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11.24.4 Happy! No, Wait! Sad!
There is some joy in Boomville: Bust is now bi-monthly instead of quarterly! And I have three finished pies (two pumpkin, one lemon chess) all crisp and lovely, and a couple dozen tasty challah rolls just waiting to be eaten tomorrow. I will share. I must still finish the eggnog creme brulee (I'm making up the recipe; if it works, you'll be the first to see the printed recipe) and the cornbread stuffing.
And if for some reason you voted Libertarian or Republican in Washington's election for governor, I hold you personally responsible. 42 votes, people. Four. Tee. Too.
11.19.4 Today, I Am A Man
I may look like a girl, but in fact, I am turning into a man. At least according to recent blood tests, which indicate that I'm either heading into menopause at the post-ripe age of 35, or growing a gigantic, invisible tumor on my pituitary gland. In a roundabout way, this raises the question of gay marriage: If my hormones are manly and I go to Sweden and get a penis, does that mean Sweetie and I automatically get a divorce? Well, yes, actually, it might, but I mean automatically without Sweetie applying for one, like it's annulled or something. There's this, but that's post-surgery marriage. So's this one, but it's a better (if sadder and more upsetting) article. One woman is described as a "blonde marshmallow", though, which is a cheerful thought.
And in case you haven't sailed your boat in their direction yet, here is Island of The Crazed Hippies. Like with any superdiet since Dr. Kellogg's, there's some level of validity here, and yes, it's good to eat a certain amount of raw food. I would be happier if they included eggs (if not slices of raw meat, and let's not even get into naturally occurring fermentation) in their "20,000 years ago people only ate raw" ideals, but if diet pushers start to base their diets on something other than woo-woo insistence, then the whole nature of food-as-religion would collapse and then we'd all be happily living on sticks of butter and beer. And nobody wants that except, possibly, Brothermine.
11.17.4 Things With Feathers
In the tradition of many fine blogs, today's entry will be link-based. First, we have an attacking chicken. Is it not the Saddest Picture Ever?
Next up, a contest! I would certainly have the Blues if I had to avoid sugar for the rest of my life. I might even be as Sad as the girl in the chicken picture. I urge all you freelancers to take 30 seconds and get yourself a free CD. Please note that the word "touch" must be included in the song. I don't know if the word "insulin" really works in a blues meter, but I'm doing my best to work with it.
Here's a giant list of palindromes. Ah, Satan sees Natasha.
And here is the perfect picture of what a geek fantasy author should look like, from the hat to the romantic ruins in the background. Although his recent letter refers to loving Mr. Springsteen, and Thunder Road is about the least hobbity song I can think of.
Horrifying as an attacking chicken, able to leap Bruce Springsteen in a single bound, it's...Nyanko Burger! Plush chicken nugget set! Because chickens attack! (Engrish lovers will deep admire future pages! They so cute! Hot but fun summer!)
11.12.4 Just Tryin' To Get Over, Baby
OK. So now Rossi's a little bit ahead, and I feel panicky. Do Republicans feel the same sense of fear and horror when a Nice Lady like Christine Gregoire is in the lead? Perhaps. Here's a Seattle Times thing about what's going on. It's not good. It's also not surprising. And tiring; let's not forget tiring.
I hope the next SuperBowl ends up like this: fans demanding recounts and making crazy accusations and lawsuits and angry B-teams who think it should be a game between five or six teams all at once, and fuzzily-drawn lines and crooked goalposts and referee intimidation.
Speaking of referees, I have decided that I'm going to apply to be a poll worker next summer when they're hiring again. I look forward to some Republican kook trying to intimidate me. "Capital Hill Shocked As Poll Worker Opens Can Of Whoop-Ass".
11.11.4 A Start
Ok, so now the whole darn world wants me to make the "let's go blue-state shopping" site. Serves me right. Here, at least, is a start.
Justice Clothing has basic stuff like sweats, socks, pants, and t-shirts that are all US Union-made. Read their reasons behind why US Union only instead of asking me about it. Plus, they're based in blue-state Mained. I've placed my first order for some t-shirts.
11.9.4 Recross Your Fingers
I've been getting sent a lot of links about a lot of different maybe-we-actually-won topics. I'm not sure whether posting this makes me lazy or just efficient, but I found this other blog that has a frequently updated list of relevant articles. Here it is. The NY Times articles require registration; the Olberman ones don't. 93,000 more votes than registered voters? 155,000 uncounted provisional ballots? Oh. Dear. Wait, I meant: Oh. Good. Or maybe just Oh. Or maybe O. Canada.
11.6.4 Everybody's Doing It
I've been looking for some sort of magical giant listing of places to shop that support Democrats and don't necessarily make me irritated, like, oh, Madison Market. I can't find a site like that, and in the meantime, some conclusions I'm reaching (like Trader Joe's is based in CA; QFC based in FL, therefore shop at Trader's) are pretty flawed. Things I've learned:
Costco does good things for their employees.
Sustainable Business has a lot of helpful, interesting big-picture sorts of things.
Trader Joe's is owned by an old German guy. The current CEO of Kroger is James P. Herring, who is listed on Follow The Money as having given many thousands of bucks to the GOP. The search gets grindingly slow, and I can't find much about Mr. Herring elsewhere online.
In happier news, the hummingbirds continue to hum and chirp and sip their sugar water on my deck. It's nice. And The Man has fixed the fire hydrant in front of our home that a drunk hit over the summer. That's also nice. The fixage, not the drunkage.
In sadder news, (which you've likely heard), Mrs. Edwards has breast cancer. I wish all the quotes weren't implying that strong person = not dying. That's dumb. I'm really tired of dumb.
11.3.4 Exactly What I Didn't Want
I went to bed at 2am worried, but assuming we wouldn't know for sure for a number of days yet. I woke up just as Kerry called to concede to Asshole Junior. I feel sick and confused. Supposedly, he called to concede to "prevent a repeat of the last election". So, um, he conceded to prove to the world that our election process is fair and wonderful? Is that it? From what I can tell, not all states are actually even done counting, and I can't find a single mention online of how the overseas votes have been figured it. The last election made me care, and I don't know what to do with the care if Mr. Kerry Fat Lady has chosen to sing.
I sort of hope Mr. Bush just tells all the sad people to just go shopping. Can I buy a lifestyle where I don't care who my president is? Can I buy some stem cells for the supreme court?
I feel so sad and disappointed that all our fundraising efforts and smart smaller programs didn't turn out the way I wanted them to. I am awfully glad that so many more people voted this time, even if I am surprised at how much I disagree with them when it comes to, well, pretty much everthing but the need to vote. The biggie I'm looking at now is WA governor. I was sure that Gregoire had it in the bag; Dino Rossi, while a great name, is a kook. Creationism in schools? The split is currently less than 2,000 votes, which I think will mean a recount. My fingers, they are crossed.
And otherwise, well, at least we have Jon Stewart to look forward to. Maybe if Edwards and Kerry had removed the H from their names, they would've won.
Go cry in your beers for the rest of week; that's what I'll be doing. But by the 8th, it'll be biznitch as usual, and we need to not give up. There'll be judges to fight for or against, budget changes, Arctic drilling...we shall nevvvah surrrendaaaah.
11.2.4 Fear = W (2)
I promise that's the closest you'll ever see to a math formula on this blog. It's in honor of Brothermine's birthday. Keep your legs on another year, Blight.
Yesterday at work, Sweetie was talking to two other joyless liberals about Fear Factor style things they'd be willing to do to insure Bushie got ditched this time. Lying in a box filled with tarantulas? Yeah, OK. Bungee jumping? If we must. Sweetie claimed his phobia was "living in a small town". Apparently it would only count if the town was in a red state and he lived there at least six months, which personally sounds a little steep. Is there that much of a difference between a wee town in a blue state and a wee town in a red state? I bet not. Well, OK, excepting my hometown of Kennett Square. Please note the "Murder Mystery Art Walk". Or go to the symphony.
11.1.4 Jilmo Is Tired
First, for those who don't read this irregularly scheduled blog much, I want to post the lastest links on the Lancet journal study of Iraqi deaths. It still seems to be getting little to zip coverage here, but here's a BBC article about it. Yucky.
And I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that All Saints' Day was 'relatively peaceful' in the Philippinnes. If you would like to enlist the help of the impressive dead in tomorrow's election, I suggest trying this nice lady. She seems like a good Democrat.
On a somewhat happier note, the two hummingbirds continue to buzz about our feeder. SInce it was sunny yesterday, I actually got to admire one in the sun. Bright green, like a beetle, with a bright red throat. It made me wish I had feathers. But then I'd have to be someone's nephew. (Come on, people, it's an old joke. think.)
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