Category: silliness

a dozen tomatoeufs

Back in the summer of 2007, I participated in a CSA, and found myself frequently overwhelmed by produce. Case in point: for several weeks in a row, I received 10 pounds of tomatoes a week. For people who do things like make pasta sauce and can it, this sort of bounty probably sounds wonderful. For me, who did neither, it was about 9 pounds of tomatoes too many per week.

I made it through, with many tomatoes shared with friends, many caprese salads, and probably a certain amount of compost.¹

I also had fun taking photos of the tomatoes. One week I had a large number of little egg-sized tomatoes, which inspired me to play with my food. (The yolk is a little round yellow tomato.)

¹ I also produced a fair amount of tomato posts, including a tomato ThThTh list, and a post about excessive tomatoes, in which I actually first posted these photos.²
² It’s so funny to go back and look at some of my old posts. I was a posting maniac back when this blog was in its infancy. Also, I was often pretty damn funny. If I do say so myself.³
³ Apparently, I do.

Saving All My Pants For You

 
This edition of National Pants Radio is dedicated to those who seriously love pants: a playlist of classic pants songs to fit all body types.

  • All You Need Is Pants – The Beatles
    However, shirts and shoes are also required for service in most establishments.
  • Pants Me Two Times – The Doors
    Pants me once, shame on you. Pants me twice, shame on me.
  • Pants Will Keep Us Together – Captain and Tennille
    Especially if they are stitched well.
  • Pants Will Tear Us Apart – Joy Division
    At the seams.
  • Can’t Buy Me Pants – Beatles
    I’m not buying that. Money can buy many things. Even pants.
  • Making Pants Out of Nothing at All – Air Supply
    Would these be invisible pants?
  • Do You Believe In Pants? – Huey Lewis & the News
    Yup. Except maybe the invisible ones.
  • You Give Pants a Bad Name – Bon Jovi
    That style is really unflattering.
  • You’ve Got to Hide Your Pants Away – The Beatles
    Just toss them in the hamper.
  • Tainted Pants – Soft Cell
    I don’t even want to know what those stains are.
  • Where Did Our Pants Go – The Supremes
    Did you check the dryer?
  • A Man Without Pants – Engelbert Humperdinck
    Is he, by any chance, wearing a trenchcoat?
  • Need Your Pants So Bad – Fleetwood Mac
    Um, I’m using them right now. Can’t you get your own?
  • They’ll Never Take Her Pants From Me – Elvis Costello
    That’s just creepy.
  • Addicted To Pants – Robert Palmer
    You and me both, Robert. Better than heroin, though. Or leggings.
  • The Power of Pants – Huey Lewis and The News
    Sustainable. Renewable. Fashionable.
  • Saving All My Pants For You – Whitney Houston
    Um, thanks. I’ll be sure to make space in my closet.

Today marks the 6th anniversary of this blog and a special day for me to reflect on the meaning of pants.

a binder, goofier discourse

With apologies to my international friends and readers who either aren’t following, or are getting more than they’d like about, the US presidential race. For my friends and readers in the US who are still hearing more than they’d like about the US presidential race, I feel your pain. But I’m going to go ahead and post anyhow.

—

On Tuesday night, I faced the debates with a knot in my stomach.

That last few months have been increasingly stressful for all in this country who have convictions about what is best (or worst) for the country. The discourse has become increasingly ugly. Civility has left the building.

It won’t surprise anyone who reads this blog regularly that I am left-leaning.¹ I voted for Obama in 2008, and will enthusiastically vote for him again this year for a variety of reasons. But that’s beside the point.²

The point is that I watched the debate with many months of tension building, expecting to feel outraged. Dismayed. Disturbed.

What I did not expect was to go to bed giggling that night, and to wake up feeling like a 50-pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I thank the binders full of women.³

I have a number of friends and relations who really didn’t see what’s so funny about “binders full of women.” They saw the reaction to it as blown out of proportion for a simple poor choice of phrase. They saw it as distracting from the real issues.

But I saw it as funny.

Really, really funny.

I loved the way people ran with it, and the many, many clever and quick responses.⁴ Sure, Romney’s phrase was only slightly off. If he’d phrased things a little less awkwardly, there might have been nought to run with. But the phrase brought up absurd imagery. And run with it, people did. To my great enjoyment.⁵

For the record, there were plenty of things that Romney said during the debate that I objected to. Things having to do with real issues that I care about deeply. But for all the critically important well-constructed arguments on the issues, for all the articles and the numbers and the counterpoints, none of them has given me so much relief and release and actual hope about the outcome of this election as the binders full of women comment and the ensuing flood of mockery.

So thank you, internetz. You came through for me this time. And thank you, Mitt.⁶

—
There are some good analyses out there about why the phrase got such a broad⁷ response. I though this one from the Guardian, brought to my attention by laloca, was particulary good. Here’s an excerpt:

Why did the phrase resonate? Because it was tone deaf, condescending and out of touch with the actual economic issues that women are so bothered about. The phrase objectified and dehumanized women. It played right into the perception that so many women have feared about a Romney administration – that a president Romney would be sexist and set women back. And it turns out the way Romney presented it – that he asked for a study of women in leadership positions – wasn’t true anyway.

¹ I regularly lean really, really far to the left, but I have good balance, so I don’t usually fall over.

² Sort of.

³ In case you missed it, “binders full of women” was an unfortunate phrase used by Romney when telling an anecdote about his efforts to recruit women for positions on his cabinet as Governor of Massachusetts.

And — and so we — we took a concerted effort to go out and find women who had backgrounds that could be qualified to become members of our cabinet. I went to a number of women’s groups and said, can you help us find folks? And they brought us whole binders full of — of women.

To see the full transcript, with a really cool interactive feature that lets you play the section of video from the transcript, check out this page on the 2nd debate at the New York Times.

⁴ Like these, most (if not all) of which can be found on the binders full of women tumblr: 3 rings to rule them all, nobody put’s baby in a binder, Binder?, Gobias, txt from Hillary, Hefner, Bill Clinton. Or the Facebook page, which someone started within seconds of the phrase being uttered. Or the reviews on this binder on Amazon. Or this one.

⁵ I’m sorry, but if the RNC can go gung-ho and build a whole convention theme around a poorly phrased bit of reference ambiguity offered by Obama, folks can have a little fun with Romney’s poorly phrased bit of metonymy.

⁶ Not something that my friends have expected to hear from me.

⁷ Heh. I said “broad.”

keep on path

This sign seems to offer helpful advice, but sometimes I’ve found myself with doubts I’m on the right path.

There is also something to be said for being a trailblazer, and heading off the path. You do need to watch out for hazards like poison ivy, though. Or other pitfalls. There might even be actual pitfalls! I’ve never seen a pitfall, other than in movies or TV shows I saw as a kid. It might actually be cool to build a pitfall, but if you did so, you should probably not do it on the path. For one thing, you’d probably get noticed by others who are out on walks on the path, and they might get suspicious of you out there with your shovel. You did bring a shovel, right? Because you’re not going to make a very effective pitfall if you just try digging a hole with your hands or a stick. Or even a spoon. It would take you a really long time with a spoon. Unless it’s a really big spoon, and unless the ground is really loose. So that’s another reason to go off the path. The ground’s going to be really packed hard on the path, and even if you had half a dozen friends there to help you with their grapefruit spoons, it would take a long time to build a pitfall big enough to catch something. No, I don’t know what you’re likely to catch. If this were a bikepath, you could catch a biker, but we already decided you should go off the path for this. So maybe a raccoon? Because, let’s face it, you’re going to get pretty tired of digging that pitfall, and I doubt you’ll keep at it long enough to make a hole big enough to catch something big like a bear. What were you planning to do with a bear anyhow? So just plan to keep things small and simple. A little hole, covered up with some sticks and camouflaged with some leaves. But not those leaves! I’m pretty sure those are poison ivy.

Come to think of it, it’s safer to keep on the path.

Better yet, keep on the couch and put on an episode of Gilligan’s Island. I’m pretty sure there was an episode where someone tried to make a pitfall.

–
This photo was taken at the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, one of my favorite places in the world. I was remembering this photo with Friday’s theme of “path,” and thought I’d post something about the Japanese Tea Garden, or possibly something more meaningful about my path in life. I may have…strayed.

The Republic of Pants: Election 2012


It’s once again election season in the Republic of Pants. Four years ago, we were gripped by the tight pants race between Corduroy O’Bloomer and Trousers McPants. Today, the pants of the Republic are still split.

The media’s bias-cut stretches the fabric of the truth, tailoring the fit to either the Left Pants Leg or the Right Pants Leg. For those fully comfortable dressing on one side or the other, the choice may seem an easy fit. For those caught between the legs, however, the decision remains an uncomfortable one, and many concerns chafe.

After wearing O’Bloomer for 3 years, many are ready to try on a new pair of Pants. Some complain that O’Bloomer didn’t fit the way they’d hoped, that they’d been deceived by overly flattering dressing-room mirrors. Others never thought he was a good fit, and are pushing to go back to older pants styles. Yet there are still many who support O’Bloomer, and argue that his sturdily constructed pants are only beginning to be broken in.

O’Bloomer and his Vice Pants, Bootcut BiDenim, seek to publicize benefits of The Affordable Cleaners Act, a law by which all pants should be given access to adequate laundering. They claim that better fabric care for all pants will positively impact the well-being of the Republic, as well as addressing the rapidly rising costs of laundry. Critics argue that the dry cleaning companies will clean up while the pants of the Republic are hung out to dry.

Corduroy continues to be hemmed in by threadbare rumors, including that he is a Muslin, or just like Linen. Rumors that he was manufactured abroad persist in spite of his display of his “Made in the Pants Republic” labels.

Opposition styles, though, are also far from universally appreciated. After one of the most awkward and embarrassing fashion shows in decades, Tweed R. Moneypants was selected as challenger to O’Bloomer.

Few would call the Moneypants campaign seamless, with evidence of it being patched up on the fly. Many claim that R. Moneypants is really a pair of reversible pants, showing whichever pattern of his double-face fabric better suits his base. Some dispute his claims that he pulled himself up by his belt-loops, saying that he was braced by his father’s suspenders. Moneypants has further been criticized and for pocketing his assets in offshore Bermuda shorts, and for being in the back pocket of powerful suits with a vested interest in seeing him wear the Pants.

The uncomfortable stiffness of Tweedy’s material has been the butt of many jokes. Hammerpants Rayon, running mate of Moneypants, seems to be cut from a more comfortable pattern, but many doubt that his flashy cloth has enough substance to adequately cover the seat of the Pants Government.

Every fiber of the candidates is being examined for stains, holes and other defects, whether or not they are material to the issues. In this straight-legged race, neither side has the option to be a relaxed fit. Both must stay up on their briefs or risk being caught with their pants down. As the old adage goes, “He who slacks off gets sent to the cleaners.”

Both O’Bloomer and Moneypants are expected to be neatly pressed for the upcoming debates, with carefully tailored responses under their belts. Questions likely to be addressed include: How will each address the continuing strain on the fabric of the Pants Economy? How will they protect the National Pants from the looming menace of international Powerbritches? And finally, and most controversially, do leggings really count as pants?

right (friday foot finder)

This week’s friday¹ foto finder theme is “right.” I was all set to post a different photo, or possibly a set of photos, when my autocorrect² once again changed the “foto” in my post title to “foot.” I took this as a sign to change directions.³ I present to you a right foot that I found in my photo archives.


This is Theo’s right foot, pressed up against the inside of the car window, when he was about 2 and a half. You may note that the inside of the window bears not only finger prints, but toe prints.

—-
¹ Yes, I realize it is now Saturday, but I was travelling all week, and while expected to have time to post yesterday, it didn’t quite work out.
² I typically compose my posts in my email application on my laptop, and a recent upgrade brought the joys of autocorrect (once known to me only from my iPad) to my laptop.
³ By making a right turn?

Thanks a million. Almost.

Before I got my beloved Mini¹, I used to drive a Toyota Corolla. We bought it used, but only slightly used. It had only about 35,000 miles on it, and was only a couple of years old. It was a great car. Almost totally unremarkable, with its 4 doors and gray-blue paint, you’d see cars just like it every day. It was barebones: no bells or whistles (it did have a horn), nondescript upholstery, casette player, manual roll-up windows. But that car got really amazing mileage. Typically 36 miles to the gallon. It was very reliable, not counting a couple of incidents with dud alternators. I loved that car.

I remember the day it rolled over to 100,000 miles. Well, I remember noting at some point that it was going to do so that day, and then later that day noticing that it had. I missed the actual moment of rollover. Probably because I was driving.

Would you believe that this blog is getting quite close to rolling over on the odometer? At some point soon, almost certainly this month, it will break a million pageviews. Quite remarkable for a little not-quite-six-year-old blog with a fairly small number of regular readers.

I’m hoping to catch the roll-over, and I wondered if anyone out there wanted to play a game with me to guess what day. As of right now, at 9:46 p.m. on Monday, September 3rd, the pageviews are at 994,985. (You can check what they are yourself, as I have the pageviews in my sidebar. Just scroll down a bit to see the section called “blog stats.” Unless you are reading this on a mobile version, in which case, I don’t know if you can see it.)

To help you estimate how quickly the roll-over will come, here are some details about my pageviews:

  • I tend to get between 200 and 400 pageviews a day (mind you, these are WordPress pageviews, not unique visitors. So if someone clicks on a few pages, it counts as a few pageviews)
  • An average weekday gets typically somewhere over 300, and weekends tend to be lower

Here are some screenshots of my blog stats from a few days ago. (I noticed that my pageviews were at 993,333, and I liked that number)

Pageviews by day:

Pageviews by week:

Pageviews by month:

(As you can see, things have slowed down in the last couple of years. This is probably partly due to people reading blogs less, but also because Google doesn’t seem to like me as much anymore. Maybe because I stopped sending it flowers?)

I did a lazy calculation, and estimating that I’ll continue to get around 300 pageviews a day, the remaining 5000 or pageviews should take a bit over 16 days. So that would put us around September 20th. I’m going to guess noon on September 20th for the rollover.

So, does anyone else want to play? Guess the day (and a time, too, if you like) that my blog will hit 1,000,000 pageviews. Whoever gets closest will win a choice of one of the following:

  • An original crayon doodle in the style of my blog header created by me
  • An original haiku created by me
  • An original dust bunny created by my extraordinarily subpar housekeeping skills
  • A walk-in appearance in my next novel. (I’ve never written a novel. But I might some day, and you’d totally get to be in it.)
  • A walk-in appearance in my dissertation, should I ever actually write one. (Expect delayed gratification. Very delayed.²)
  • A post here on the topic of your choosing
  • A surprise, chosen by me³

—
¹ Did I ever mention that I had a Mini Cooper? Before I had a baby, I called it my baby.
² Very, very delayed.
³ Really I have no idea what this would be, so I would get to be surprised, too.⁴
⁴ It will almost definitely not be one million dollars. But I was really tempted to write that in as a prize, because I hear it in my head now, as spoken by Dr. Evil in Austin Powers.

Sparkle + unicorn – uni

Here’s a little bit about a BlogHer party that I mostly wrote on the train on my way back from NY, but it got out of hand to include in the post I put up that night.

I wasn’t really sure about going to parties at BlogHer this year, but I ended up checking out one of them. Mostly for Phoebe. You see, it was the party known as Sparklecorn. Where, as best I can tell, the “corn” stands for “unicorn,” and the “sparkle” stands for “sparkle.” I know that I have mentioned that Phoebe loves unicorns. Have I also mentioned that Phoebe, unlike most 6-year-old girls, loves sparkly things? So naturally I wanted to go to this so that I could lord it over her that I got to go to a cool party while she stayed home.

This party seems to be a BlogHer tradition, and many get into the spirit by dressing in sparkly things. I did not come equipped with sparkle, but they let me in anyhow. Happily, to aid the sparkle-deficient (and to augment the sparkling of the sparkle-prepared), there were approximately a gazillion glowsticks around. On every available surface, and every willing person.

A pile o’ glow.


I don’t know any of these people.

The tables were adorned thusly, with glowsticks, shiny unicorn confetti, and candy necklaces:

I snagged a few of these sparkly unicorn confetti bits to bring home for Phoebe.

I liked the way these wine glasses caught the light. The light was actually changing colors, but somehow I only got a decent shot when the light was white. But you can still see the reflected glints of a thousand glowsticks.

I did not snag any of these to bring home for Phoebe.


Chewbacca really got into the spirit. (He was actually just a cardboard cut-out.) Lady Gaga looks comparatively lackluster.


This woman (sighted on her way to the party, and who was not a cardboard cut-out) also really got into the spirit of things.

The pièce de résistance was definitely the cake.¹ I can only be glad that Phoebe did not know of the existence of such a thing before her 6th birthday.

I didn’t stick around long enough to see the dismemberment of this remarkable cyborg rainbow unicorn pony cake, so I can only guess as to how it was constructed. I submit to you that it was held together by magic, the magic of friendship. That and at least 40 pounds of fondant.³

¹ The cake took the cake. ²
² Should this be reflexive? The cake took itself?
³ I have since seen a diagram of the cake’s construction, which included a disappointingly large amount of styrofoam compared to the quantities of magic.

Pulling the plug.

No, I’m not pulling the plug on the blog. It’s this little guy whose days are over:

Yes, my sad, tired little Motorola flip phone is finally getting retired.

I remember well the day I got this phone. Not so much because it was an exciting phone, but because I got it at the same time as John got his first iPhone. As in the day the *first* iPhones came out. I wasn’t ready yet to commit to such an expensive phone, but since we were getting a new plan, I got my new phone.

That was a little more than 5 years ago. I know this because I posted this on that day:

original iPhone

So, 5 years old. The phone is a good year older than my second born, who is just starting pre-K. If my phone were a human, it would be getting ready to start kindergarten in the fall. It might be learning to read and write its name.

As a gadget, though, it is ancient. Its memory is failing. (It can’t always find its sim card.) It tires easily. (It won’t hold a charge.) It’s looking dated and is showing its years. (The case is frayed and they don’t even make accessories for it anymore.) And I’m pretty sure the thing is on a daily regimen of metamucil. (Really, I have no phone-related analogy for that one.)

Yesterday, John brought me home a shiny new iPhone. I used it to take the photo above of my old phone. Of course, then I thought I should have a photo of the new phone, so I used my old phone to take a photo of the new phone.

Naturally, I thought I should get another shot with my new phone of the old phone with the photo of the new phone with the photo of the old phone.

How could I then resist taking a photo with the new phone of the old phone showing a photo of the new phone with a photo of the old phone?

And yet another photo with the new phone, showing the old phone with a photo of the new phone with the photo of the old phone with the photo of the new phone showing that first photo of the old phone.

It’s really not clear to me how long I would have continued in this vein if Phoebe had not pointed out to me that it was well past lunch time, and that she was hungry.

So now it’s time to let the phone run out of battery one last time, and pack up the old phone and its less-than-fully-functional accessories.


Rest in peace, once trusty flip phone. May you forever hold your charge in the afterworld. (Send me a text when you get there.)