Don't Say the R-word

As usual, the Twins Geek reads my mind:

Maybe Hudson Got It Right

Why is it that anytime anyone in sports even implies racism, ESPN has to trot out all their black analysts to assure us that that person is just a crazy loose cannon and racism is some kind of vestigial tail that we would all be happier if we pretended doesn't even exist?

Someone disagree with me on this so I can point out all the "scrappy" white players and "violent" black players and "clever" Asian players on your favorite teams.

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http://irregulargiggling.blogspot.com

Myspace Monday

So, I have actual stuff to do that is not in front of the computer all day today, but heaven forbid I leave you alone, because I know Hedgehog will throw a fit, so I'm starting a new way to slack off, called Myspace Mondays, in which I just repost a blog from Myspace, back when I didn't know that blogging was all about trying to impress strangers, and so all of America was missing out on my hilarity. So, without further ado, because I have to leave in 5 minutes, here is a post from April 18, 2004, entitled "Deep Thoughts"

I was just realizing that I have lots of deep thoughts that I could be sharing with you all. Like, for instance, how war really sucks. Also, poverty. Those are two things I really don't like. I think probably most people wouldn't like them if they would just think about it for a minute. Cause they really do suck a lot. And I think maybe we as a country should be doing something about that. Like maybe take all the guns in the world and sell them and give the money to poor people. Or we could give the poor people jobs selling guns. Or whatever... But then I think, Maybe war and poverty are like these really hard problems that maybe no one can solve... Like maybe there always has been war and poor people and there always will be, even if we sell all the guns or killed all the poor people. So, I go buy a Domino's Philly Cheesesteak Pizza and a Pepsi. I like Pepsi, because the commercials say that's what the black people drink, and I like black people. A lot of people don't, but I do. I guess that's what makes me different. Sometimes I wish I were black. I think some things would be hard, with the racism and whatnot, but on the other hand, a lot of things would be a lot easier. Like, I wouldn't have to worry about fashion or dancing, because I'd just be good at them. And probably sports too. Anyway, it's a hell of a lot better than being an Arab.

The power of tripe in the conversion process

So, yesterday I promised to tell you all about how as a child I helped my family convert the Mexicans, and I'm nothing if not a woman of my word, so here it is.

As I mentioned, in many of the small towns across the upper Midwest there is a tradition of making use of what we call "The Migrants" to pick our corn and peas and soybeans and also to put them into cans and those awesome frozen boxes and bags and then ship them across the country to the sad people who can't just go out into their backyard for corn on the cob like civilized folk.

Anyway, for many manies of years, the Migrant people were truly Migrants, in that they came into town mid-summer (sometimes a little earlier if they were going to help with pea pack) and stayed until October at the latest, so all we saw of them was if we went to play on the swings at Green Giant park, or if their kids showed up for the first month of school and talked to no one and sometimes weren't even in class because they were in ESL and then they disappeared again to go pick fruit in California and Texas or to go back to Mexico for the fall, winter and spring.

On the factory property out on the edge of town they had a bunch of trailers that they rented out to the workers, and a picnic area and some other stuff, and all of this was basically off-limits to us town folk. Well, during this time, as I may have mentioned, my mom was the rector of three tiny congregations spread about forty miles in every direction, each of which had about 10 to 20 people attending every Sunday, most over the age of 50. So, she had the idea to get these folks involved in actually reaching out to others, rather than just showing up on a Sunday, and started the Hispanic Migrant Services, which involved two church services spanning the shift change on Sunday afternoons, with a free lunch in between.

The first few years we got all these old Episcopalian ladies and gentlemen together in the ancient church basement and made hundreds of bologna sandwiches, assembly-line style and then delivered them, with potato chips, cookies and lemonade, to the park where we handed them out and then stood in the back of the outdoor church while a Spanish-speaking priest from the Cities led a short church service.

Little by little more people started to show up, and as the Migrant people slowly became Resident people, there were more brown folk helping with the sandwich making and reading the lessons, and we even got a Spanish-language hymnal and I played our Casio in the back with one hand, because man their songs are too fast to try to keep up with both hands.

Anyway, as they got more involved in their own services, the Hispanic folk got interested in maybe having something besides bologna and turkey and cake, and they had the idea to cook ethnic dishes in the kitchen of my parents' house, which was only a few blocks from the factory*. First out of the gate: Menudo. No, not the band, the soup. This is a spicy red soup made from tripe. Go ahead and click on that link. Can you tell what that is? Yeah, it's intestines. Did you know that your intestines are what turn your food into poop? That's what it smells like when they clean a massive pile of tripe in your kitchen and then boil it in giant pots for hours. And that's what it will smell like in your kitchen for days afterward, no matter what your mom says, it still smells like it and it's gross, and no the soup doesn't taste any better, it tastes spicy and slimy and still reminds you of the poop smell in your kitchen.

But, it turns out it works pretty well to bring all the heathens** in to church, and they'll even want to get their babies baptized and themselves married and practice Spanish with you and maybe even make some dishes that don't involve offal.

So, that is the story about how we used tripe to make good Episcopalians out of a gaggle of papists. If only it were always that easy.



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* Yeah, enviable real-estate. It smelled like rotting corn all summer, and I loved it.
** A.k.a., Catholics

http://irregulargiggling.blogspot.com

Celebrity News Donkey Donkey Donkey Donkey

One of Houseboy's manifold and myriad and splendiforous offerings to our household is keeping up on the world of celebrity gossip so that I don't ever have to come in contact with the E!! network or Bestest Weak Ever or any of those other shows that make me want to Google "pipe bomb" and "teeming darkness chatroom" at the same time. He just jets in with little tidbits of nonsense that he finds and lets me consume them like those bite-sized almond Snickers bars: not quite what I'd pick out for myself, but they're in the candy dish one cubicle over from mine, and I'll forget I've eaten them or even that they existed as soon as I've swallowed. Today's Almond Snickers bar was This Article about Some Actress in "Gossip Girl", which we only watched one time because the voiceover was done by Kristen Bell of "Veronica Mars" fame, and everything she does is the Most Awesome Thing Ever. Except Gossip Girl, which sucks.

So the article was entertaining enough on its own, I suppose, with the prison and the drugs and the white ladies getting off with only 16 months on smuggling like an elephant of pot into the country. But what was WAY MORE FUN was that I then Googled her mother and "screen writer" because I wanted to see these so-called screen-writing credits. And I found This Way More Awesome Article, which I hypothesize is actually THE SAME article translated into Japanese and then back into English.

My favorite parts include:

• Referring to pregnancy as being "already profound with Leighton" and having the baby as "gave being innate." These parts might actually be translated from Latin.
• That Leighton "has clever relations" with her parents and "plays a single of a womanlike leads." Dirrrrty!
  
• That the only completely grammatically correct sentence is "It turns out she was born in jail!" At least they know what to focus on.
  

But my very most favorite quote, that I'm definitely having tattooed in large letters on my back, because it's now my life motto, is this:

"And we consider it usually creates me conclude a things which we have right away."

Think about it.

Threat to National Security

Have you seen those commercials lately where you can send in your gold in a special envelope and receive cash in return? They are full of the requisite testimony from "real customers." The only plausible explanation I can come up with for this business is leprechauns. Think about it. You know I'm right.

I'm all social and whatnot

So, normally I'm what I like to call "mildly agora-resistant." Meaning I really prefer to stay under my many ratty blankets eating microwaved pot pie and Easter candy and watching baseball to just about anything else. I get my groceries delivered. I get my pet food delivered. I once tried to get Houseboy to brush my teeth for me so that I wouldn't have to walk the 7.3 steps to the bathroom.

Anyway, that should make it all the more shocking that, not only have I "done stuff" three times in the last week, it was all (yes ALL), unusual, mildly irritating and generally out of my comfort zone. First, last Thursday Houseboy and I used a gift certificate to go see a play at The Goodman called Massacre. Upshot of this play was that it was about how Hispanic people in this country have allowed their hearts and minds to be co-opted and controlled by white racist charactarizations of their culture. I was kinda hoping for more blood.

Then, on Wednesday, we went out with Houseboy's baseball friend: a person I like very much, but who happens to be a sign of one very wrong thing in baseball: he's a native Texan and a Cubs fan (f'n WGN). Anyway, a friend of his was a part of a travelling socialist puppet troupe. Yes, I recognize that that sounds made up, but there's really nothing I can do about that. I promise it's real, and I promise we went. I can still smell the general reek of artsy socialists and their apparent disdain of soap and deodorant. Lesson learned there was that... um... oh, something about George Bush and the war, but there was a giant puppet elephant that was cool.

Finally, yesterday I lured Houseboy out to a forum on the non-profit industrial complex with the lure of Greek food. Panelists discussed the control of 501(c)3 nonprofits by the government, the wealthy, and foundations and how to escape the cycle of tax breaks and social control. Then I ordered a whole pizza and a giant bowl of hummus.

This weekend I will not be answering the phone or opening the curtains, and I will most likely smell like a socialist by Monday.