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December 2004

oh, the irony

I wonder if all Kerry-supporters (and, like me, not-Bush supporters) found this little item on their Amazon.com recommended lists yesterday. How does that wily Amazon know these things about us?

*sigh*

Life, of course, goes on. I really don't fucking understand why the bulk of the American electorate like being lied to. Of course, I am also one of the blue state intellectual elite who, therefore, is deeply suspect because I also know the right way to say "nuclear." All I can think of is that people are really, really scared right now and are looking for something to protect them, whether that be devout (if misguided) faith in a God, moral values (which means that gays can't marry but that we can bomb the crap out of anyone we're frightened of) and a smirking puppet whose strings are being pulled by some very scary men. Four more years of this. Woo.

Which doesn't mean that it ends here. And for those who are despondent, I say this: have a nice stiff drink and get involved on a local level. Work to change something near you and you'll feel much, much better. You don't stop playing even when you discover that the game is rigged, especially when it's the only game you've got.

(Added later, after the coffee kicked in--

Two links, both gacked from boingboing.net:

Jesusland and the Purple States.


a warning

Last night, the Diva was having bad dreams. About 4 a.m., I went in and lay down with her, since the last batch of dreams woke her to the point of hollering. Eventually, she drifted back off, only to twitch and snap back awake just as I was starting to think about sneaking back to my bed.
"I see animals, mommy," she said, in that sleepy-toddler way. "Animals."
"It's just a dream, sweets. Go back to sleep."
As she was drifting off, she muttered, peevishly. "The turtle ate my pants."

And, so, today's lesson: Beware the turtle. He wants to eat your pants.


i wanna be sedated

A picture of my first experience knitting something vaguely lace-y:
100_0382
This Egyptian cotton (King Tut, I believe) washcloth was a very late birthday gift for a friend. The soaps helped, I think.

The Yarn Harlot wrote an amazing poem (sort of) to her spouse in honor of his birthday. I'd like to direct all happily married folk to it. While the details may not apply to your relationship, the sentiment will. And to my spouse, I point out this quote: "for still loving me every day, despite the fairly good evidence that I am out of my mind and a little hard to keep up with. "

All day long, a Ramones song has been stuck in my head. Only 20-20-24 hours to go until this election madness ends. Or, at least, the voting part of the election madness....