ol Shock Top to listen to one of Eddie's signature stories. Eddie can weave a story like you can't believe. Dewar's and cigars, snakes and warm concrete, and even a cameo from the good people at <a href="http://www.grumpysbailbonds.com/">Grumpy's Bail Bonds</a> (believe me, that link is worth clicking). Everyone was spellbound--when they weren't cackling.<br />
<br />
Amid the laughter, patrons started to file in one by one. At least a dozen people. By the time each one got to the bar from the door, their favorite drink was already waiting on the bar for them before they'd said a word. Eddie never missed a single beat of his story.<br />
<br />
That's the beauty of a small town: recognition.<br />
<br />
It's hard to get used to living in a big, impersonal city. There's a constant desire just to be <i>recognized</i>.<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/normentrance_o_GIFSoupcom-2.gif"></center><br />
<br />
But I've found one little place to call my own here in Cambridge: Andy's Diner.<br />
<br />
My dear Julia introduced me to Andy's, which sits just between my office and my apartment. There's nothing too fancy about Andy's. But the food is fantastic, and the vibe is utterly unpretentious, which is pretty uncommon in these parts. Julia and I started going for lunch on Fridays when I first started my job. We'd share a plate of fries and suck giant Diet Cokes and rattle the windows with our peals of laughter.<br />
<br />
It wasn't long before I invited JSJ, who invited Sarah, and then...<br />
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<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/2011-06-24121806.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
it kind of became a thing. <blink><i>PANCAKE FRIDAY</i></blink>.<br />
<br />
We mob the place every Friday afternoon, and Kelly and Carol, with the patience of saints, bring us pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches and excellent stories and sometimes Carol puts her cold hands on my neck to make me squeal.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/2011-07-01134738.jpg"><br />
<i>l to r: Carol, me, Kelly</i></center><br />
<br />
So here's to Eddie, Carol, Kelly, and all of the customer service people in this world who go above and beyond in their jobs to shine a little bit of light into the darkness.<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion question:</b><br />
Do you ever just wanna go where everybody knows your name?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-72325959116785356372011-06-30T19:16:00.003-04:002012-03-20T20:44:40.930-04:00look away, look away<center><object width="300" height="255"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qJhnWgs5Okc?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qJhnWgs5Okc?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="255" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<i>A recording of "Dixie" that's nearly 100 years old. Don't click on it if you find the song offensive.</i></center><br />
<br />
It will surprise absolutely no one that my high school mascot was the <b>Rebel</b>. It was the same little guy as Ole Miss, but in our school colors of maroon and grey. <br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/rebel_mascot.jpg"><br />
<i>Couldn't find the right color but you get the gist</i></center><br />
<br />
Our school seal had a Confederate flag in it, too. They flew by the dozens at our Homecoming celebration. The whole thing is antiquated and offensive and silly but it's pretty much par for the course in the South.<br />
<br />
But I learned something interesting today.<br />
<br />
I <i>always</i> learn the most interesting things at lunchtime at work. All the ladies crowd in the small kitchen and take turns microwaving their leftovers and Lean Cuisines and run their mouths about this and that while they flip through old OK magazines.<br />
<br />
Today I learned that there are schools in <i>Massachusetts</i> that use the Rebel as their mascot. <i>What?</i><br />
<br />
Specifically I learned about the euphoniously named city of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walpole,_Massachusetts">Walpole, MA</a>. Walpole High School students are the Rebels just like we were. (All except the girls' field hockey team. They are the <a href="http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2007/highschool/09/20/walpole.girls/">Porkers.</a>) Until 1994, they used a Confederate flag as their symbol and sang "Dixie" in the stands. Unofficial lunchtime reports suggest the "Dixie" tradition persisted far beyond '94.<br />
<br />
Even more confounding is the fact that a neighboring landowner has put up a <a href="http://www.boston.com/news/education/k_12/articles/2010/05/25/in_walpole_rebels_pride_still_sparks_a_fight/">gigantic Confederate flag</a> adjacent to the field. He refuses to take it down amid much scandal.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/539w.jpg"><br />
<i>photo from <a href="http://www.boston.com">boston.com</a></i></center><br />
<br />
<blink><b>What is happening here???</blink></b> This place is well over 300 miles from the Mason Dixon line.<br />
<br />
I really have no idea what to make of this. In Tennessee, you hear people speak of "heritage, not hate" when they explain the Confederate flags on splashed decals on their cars or <a href="http://www.zazzle.com/black_redneck_girl_rebel_flag_sticker-217996304159665663">superimposed over the silhouettes of busty women</a> on their teeshirts. But how can it be "heritage, not hate" when there's no claim to the heritage? Is this an example of a weird fetishization of the South, similar to the way white culture has fetishized Native Americans as sports mascots for ages? Call me simple, but I had no idea you could find Rebels outside of Dixie.<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion question:</b><br />
Someone please help me make sense of this.<br />
<br />
PS I SAY FRANKLIN YOU SAY REBELSquidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-53596957187247737632011-06-22T19:18:00.004-04:002012-03-20T20:45:13.087-04:00so yesterday<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/Lindsay-lohan-passed-out.gif"></center><br />
<br />
I am sick to death with some kind of evil sore throat and all I have the energy to do is sit here in my tatty Lindsay Lohan hoodie (yes, the very same one she's wearing above) and discuss <b>the relative merits of pop singles released by famous actresses in the 2000s</b>.<br />
<br />
It's a topic that's close to my heart.<br />
<br />
Most of these songs are dreadful, it's true. But others are underappreciated pop gems that deserve a closer look.<br />
<br />
The thumbs-down songs largely speak for themselves. What is there to say about, say, the almost eerie soullessness (and palpable sense of effort) of <b>Gweneth Paltrow</b>'s recent foray into singing?<br />
<br />
<center><object width="300" height="200"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/e1_B9FCZJMA?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/e1_B9FCZJMA?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="200" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
Or the unbearable tinny monotony of <b>Kim Kardashian</b>'s debut single?<br />
<br />
<center><object width="300" height="200"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gjf8ww8iWng?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gjf8ww8iWng?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="200" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<i>they playin my jam they playin my jam they playin my jam they playin my jam they playin my jam they playin my jam they playin my jam they playin my jam turn it up turn it up turn it up turn it up turn it up turn it up dj</i></center><br />
<br />
Or even <b>Scarlett Johansson</b>'s cover of "Falling Down" from her album of <i>nothing but Tom Waits covers</i> (besides the fact that it is, objectively, one of the worst songs of all time?)<br />
<br />
<center><object width="300" height="200"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6y0HFC8IFz4?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6y0HFC8IFz4?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="200" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
Ugh. Okay. Have a little ginger or something to cleanse your palate, and get ready for the good ones.<br />
<br />
<center><b><big>"Stars Are Blind" by Paris Hilton (2006)</center></b></big><br />
<br />
I know what you're thinking. But listen to it first.<br />
<br />
<center><object width="400" height="257"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/icpqB22c4G8?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/icpqB22c4G8?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="257" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
Tell me that isn't an effortless, chill, beachy, summery song. Nice reggae vibe without trying to riff too hard on Bob. The video is a not-entirely-successful ripoff of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAOxCqSxRD0">"Wicked Game"</a> but I gotta say, I'm not mad at it. I think this song represents Paris Hilton at her most likeable. I realize that this is a low bar but I stand by my statement. And I'm not alone on this one: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stars_Are_Blind#Critical_reception">critics</a> kind of can't help but like it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<big><center><b>"Rumors" by Lindsay Lohan (2004)</b></center></big><br />
<br />
This video was shot at the height of Lilo's voluptuous redheaded appeal. She's 18 years old, famous as all get out, and feisty as hell.<br />
<br />
<center><object width="400" height="330"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/g01J9DW10EQ?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/g01J9DW10EQ?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="330" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
Okay, the song is kind of meh. But the video is pure mid-2000s poppery, from the blatant product placement to the miniskirt-intensive rooftop choreographed breakdown at the end.<br />
<br />
Basically, this video is a must-watch for anyone who considers themselves a fan of either (1) shiny things or (2) boobs.<br />
<br />
She's no Madonna, but she comes off looking pretty cool, at least by 2004 standards. Compared to her film career, I think we have to chalk this one up as a modest success. ...is modest the right word?<br />
<br />
<br />
<big><b><center>"So Yesterday" by Hilary Duff (2003)</center></b></big><br />
<br />
Hilary Duff was sixteen when "So Yesterday" came out, and I think it's surprisingly age-appropriate.<br />
<br />
<center><object width="400" height="330"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lt6PVVr4B04?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lt6PVVr4B04?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="330" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
Can you believe how <i>dressed</i> she is in the video? After watching "Rumors," Hilary looks like a <i>nun</i> in her jeans and long-sleeved jacket.<br />
<br />
What can I say? Ever since I first heard this song's clever phrasing and reassuring message, it's been one of my secret go-to cheer-me-up songs.<br />
<br />
(Confidential to Hilary Duff: The teeshirt thing was creepy.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Readers, I leave you with a quandry. A Jennifer Love quandry.<br />
<br />
<center><object width="400" height="330"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Xv4NBOWhw9A?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Xv4NBOWhw9A?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="330" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
If you don't remember this song, don't fret. It's not early dementia. This song peaked at 124 on the American pop charts in 2002. I am fairly certain that I am probably one of twelve people on Earth who are aware of this song.<br />
<br />
I truly can't decide if this song should be chalked up as a win or a lose for Jennifer Love Hewitt. The song is pretty bad, as is the video. But, she's wearing a fierce outfit and seems to be trying out a little bit of an edge, which is commendable. Most importantly, I heard this song probably three times when it came out in 2002 and I've never forgotten it. As an editor, I know that "memorable" is one of the best compliments you can give to a piece of artwork.<br />
<br />
JLH has a pretty illustrious acting career. She was on <i>Kids Incorporated</i>, for pete's sake. Does "BareNaked" [editor's note: yes, this is actually how the title of the song is styled] live up to her acting resume?<br />
<br />
Your vote.<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question</b>:<br />
"BareNaked" by Jennifer Love Hewitt: a Jennifer Love win or a Jennifer Love lose?<br />
<br />
quidquid quidquid, always tackling today's relevant issues.quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-30039654848493347292011-06-14T18:41:00.003-04:002012-03-20T20:45:42.231-04:00Guest post: The Outsider's Guide to the New Englander<i>Today's guest post comes to us from my friend Molly of <a href="http://www.wickedcheapinboston.com">Wicked Cheap in Boston</a>, who could no longer stand idly by as I maligned her native culture with my Southern ramblings. She offers a valuable counterpoint to my extensive whining documentation of my culture shock as a native Southerner living in <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/search/label/boston">Boston</a>.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I grew up in New Hampshire, and took the 60 mile trek south to land in Boston for college and beyond. I've been away from New England for a total of less than two months of my entire life. I like it here. I like the people. I usually like the weather. So when somebody starts to talk smack on my native land I take it <em>personally.</em><br />
<br />
<center><img class="alignnone" title="Leslie" src="http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_li3ipgQ9tW1qzaqk3o1_250.gif" alt="" width="250" height="141" /></center><br />
<br />
I've heard it all - New Englanders are rude, Boston drivers are clueless, Southie accents are horrible, Red Sox fans are the worst. I'm here to tell you IT'S WRONG. ALL OF IT. (Except maybe the drivers part.)<br />
<br />
So, because I'm so nice and not-rude, I've put together a little something to help you all (excuse me, "y'all") out:<br />
<br />
<strong>Molly's Wicked Awesome Outsider's Guide To The New Englander</strong><br />
<br />
<strong>1. What you may deem as "rude" is really just a general distaste for small talk. </strong><br />
<br />
Now, I like to think of myself as a polite and friendly person. But I am not about to start making conversation with a stranger just for the sake of talking. It's simply not in my genes. If someone asks me a question (I'm a magnet for lost tourists needing directions), I'll gladly answer, maybe even ask where they're from. But chit chatting about the weather or "how about those Sox?" No. NOOO.<br />
<br />
I know I share this trait with a great many of my fellow New Englanders. I have my theories as to why. We walk, talk, generally function a little bit faster up here because you never know when the next blizzard is about to hit. It may be June but a Nor'Easter is just around the bend and I have to get my lawn chairs and orange cones out to block my parking space I DON'T HAVE TIME TO TALK. I like to think of it less as rudeness and more as EFFICIENCY. (Though it could go either way in the example of my dad ending every phone call with an abrupt "good enough!" and a click.)<br />
<br />
The best compliment I ever received from a stranger came a few years ago. Waiting at a bus stop, an older gentleman walked over and sat by me. I was nose deep in a book (an extremely popular "this means I don't want to talk to you" device), when he said, "excuse me, I won't bother you anymore after I say this, but you have really beautiful hair." Now THAT is how you compliment a New Englander. The promise that the forced conversation does not have to follow. Straight and to the point. And not at all rude.<br />
<br />
If you're wearing any Yankees paraphernalia, all bets are off. You asked for it.<br />
<br />
<strong>2. Just give the accent a chance</strong><br />
<br />
First: The Harvard Yard is not a parking lot. That's not cute anymore. Second: the thick Boston accent is not nearly as prevalent or as exaggerated as Hollywood would have you believe.<br />
<br />
Leo, I love you, but lets leave the dropped R's to Marky Mark.<br />
<br />
<center><img title="Mark Wahlburg" src="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/01176/arts-graphics-2007_1176734a.jpg" alt="" width="350" height="233" /><br />
<i>Let me show you how it's done.</i></center><br />
<br />
But I promise, just listen to some townies for a while, you'll learn to love it.<br />
<br />
<strong>3. While we're on the subject of speech - nobody in Beantown actually calls it Beantown</strong><br />
<br />
We do say wicked, but never "wicked pissah." I have no idea where that even came from. If you're in the 'burbs, you get your Sam Adams at the Packy (though in the city its still called a Liquor Store because we don't want to confuse the college kids). The T includes the subway, bus, commuter rail and ferries but most people are just referring to the subway (which is awful). Ask for a reguluh coffee at Dunk's and they'll give you cream and sugar. The B's and C's both play in the Gahdin, but the Sox are over at Fenway Pahk. All set?<br />
<br />
<strong>4. If you haven't tried candlepin bowling yet, you really should</strong><br />
<br />
<strong>5. Nobody cares about you, soccer</strong><br />
<br />
Yes, New England has a professional soccer team (and lacrosse for that matter). No, I've never met or heard of anyone who cares about them. It's all about Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics, Patriots. If you're gonna live here, choose one or more and stick with it. Or at least respect the fact that you moved to a sports culture and things are gonna get FIERCE. Boston sports teams go through long phases of being just awful. Then improving for a few years, then breaking our hearts again. There's a whole psyche around being a Sox fan. I may or may not have a baseball related tattoo. I'm just saying. Fans can get rambunctious and annoying at times, but it doesn't last forever. Enjoy it, get involved, paint your face.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And that, friends, is all you need to know. Now get outta my way and quit hogging the sidewalk.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/36245_1481085596685_1520160092_30999549_5944480_n.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b><br />
What would you want an outsider to know about your native culture?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1832748644398583871.post-47031685597496553302011-06-13T21:00:00.001-04:002012-03-20T20:46:12.813-04:00the true meaning of "all set"<center><object width="350" height="292"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xTo_wmZ3X3A?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xTo_wmZ3X3A?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="292" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></center><br />
<br />
<br />
In <a href=http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/2011/05/things-i-must-begrudgingly-admit-i-like.html">this</a> post from last month, one of many discussions on this blog about my experience as a lifelong Southerner moving to <a href="http://quidquidquidquid.blogspot.com/search/label/boston">Boston</a>, I mentioned the odd way that Bostonians use the phrase "all set."<br />
<br />
I had definitely heard people say "all set" before I moved up here and, I probably even said it myself from time to time. But I had never heard it used with such a frequency until I moved up here. Bostonians say it CONSTANTLY. You might hear the following conversation at Dunkin Donuts.<br />
<br />
CUSTOMER: I'll have a coffee.<br />
CASHIER: You want a donut or are you all set?<br />
CUSTOMER: No I'm all set.<br />
CASHIER: Okay that's $1.25.<br />
[money and coffee are exchanged]<br />
CUSTOMER: Okay am I all set?<br />
CASHIER: You're all set.<br />
<br />
Am I exaggerating? Not really.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned in the aforementioned post, I did some Googling and found several discussions online about this peculiarity of Bostonian speech, both on <a href ="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=I%27m%20all%20set">Urban Dictionary</a> and on <a href="http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?t=106780">message boards</a>. <br />
<br />
There's a lot of discussion online about how difficult non-Bostonians find it to understand the many shades of meaning of the phrase. After all, the word <i>set</i> has 464 definitions in English, making it the word with the most definitions out of all the hundreds of thousands of words in our strange language. The phrase literally could not be more ambiguous.<br />
<br />
"All set" seems to have a range of meanings, from "okay as I am" to "ready" to "finished." <a href="http://www.universalhub.com/glossary/all_set.html">This site</a> even cites a third-generation South Bostonian who uses it when people break up: <i>Teresa's all set with that guy, he was an ahhshole.</i><br />
<br />
I had a major realization the other day. All of the many meanings of "all set" converge into one single idea: <i>not wanting to interact with someone any further</i>.<br />
<br />
Yes, it's true. This phrase is used constantly in Boston because <i>everyone hates to talk to strangers.</i><br />
<br />
<b> "Are we all set?" means "Can we stop talking now?"<br />
<br />
"I'm all set." means "I would like to stop talking to you now." or even "Stop talking to me."</b><br />
<br />
Let's revisit the Dunkin Donuts scene.<br />
<br />
CUSTOMER: I'll have a coffee.<br />
CASHIER: You want a donut or are are we almost finished talking?<br />
CUSTOMER: No donut, just stop talking please.<br />
CASHIER: Okay that's $1.25.<br />
[money is exchanged, coffee is handed.]<br />
CUSTOMER: Okay are we done interacting?<br />
CASHIER: Yes thank God.<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://i873.photobucket.com/albums/ab293/quidquidquidquid/20090130_dunkin_donuts_33.jpg"></center><br />
<br />
Oh, New England. Y'all crazy.<br />
<br />
It's 55 degrees and raining today. I think I'm all set with this weather.<br />
<br />
<b>Discussion Question:</b><br />
What's your favorite regional verbal tic?quidquid katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00136522704029173135noreply@blogger.com27