I'm Slightly Hung Over, And I'll Take Wine For $20,000

I have been trying to get this entry out for the last couple of days, so my apologies if it’s all old news to you folks out there. My difficulties with getting this one finished have been compounded this morning by a slight hangover (drinking snakebites at a goth dance party will do that to a girl), a really long long-distance phone call from my brother, and a terrible pot of watery coffee that I am embarrassed to say I made. Finally, though, this thing is getting done. The aspirin is kicking in, the phone call is over, and I’ve decided to accept the weak state of my joe. Here goes.

Sometimes, I am truly grateful that I do not live in Texas.

Join the fight against factory farming. Watch the “The Meatrix”.

You know your job sucks when:

  • The moral of this story is, don’t ever get caught taking bribes in China.
  • We all have ex-bosses that we think were some kind of evil, but at least they didn’t feed you to the lions.
  • I don’t know if the jail nurse was an idiot or not, but her job sure sounds like a paperwork nightmare.

    Just a happy little link about the possibility of the destruction of the entire world.

    If a blind, wild great horned owl from Wisconsin can get new eye lenses implanted so it can see, why do I have to be stuck behind such thick glasses? The world just isn’t right.

    I bet you’re wondering where Bush was between late 1972 and early 1973, aren’t you?

    The Fiery One and I went out for supper a couple of nights ago. It wasn’t supposed to be anything special. I was hungry, he was hungry, and there was some extra cash lying around, so we headed out to walk to a local haven of north american grease-founded cuisine. We were struck with how not painful the night air was for once. Instead of the biting and frostbite-inducing windchill, we were surrounded by still, blue air, the temperature of which created the sensation of freshness that is so often attributed to winter cold but I rarely get to experience in this frigid province. It struck me how little time we spend outside talking, or doing any communicating at all, during the winter months here. There the Fiery One and I were outside, chatting away and really enjoying the walk, when for the past few months a walk meant a brisk pace with your head down and your lips curled against each other to keep each other warm. It was like those scenes in movies where people are walking outside in winter and having long and involved conversations. It can happen. The weather, by the way, is not the point of this story.
    (This paragraph also excludes the point of this story, but you should read it anyway). We were just about at the restaurant of our choice when we were faced with a decision we had not thought to make before. We found ourselves standing in the alley between two restaurants, the one we usually go to and one we have never gone to. We chose the latter, and went in. It was very old-school posh with red-velvet-lined booths and drapey curtains in the doorways and oil paintings of dead Canadian politicians on the walls with brass lamps to illuminate them. We got to sit under Trudeau and some ambassador guy in a corner booth. We were seated close together at the back of the booth by the waiter, and we suddenly knew that this was our seasonally romantic occasion thing. Good thing we decided that, because the food was freaking expensive, and we weren’t going to duplicate such decadence in the same week.
    We were looking over the wine and spirits menu, and there was a special section halfway down one of the pages where there were three wines, each in their own red oval to set them aside from the other wines you could order (this is where I get to the point). The Fiery One pointed at the middle red oval and asked me what the commas meant in the prices. I had to think for a second, because the french use commas where we english speakers would use decimals when expressing the prices of things, and the number under this particular wine was ridiculous if I read it the english way. We asked the waiter about it. It was english. The place where we were having dinner has a bottle of wine you can buy for $20,000! I can live on that for a year, or buy a car, or actually go to France and live there for several months comfortably. After that, I didn’t even think about mentioning the cost listed on the menu for a measely five ribs. I couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like to be someone who can just drop $20,000 on a bottle of wine.

    Here is what’s been up with Haiti for the last while. It’s not good.

    Despite their government's best efforts, there will still be a Valentine's Day for some Iranians.

    It is very, very nice to donate 1600 books to our poor children in the north, but it is ridiculous to do so when they have no building to put them in, and it is even more ridiculous to then offer them even more books and still no building.

    At the place where I work, a lot of young people from Korea come through. I was never much of a t-shirt reader, because I think clothing that has words on it, especially brand logos, is tacky, but these Korean kids have the weirdest t-shirts, and so I have taken to specifically reading what theirs have to say. Here is a small sampling:

  • One t-shirt read Boyfriend Wanted: good hair, long sleeves, plays guitar.... Long sleeves are ever so important when it comes to boyfriends.
  • This t-shirt said Why not chew gum in class? with the word tomboy underneath. Oh, you rebel, you. You tomboy, with your gum-chewing.
  • A sweater with a zipper up the front that split up words that read Thursday on the first line and And on the second in appliqued letters. I watched this person closely to see if there was anything on the back. There wasn’t. There was just that, Thursday And.

    I likes the idea of electric paper, I does. If they can make it so it reflects instead of emitting light and it is flexible, then I am all for the use of less paper of tree-origin.

    Read this interview with Dr Mohammed al-Shiekh Mahmood Sayam, the man behind the intifada.

    You all have probably heard about this one already, but so what. Here it is again – 30 human embryos cloned!

    After all these years, Barbie and Ken are splitting up. (It's weird how adults talk about the lives of plastic dolls. Oh, shit, I'm doing it.)

    I HEREBY COMMAND YOU TO READ GEORGE SAUNDERS. Yes? Good. “Jon” and “Sea Oak” serve as excellent introductions to Mr. Saunders and all his wit. If you are so inclined after reading these two short stories, which you will be, here is an interview and a fan site to get to know him by. You can wash all that down by running out and picking up a copy of Pastoralia.