"Which CD, Dear?"

"The one your sister burned for us for Christmas."

"You have it."

"You let me have it? You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"But I want to listen to it."

"So maybe you should find it."

"But why didn't you hang on to it?"

"Because I didn't care if it got lost for a while."

Now that's patriarchy.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:33 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 71 words, total size 1 kb.

Being a closet liberal, I'm faced with the temptation so see gray areas. To say, "maybe, if the sandal completely covers the junction between the nylons and the bare toes."

But what's next?—advocating the custom among Japanese tourists of wearing knee-high nylons with shorts?

Look: stockings are one thing, and are fine between consenting adults. But panty hose of any type are not sexy. They are meant for one purpose, and one purpose only: to attenuate one's lack of tan/unevenness of skin tone.

If the environment you are going into is so casual that you can wave your bare toes around, you have no business wearing panty hose of any sort.

Or, if the environment requires panty hose, you shouldn't be showing off your pedicure—no matter how cute it is.

Get a spray-on tan, or buy some leg makeup, or suck it up and wear linen slacks. But come on, now, Girls: let's not bring about the utter collapse of civilization, just because it's summer.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:13 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 167 words, total size 1 kb.

MeMe Roth vs. the folks at Reason.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:02 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 11 words, total size 1 kb.

Is it ever possible for a female to wear shorts with high heels and not look like a complete whore?

If not, it's rather mysterious, no? I mean, put a skirt on her, and make it even shorter, and it just looks like she's about to go clubbing. More fabric, more modesty as shorts, and . . . instant [ironic] sluttitude.

Why?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 12:59 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 71 words, total size 1 kb.

this isn't me. It's the other Joy McCann.

Though Joy McCann's refusal to bow to her son's wishes in how she runs this foundation is absolutely inspiring to me (a non-lawyer, IANOL). Once I pass the age my mother is now, I won't just wear purple—I'll drive a purple freaking convertible.

Because . . . why not?

I am positive that my 96-year-old grandmother (my only surviving grandparent, and dad's mom . . . thanks for asking) has never read this poem, or heard of this society..

And yet, her life is suffused with lavendar, a color she didn't pursue when my grandfather was alive (he had been very partial to red).

If anyone knows where I can find a lavendar flag that can be mounted on her scooter, that would be awesome. Bonus points for a cross or a fish on the flag (I have a vision of it being a purple pennant, but I could be wrong about that).

Just no rainbows, please--or woman-identified-woman symbolism. I do not want to have to explain that to her.

Thanks.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 12:53 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
Post contains 191 words, total size 1 kb.

It means an orange glow beyond the horizon as my constant companion, driving up through Chevy Chase canyon just after midnight.

It means devastation around the Hollywood sign, and the peak—Mt. Hollywood—from which one can see it best. It means farewell to countless movie sets, and the site of several early dates between my husband and me, back in the days when we assumed we'd grow out of this madness.

It means that there is soot in the air, and there are weird noises around the house—from hyperacive insects, and from the particles in the air as they begin to settle.

It means that the venue wherein I saw the Bangles in the 80s is now a staging area for LAFD.

How strange. I'm lookin' for the good in this, but it isn't visible yet.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:38 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 145 words, total size 1 kb.

for why males seem so enamoured of IM-ing their female friends. (Scroll down to the third entry on the page, David Linden's.)

Of course, there is a sort of corollary from high school. Those of us who were female and cute and brilliant and not computer jocks would often call our male friends for emotional support, understanding, and practical advice. As time wore on, it became more and more difficult to ignore the sound of the keyboard tapping that accompanied these conversations . . . fucking computer programmers. Fucking guys.

But, you know. We needed the eggs.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:23 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 103 words, total size 1 kb.

Off I go to read. When you speak of me, speak of one who blogged not wisely, but too well.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 24 words, total size 1 kb.

. . .we never talk about transexualism?

It's important, I think. Scripture says not one word about it, of course.

Thoughts?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:59 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 25 words, total size 1 kb.

Well, I got through the day yesterday without freaking out: mostly, I did it by imposing on my mother. I crashed at her place on Friday night so I could get some stuff done in the office where I do my nonprofit work, and she fed me oatmeal and tea on Saturday morning before I washed up, changed clothes, and went in for Meeting Day.

I knew I'd be receiving some [well-deserved] criticism at the Board for some of the paid work I do for them, but I also came under [undeserved] fire afterward for the volunteer side of my activities there. And I handled both just fine. In the first case, I admitted to the problem ("yes, I do have a tendancy to misplace receipts—which I must stop doing"), and in the second case, I was feisty-but-ultimately-accommodating ("I'm sorry you don't find our system for doing this convenient, but we are a volunteer-run organization. Here's my contact information; sometimes we can very likely find a way to make things easier for you, but I'm not promising anything.")

Today will be even harder, but B. removed me from the food committee and instead had me negotiate a better rate for the room we'll be using. So my role in setting up today's event will be more on the support side, which suits me fine. I haul the supplies in. I help with the setup. I put out fires. I avoid taking control, and I don't let myself get so wound up that I snap at anyone.

(Last year, I didn't go off until the event was over, and it was because two cops saw me loading supplies into my car, which was parked in the handicapped zone. We exchanged eye contact, and I figured they were going to give me five minutes to finish loading the organization's stuff. But when I came back out with my arms full of supplies, they were ticketing my car. We had a rather spirited discussion in which a friend of mine tried to intervene on my behalf, and I eventually told her loudly that it was no use trying to get them to change their minds, since both cops were "assholes." Thirty years ago, that might have got me arrested. This time, I hope it gave them some pause about how they are getting along with the community they supposedly "serve.")

And there's an event next weekend, too. May can't come fast enough.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 04:22 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 417 words, total size 2 kb.

. . . for a nice fag. I mean, really: who doesn't?

Except those who are dreaming of spotted dick. Professor Purkinje's ten-year-old daughter once asked him if "dick" meant "penis." When he confirmed that it did, she asked about the spotted dick she'd seen on English menus.

"It's a sort of custard," he explained. "If you meet a boy who really has spots on his dick, you run fast in the other direction."

The next morning he woke her up and asked her what she wanted for breakfast. "Spotted dick!" she announced.

"We're fresh out of that," informed her. "How about cereal and milk?"

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:32 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 125 words, total size 1 kb.

The Accidental Mind is getting more media attention—albeit obliquely, in this case.

But a profile in Newsweek: Fuckin' A. Furthermore, Jan Steckel is buying copies for her near and dear.

David is now Bloomsberry-in-Chief from among the Santa Monica High School Crowd of Pimentos or whatever it was that they called themselves. Unless one counts Sandra Tsing Loh. I would certainly count David Coons. That is, David B. Coons. And Nora Zungri certainly qualifies, along with Kate Sanford, Greg Turk, and Keith Goldfarb, whose icon at the top of the page appears to be a photograph of him taken by a brilliant young photographer in her 20s, using a borrowed medium-format camera.

Aw, heck. One cannot be thorough about this, but I'm starting to dig embarrassing people: I've always liked doing that sort of thing. Let's mention Eric Enderton, his lovely wife Elaine, Jon Mandel, and Mike Marinacci, as well as Janine Ellen Young.

Here endeth today's catalog, but it remains to be seen who will emerge as the group's Virginia Woolf—and who's destined to only be Maynard Keynes.

BTW, I'd actually love to see an intelligent creationist take David Linden's book on. Alas, I'm one of those "creation through evolution" milquetoasts.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:02 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 216 words, total size 3 kb.

. . . that it isn't a freakin' blast to live near the sea. We walked down to the bluffs of Shell Beach today from my uncle's place, and it was really, really nice.

Memo to self: get rich again. Soon.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:48 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 53 words, total size 1 kb.

. . . between my 70-year-old father and my ten-year-old nephew. (Well, nephew Ray will be ten in May.)

The difference is, my nephew doesn't just sort of blurt out whatever thoughts jump into his brain. My father does.

Grandpa J: If you ever want to know what Auntie Joy is thinking, just go read the blog Little Miss Attila.

Me: Dad!

Grandpa J: Oh, right. Ignore the naughty words. There are naughty words.

You know, your aunt is a Republican. She's sort of rare, inasmuch as she's a Republican who attended college.

[Thanks. Like I wanted to be out to my brother's family.]

Aunt Joy: Did you know your grandfather once came within a hundred pages of actually finishing a book? I'm so proud of him.

Nephew Ray: Keep arguing, you two. I like this.

Grandpa J: So, is your older brother (13-year-old Alan) showing signs of heterosexuality yet?

Nephew Ray: I don't think he's made out with anyone—and he doesn't talk about girls to me or my parents. But I think he has thoughts.

Grandpa J: Lots of thoughts, but no action?

Aunt Joy: Sounds like your grandpa's life.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:26 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 192 words, total size 1 kb.

I just took my evening sedative; if I get my page quota done today, it'll be a minor miracle. Well, that's why I set it high: I knew there would be days I wouldn't be able to write.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:15 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 44 words, total size 1 kb.

. . . that England doesn't really exist. After all, I've never seen it.

Someone just made it up. That's all.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:15 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 25 words, total size 1 kb.

ICANN says no, one more time. James Joyner points out that this thwarts "the hope that pornography could find its way to the Internet."

Yup.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:32 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 35 words, total size 1 kb.

Tammy Bruce has up-to-the-minute coverage, and points out that cat owners need to be just as careful as dog owners. She has a listing of the affected sub-brands under the Menu umbrella.

I'm glad that my mother buys the Mandy-chow at specialty stores, and is watching the situation closely. Of course, if her stomach were as strong as her jaws, we wouldn't have much to worry about: she can destroy an expensive pet toy in ten minutes flat.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 05:14 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 94 words, total size 1 kb.

"the strangest thing happened."

"Strange, you say?" A the H is intrigued.

"Yes. I was in the kitchen, having an intense discussion with a friend on the phone, and after you passed by I moved my head. A styrofoam cup fell onto the counter."

"Why were you wearing a styrofoam cup indoors?"

"'Cause I can't wear it outside; the wind would take it off. Come on: why did you put a disposable coffee cup on top of my snow hat?"

"You think I did that?"

"There wasn't anyone else in the kitchen, and I didn't put it there myself."

"So this relationship has devolved into finger-pointing now? That's sad."

"Oh. You think it would be healthier to wipe the slate clean and discuss this incident only from the moment that you left the kitchen with a coffee cup balanced upside-down on top of my head?"

"Or maybe from the time it fell off. I'll bet that was funny."

Posted by: Attila Girl at 04:30 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 172 words, total size 1 kb.

She crept into my mother's house in the middle of the night last night via the dog door, went into her room, and licked her hand.

I've got maybe half of the flyers torn down; I'll get the rest of them taken down tomorrow.

I'm very happy now, but I wonder what that dog got into during her 36 hours on the lam: she smells awful.

Stupid dog: she gave us a heck of a fright. I've been punishing her by feeding her treats and petting her and throwing an oversized tennis ball for her to fetch.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:09 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 105 words, total size 1 kb.