as "too pro-gun."

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"Aw, come on. Everyone knows that liberals are best at licking pussy."

I don't buy it. But I do believe someone (some lucky young unmarried thing, slumming in Academe) should do a study.

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1 Liberals would be too wound up trying to sort out their "feelings" to get any serious work done. Just like everything else they do except to perform unAmerican activities. Do you think the mooseims would conduct such a study?

Posted by: Rich at July 31, 2007 03:43 PM (4j8Ry)

2 No. Mary Bucholtz of UC Santa Barbara is just a cunning linguist. Same subject, right?

Posted by: Darrell at July 31, 2007 08:02 PM (EsBJT)

3 Well, they do say that men give the best head to men, and women, to women . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 01, 2007 12:46 AM (VgDLl)

4 Princess Attilla, you must hang out with some "interesting" folks.

Posted by: Rich at August 01, 2007 02:20 AM (4j8Ry)

5 "They" say lots of things, most usually wrong. We need research, dammit!!! And indisputable and impartial measures of success--think Pet Scans, not questionnaires! People who love their work do the best job. People who focus on the goal and understand individual differences and preferences, do the best job.

Posted by: Darrell at August 01, 2007 09:11 AM (G4wMV)

6 Darrell, that was very well stated. Please accept a cyber HIGH-FIVE. Bet you can even get the Blog Princess to agree.

Posted by: Rich at August 01, 2007 10:28 AM (4j8Ry)

7 People who love their work do the best job. People who focus on the goal and understand individual differences and preferences, do the best job. Yup

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 01, 2007 08:56 PM (VgDLl)

8 Just an aside for any woman who might read this post that might be considering a "change". . . Please, no labiaplasty!!!! Did Georgia O'Keefe paint concrete water intakes? Know a spelunker who goes caving in one? Perfection is best left to God.

Posted by: Darrell at August 02, 2007 08:17 PM (1qZqZ)

9 "People who love their work do the best job. People who focus on the goal and understand individual differences and preferences, do the best job." Sounds like a pretty good description of a nerd.

Posted by: Suds46 at August 02, 2007 08:37 PM (yTDDx)

10 If that's the definition of a nerd, I'll wear that 'crown' gladly! Btw, isn't a 'nerd with privileges' a contradiction in term given this context?

Posted by: Darrell at August 03, 2007 09:23 AM (YZV6V)

11 I believe the privelege would be the woman's . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 03, 2007 12:16 PM (VgDLl)

12 Libertarian licks left and right.

Posted by: Jody at August 03, 2007 07:28 PM (mawc8)

13 Jody! That was poetic!

Posted by: Attila Girl at August 03, 2007 09:29 PM (e3i3e)

14 Another famous kōan-- What is the sound of one lip smacking?

Posted by: Darrell at August 04, 2007 08:51 AM (H/9dk)

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I don't buy it. I agree with the commenter who remarked on the notion's racist overtones: associating high levels of education (even the supposedly narrow educations that nerds supposedly enjoy) with whiteness is simply another excuse to accuse those who actually want to read/study of "acting white."

Of course, one could point out the fact that Asians aren't usually considered "white" or "European-American," but that would be too freakin' easy.

Me? I think race is pretty much a cultural construct: very few people are purebred anything any more, so I wish we could stop spotlighting race in some of the very silly ways that we presently do.

But then, I'm a [classical] liberal.

Via Insty.

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Sean is into it.

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I dreamt that as a sort of surprise, my husband had decided to create another funny little indie movie.

The problem was, I could not decide whether or not I was dreaming, and I did feel that if it were the real thing, I ought to be on my best behavior. After all, his friends were around—and one was never certain when the cameras were rolling.

Certainly there were things that appeared dreamlike about the experience, but I just wasn't certain. I kept trying to reason it out, though I believe I was aware that one's analytical abilities are never quite up to snuff in these situations.

But I tried. For instance, I looked at my watch, and was able to determine that we had been shooting all day. Dreams, I knew, are over very quickly, so that seemed to argue for it being real. Also, who thinks to check their watch in a dream? It had to be real, which was a shame, because I was having a good time, and there were all kinds of things I could have done (besides taking a bath, on-camera, with people coming in and talking to me as part of the setup) that I could have done, had I known for sure.

I was a tad skeptical about the trip to Ireland, because I rather doubted we could afford that right now, but who knows? It hardly seemed like a deal-breaker: perhaps A the H had made a calculated risk, and felt that the income from the film would make it worth the investment. After all, there's a lot of free publicity available in The Age of YouTube. Also, the fact that we were going to the Emerald Isle cut in the other direction: if this were my brainchild to begin with, it would have been England.

Above all, the whole thing was terribly funny, and my dreams never feature humor. So it seemed authentic.

I tried to smile a lot, be pleasant, do something funny when it was my turn, and take it easy on the gin. (Gin was available in those fountains one gets Coca-Cola from in fast-food joints. In retrospect, this strikes me as a bit suspicious, but it felt natural enough at the time.)

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Shit. After the frosts in California, floods in East Anglia.

Most of the "buy locally" movement is pure silliness, and comes from living in an area/country/state with varied terrain, wherein a balanced diet can be produced by local farmers. It also sort of assumes that no one ever gets a hankering for tropical fruit, unless they in fact live in the tropics.

The politics of scurvy. And, in cases of flooding or frost, the politics of "let them eat, well . . . nothing. Honey, do you have the crossword puzzle from today's New York Times?"

To some degree I like to buy locally, but that has a lot to do with the fact that I'm cheap, and I therefore look for the best deals on produce. That means I tend to buy fruit from California or Mexico. But if the New Zealand apples look good and are reasonably priced, they jump into my shopping cart with some alacrity.

And of course as a Person with Allergies, I'm supposed to eat local honey when I can. Instead, I take a crapload of Clariton and get a hydrocortisone shot every few years. These procedures are a lot less messy than the honey thing.

Via Insty.

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. . . on the last day of school. It turns out that Client A won't need me tomorrow during the day, and Client B didn't pin me to my computer tonight. So I want to my mom's for a few hours to make sure she was okay—and to hang out a bit. I nursed a beer, ate half of a turkey sandwich, giggled at stupid things, threatened to take a nap on her couch, and threw a tennis ball for the dog to fetch.

I was unable to locate my cell phone, so every half an hour I'd get up, look on the counters and the mantel for the phone, rummage through my purse, and then announce I'd gotten over this obsessive-compulsive silliness, that I expected the phone to show up, and that I wasn't going to worry about it.

So I'd sit down for another ten minutes, and then grab my keys, toss the dog a treat (she has to be bribed to let me leave the house), and go out to search my car again.

It isn't altogether clear to me why my mother didn't either (a) kill me, or (b) have me committed.

The cell phone was under the cassette tape of Aladdin Sane on the passenger seat, by the way. I'm so glad my phone is so compact that it can hide under a cassette like that.

I need to go to sleep soon, as I still have plenty to do tomorrow. I did want, however, to announce that I'm on the verge of Having a Life Again, and that I would hang around online a bit longer if I didn't have a hot date.

But, you know: I do.

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And I can hear the couple at the next table talking. They are talking low, but my hearing is good.

"When you do that," he says, "I feel ike it's a giant 'fuck you.'"

"We've got to work on our communication," she replies. "I didn't mean it as a big 'fuck you' at all. Just a little one."

I hope they work it out: it's more art than science, no?

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It's a long story, involving some blogging business, a respectable amount of housework that probably should have been put off a few more days, an interesting twist in my mother's condition, a lesson on QuickBooks for my Tuesday night job that went on until 10:45, late-night shopping for two households (separately, but in the same two-hour span, and on two different sides of town), and juggling clients.

But I've been up for 22 hours at this point, and that will probably do for now. Unless, you know—I'm about to see the face of G-d.

(Never fear, Jer—I'll still meet my deadlines. What a nasty business, though, when clients read one's blog.

Hm. Of course, it could be worse. Though not by much. Hi, Dad.)

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They get to see penises?

h/t: Professor Purkinje

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I'll be waiting at the polls when they open. It's just too good to be true.

Re-elect Iowahawk 2012!

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What if you were mildly allergic to your own sweat, and it was over 95 degrees in the shade outside?

That would be annoying, no?

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You're the best stalker a girl could ever have.

The last component of my birthday gift arrived a few days ago: a small martini shaker, a light-up pen, a few bottle openers that didn't sport the names of gins on them (vodka and rum respectively), and could well have been thrown in by the packager.

And when I misplaced my shades the other day I wore the Tanqueray Arnold-style wraparounds.

I looked beyond cool.

For both of you who still read this blog, I'd just like to announce that Hell Week is over on the volunteer front, and I can go back to the more normal insanity of juggling clients.

That means that I might blog again someday soon.

Especially if I am able to make it out to Siggraph. I hope I can: I missed it last year. Wrong coast, and all that.

Of course, this year may require that I be in two places at once: Los Angeles, working at a magazine client's digs, and San Diego, celebrating pop culture and the fusing of art with technology.

It can't be that hard. Lesser people do shit like that all the time. Or so I hear.

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". . . give all you are, or can be."

Robert Bidinotto points out that the world has enriched J.K. Rowling a good deal less than she has enriched it.

Fuckin' A.

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Darrell—my very favoritest stalker—send me his final birthday shipment. It contained a lovely gin pen that LIGHTS UP! And a mini-martini shaker, and a few bottle openers (though these actually featured vodka and rum brands on them).

All in all, quite a lovely birthday haul. I wore the big scary wraparound Tanqueray shades to work today: it turns out that although the Terminator look doesn't do too much for me, these were very useful sunglasses.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:01 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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. . . when Hell Week in my volunteer life corresponds with paid assignments from my clients. Because I'm not in a position to turn down paying jobs, but of course I can't let my brethren down in the nonprofit.

So sleep is sometimes the first thing to go.

Thank goodness my mother is starting to feel capable of taking on little tasks around the house: I'll stay there tomorrow night, but I'm not going to be much good around the house. I'll probably arrive late, and then leave early Saturday morning for double-meeting day.

Please remember the take-home lessons, here: 1) don't have mothers; their backs may give out on them at some point. If this approach to life is unwieldy, then 2) don't have volunteer commitments. You'll just end up working your butt off, and people will be there to "helpfully" tell you how you could have done everything so much better.

Stick with clients. We like clients, because we send them these things called "invoices," and then later on they give us "checks," which make life better.

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Let's not make it sound worse than it is. One swaps out the tanktops for long-sleeved T-shirts, and switches to jeans from shorts. And one starts wearing socks again.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:42 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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1 I'm waiting for your Yahoo! Avatar to start dressing for Summer.

Posted by: Darrell at July 17, 2007 05:30 AM (kbFgE)

2 Good point. I haven't done a thing with her since Spring.

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 17, 2007 12:33 PM (VgDLl)

3 I saw her Easter outfit. Nice. Does this prove I'm certifiable?

Posted by: Darrell at July 17, 2007 06:08 PM (j4+Np)

4 Was that in doubt?

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 18, 2007 03:21 PM (VgDLl)

5 I just figured you were keeping the dog happy.

Posted by: Sean Hackbarth at July 18, 2007 09:16 PM (8lL1c)

6 Oh, Sean, I'm sorry! You're in Wisconsin! How embarrassing! I guess there's more to it than just wearing socks with one's sandals over there . . . Imagine my horror!

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 19, 2007 03:54 PM (VgDLl)

7 And what exactly is "keeping the dog happy" a euphemism for?

Posted by: Darrell at July 19, 2007 06:42 PM (g7mO9)

8 I decided to take it as "walking your mother's dog during her illness," because otherwise I'd have to fly out to Wis-whatever and strangle Sean, and I don't really have the time . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 19, 2007 10:42 PM (VgDLl)

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But just barely. It isn't just maintaining a household along with 2-3 jobs. It's also this business with my mother.

One doesn't just go over and fetch her mail and do her shopping. One also hears sort of a lot of, um, verbalizing. It's more or less nonstop, except when she's in so much pain she can't speak, which is even more stressful, though in a different way.

In between muscle spasms, though, there's this wall of advice. And anecdotes. And specific directions on how to do the things I'm doing for her. And helpful guidance when I'm doing it incorrectly. And admonitions that I shouldn't do more than is absolutely necessary. And polite requests to do one more teensy little thing, please.

I was all set to come home and eat my gun, but it turns out my check showed up from the premier client today, so I'll leave the firearms alone and read myself to sleep instead. Because what's more full of good cheer than money?

At some point, however, I do plan to once more become an Actual Blogger. I (almost) promise.

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My mother still needs lots of help, so I'll have to stop over there tomorrow and at least walk the dog.

Federal Express and/or our landlords messed up a shipment, so there's nothing to sell in my nonprofit/retail/office management job. And the Treasurer there is creating various pressures that I don't think I need.

My cousins were nice about staying here in Paper City, but one always feels icky about having been a poor hostess. They're young, though: they might not have noticed.

Someone damaged my car very slightly yesterday, and I went off on him. Very thoroughly. I know this person, so I probably owe him an amends, but . . . it can probably wait a bit. It was my car.

I remain imperfect.

There's a lot to be said for food and sleep.

I've decided that I should probably balance my checking account and work on my budget about as often as I do laundry—which means almost every day. Therefore, having just performed this grisly task, I am now aware that (my clients being late with my payments), I have $70 to get through next week with.

So: who votes for food? And who thinks it should be gasoline?

But I have plenty of leftovers in the fridge, and two billable assignments to get through the week. And for my birthday the husband got me books and copper pearl earrings.

I got myself two Ellery Queen mysteries and a John Coltrane album. All in all, quite a good haul.

So, you know: nothing to complain about, really.

I've decided that I deserve an iTunes binge. And—possibly a little gin.

I need external speakers for my Mac notebook, though. (I have ex-boyfriend who used to maintain that I blur the want/need distinction. This is not correct: I simply do not admit that it exists whatsoever.)

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:23 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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I realize I've been wrong about the Shanksville memorial. Sure: some people think semicircles are simply semicircles. But even a circle, now that I've had a chance to cogitate on the matter, is made up of semicircles.

And any curved line is part of a circle—hence, potentially evocative of a crescent.

From now on, I demand that no memorial to any of the events on 9/11—or any memorial tied in any way to the War on Terror in this decade—contain any curved lines at all.

I expect everything to be grid-like, or at least Cubist in its execution. Otherwise, I will abstain from voting entirely in 2008, and let the Democrats have the White House!

Ha! Take that!

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