12 Classics of Pants Theater

We at the Pants Institute are dedicated to education of the public on the many contributions that Pants have made to our culture and society. In our previous monographs, we have been pleased to share with you in-depth discussions of great works of Classic Pants Literature as well as more popular media, such as critical analyses of the genre of Pants Horror Cinema. Our next installation of this ongoing series of Great Seriousness and Importance delves into the pants classics of the stage:

    Pants of a Salesman
    A middle-aged man discovers that his pants are both terribly unflattering and decades out of fashion.

    Waiting for Pants
    A story of time wasted away in the laundromat when the dryer cycle is unbearably slow.

    Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Wear Pants
    Two men hang out at the laundromat playing quarters while waiting for Hamlet to finish his laundry.

    Pants on a Hot Tin Roof
    When a family’s dryer is broken, they consider laying their laundry out on the roof to dry.

    A Raisin in the Pants
    A legal drama about the status of a raisin left in a pocket on laundry day.

    Who’s Afraid of Virginia’s Pants?
    An inebriated couple exchange verbal barbs as they sort through their dirty laundry.

    The Importance of Wearing Pants
    Two young men practice deception by frequently changing their pants.

    Oedipus Pants
    The story of a man’s unholy love for his mother’s pants.

    Barefoot in the Pants
    A newlywed couple find how hard it is to put on pants when you are already wearing shoes.

    A Doll’s Pants
    A marriage falls apart when a woman discovers what a small pants size her husband really wears.

    The Pants of Dorian Gray
    A young man’s pants increasingly show the stains of his escapades.

    The Pants Menagerie
    The story of a blogger who writes obsessively about pants.

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Thanks to Painted Maypole, thespian and pantsblogger extraordinaire, whose recent flurry of pants posts has given me the much needed kick in the pants to get back to pantsblogging. Thanks also to John, who suggested the addition of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Wear Pants.

The 2009 Golden Pants Award

I’m ever-so-pleased to announce the winner of this year’s coveted Golden Pants Award:

Painted Maypole is no newcomer to pantsblogging. Her highly acclaimed 2008 post, The New Pants Network, is considered one of the finest pieces of contemporary American pantswriting, and is frequently discussed in upper level college pants seminars.
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This year, Painted Maypole has added to her pants repertoire with three stunning new works of pants under her belt this year: Shakespeare’s Pants, More of Willy’s Pants, and undoubtedly her finest pants oeuvre to date, Showtunes in the Key of PANTS. This latest work explores the gamut of pants emotions, from sheer pants exuberance to pants melancholy, and will have you singing in your pants:

When you are PANTS,
You are PANTS all the way
From the first time you’re worn
To your last dyin’ day.

Truer words were never sung.

Congratulations, Pantsed Maypole. You are invited to try these pants on for size.

The historic and highly coveted Golden Pants Award was first awarded in 2008.

Vroom!

Something that you may not have known about me is that I have a bit of a soft spot for British cars.

I fell in love with the Austin Mini when I was 9 years old, living in France. Over the years, others caught my eye, like the little MG and Triumph convertibles I’d see from time to time in the San Francisco Bay Area. When I was 16, I became enamoured of the Lotus driven by Mrs. Peel, my idol. And what fan of the Prisoner could forget 6’s Lotus 7?

So when John told me he’d heard of a British car show coming up nearby, I put it on the calendar. We went this past Sunday.


The car show was held on the lawn of the Larz Anderson Auto Museum in Brookline, MA, which is in an incredible park.

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We picked a shady spot to picnic near this sweet purple MG.


Phoebe and Theo enjoyed the sunny day at the park.

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John and I enjoyed taking pictures of the pretty cars, most of which were polished up to a high shine, like this Triumph GT6+.

little green berkeley
This little Berkeley, though, appeared to have its original paint.

spider paint crack
The paint showed some really cool cracking patterns, like this spider-like one.


There was quite a variety of unusual sports cars. Here’s an Allard and a Jaguar. Note the leather straps fastening the bonnet of the Allard (left), and the third headlight on the Jaguar (right).

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I didn’t see any wicker seats, but there were a few wicker baskets, like the one strapped to the boot of this classic MG (left). There were lots of two-seaters at the show, and at least one single-seater, like this Lotus (right).

row of triumphs
Here’s a row of Triumphs.

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I wanted to get a closer look at this (more humble-looking) Triumph, but it drove off as we were walking towards it. (Yes, it started!)

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This new Mini was parked next to a hand-built reproduction of a Lotus 7.

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This was the only classic Mini we saw. I wanted to take it home with me.

May Just Posts

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Holly and I are pleased to share the May Just Posts, the latest installment of the social justice blogging roundtable. This month’s collection of posts cover a range topics. Poverty. Racism. Sexism. Marriage equality. There are also several posts about the impact of health concerns and health care.

Each month, I’ve been sharing a song that speaks to topics of social justice. The song I’ve chosen this month is “Dust Bowl” by 10,000 Maniacs, a title fitting for these lean times being dubbed the “Great Recession.” Natalie Merchant gives voice to a mother struggling to make ends meet for her family. The illness of her daughter leads to additional hardship due to loss of work time and medical costs:

My youngest girl has bad fever, sure. All night with alcohol to cool and rub her down. Ruby, I’m tired, try and get some sleep. I’m adding doctor’s fees to remedies with the cost of three day’s work lost.

I try and try but I can’t save. Pennies, nickels, dollars slip away. I’ve tried and tried but I can’t save. The hole in my pocketbook is growing.

Sadly, many families can’t afford adequate healthcare for their children. SCHIP programs exist to provide insurance to children in low income families. However, many families still fall through the cracks, as they neither qualify for those programs, nor can they afford other insurance options. (For a very personal and eloquent account of these issues, please go read Kyla’s recent post.)


(The sound quality isn’t great in that video. Someone has posted the studio version, as well. )

Please go pay a visit to the blogs below, and encourage the bloggers to keep speaking out (well, keep writing out) for social justice. Let them know that their voices matter to you.

The May Just Posts:

readers:

Please also drop by to see what Holly has to say this month.
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If you have a post above, or would just like to support the Just Posts, we invite you to display a button on your blog with a link back here, or to the Just Posts at Cold Spaghetti. If you are unfamiliar with the Just Posts, please visit the information page.
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spaghetti day

This video just makes me happy.

p.s. Speaking of spaghetti, Holly¹ and I are cooking up the May Just Posts. We’re aiming to serve them up a bit early this time around, so send in your nominations soon!²

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¹ …of Cold Spaghetti, mind you.

² You know, I really didn’t mean to work the cooking metaphor, but when there is a metaphorical door open, I have to walk through. Which sometimes leads me down predictable corridors.³

³Apparently this particular corridor led me to the kitchen. Where I put on water to boil.

driving home

So, um, yeah. I have another bad driver’s license photo.

I didn’t end up going to the RMV on Wednesday, and went this morning before John had to go to a meeting. I wasn’t sure there would be time, but I thought I should give it a try. In the end, my number got called just at the point that I’d determined would be the latest time I could wait before heading back home. The transaction went fine, except I had trouble getting a decent signature with that stupid plastic fake pen dealy. By the time it was time for my photo, I just really needed to get out of there. I went with the first photo. I look bedraggled, disheveled, and weary.

In other words, just how I felt.

I guess I’ve been feeling rather run down. I just hadn’t really realized how much. I’ve been falling asleep while working at night and waking up bone tired in the morning, I’ve been so fatigued the past few weeks that I was actually convincing myself that I must be pregnant. The last few days had me practically at the point where I was choosing names for the twins (as surely it must be twins).

But I’m not pregnant. I’m just really damn tired.

Yesterday was a particularly tiring (and trying) day, with rushing around and a long commute and meetings, and trying (not all that successfully) to fit in pumping. I ended up getting stuck in traffic, being late to meet with the friend who was kind enough to be my subject, late to my scheduled lab meeting, getting a parking ticket, rushing out of my meeting, and having a really long uncomfortable drive back to pick up Phoebe and Theo from daycare. And I was late for that, too.

So today, I should have probably just taken it easy instead of rushing around some more. And now I’m stuck with another awful photo for up to ten years. I was amused when I left the RMV with my new temporary license, and drove home feeling mildly victorious for having gotten that dealt with.

But by the time I got home, I was hating the photo, and feeling like crap. I’m actually pretty comfortable with my looks in general. I mean, I’m not thrilled with them all the time, but my appearance is just not all that important to me. Until I see a bad photo, that is. And it reminds me that I haven’t managed to get my hair cut in over a year, and that I’m tired and busy and rushing all the time and that most of my clothes don’t fit me all that well. It reminds me of how little time I have to take care of my own needs, let alone my appearance.

Nothing like a bad photo to drive all of that home.

validation and renewal

I find myself cranky today, for no good reason. Well, it’s rainy, and I have a lot of work to do. I also need to get myself down to the RMV to get my driver’s license renewed, as it’s only valid for a couple more weeks.

I’ve had the license for 10 years now, which means I have to get a new photo for it, too. So I don’t get to renew online. Aside from the laziness factor, and not wanting to waste my productive hours hauling my cranky ass down to stand in line and deal with potentially cranky RMV employees, I should probably be glad to get a new photo.

I got my first driver’s license in California when I was 17. It was a really good photo. I mean, really good. One of those photos that look better than the live person. I remember at least one occasion when some guy at the CVS counter looked at my license and asked if I was a model. Heh.

I think I may have had that license (or at least the same photo on it, since I had to get my actual license replaced when I was mugged) till we moved to Massachusetts in 1995. I lived in Rhode Island for about 6 years, but didn’t have a car there. I may have had a license there, but I don’t really remember it.

I don’t remember, either, what the photo looked like in that first Massachusetts license. I don’t think it was particularly good, because what I do remember is the determination to get me a good photo for the next license.

I remember the day well that I went for renewal. I made efforts to wear a flattering color, wore make-up (which I almost never do). It was a good hair day, even. And then I stood in line for over an hour in stuffy hallway on a hot day. By the time I got called to get my photo, I was tired, sticky, limp-haired, and just in a hurry to get out of there. My interest in getting a flattering photo was drained out of me. The forced smile under the glare of the glasses has been irking me for 10 whole years.

So now I get to prepare for the next 10-year photo. I haven’t had a haircut in over a year. I’m pretty sure no one will mistake me for a model now, with my glasses and perma-ponytail look. I’m okay with that, as long as I can manage a less downtrodden expression.

Maybe what I need is some validation:

Check out at least the first few minutes, if you don’t have time for the whole movie. Found via BipolarLawyerCook, who is back online with a spankin’ new url, after her old blog disappeared for a couple of months. Glad you’re back, BLC!

So, what about you? Have you ever had a really good ID photo? Or a really bad one?

Canadian blogging conspiracy revealed

Go read Pride and Twitterverse at Under the Mad Hat. Right now. It srsly cracks my shit up:

Darcy:
@biz Why must avatar pictures be so small? #twitterfail

CharlotteL:
@LizzyB Darcy keeps looking at your profile. What’s up with that?

LizzyB:
@CharlotteL I dunno but it’s freaking my shit out. Srsly.

You may have seen someone else’s Austenbook, which was Pride and Prejudice on Facebook, as shared by casa az and raincoaster. It was very funny. But Pride and Twitterverse rocks my world.

You know something else that’s funny and Austenish? The book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which sits unread (or undead?) on my kitchen counter. When I read about it at Celebrating the Absurd, I had to order it.

You know something else that’s funny and Twitterish? The Skwib’s Twitterpocalypse.

And you know what else made me laugh at the Skwib this week?
Ten spurious facts about Queen Victoria:

#3 Victoria was the youngest and first Queen of England who had the ability to fire laser beams from her eyes.

And you know what else made me laugh in reference to Queen Victoria this week? Bon at cribchronicles.com with her educational post on May Two-Four: if we don’t get a holiday.

You know what’s freakin’ me out? All of the bloggers I’ve listed above are Canadian, and their combined brilliance and humor is keeping me from getting work done. I think there must be a conspiracy. Perhaps to get me to start spelling humour with that extra u.

They are also all on Twitter. I fear I may be doomed to go over to the dark side after all. Bite me.

mmmm: some comments on commenting

mmmmWhat can I say? I love getting comments. This is because they prove that the world revolves around me.

Actually, I love the discussion, community and relationship-building aspects of blogging, and commenting is a big part of that. (Response posts and linking are the other big part, and I’m all for those, too.) Plus I do like to get confirmation that someone out there has actually read a post, and comments are the clearest indication.

On getting comments

I admit that I am spoiled. I tend to get several comments on most posts that I put up, which I realize is not the case for everyone out there.

If I write a post and no one comments, I actually find it unsettling. I wonder if I said something to offend or made myself look like an idiot. Or (possibly worse) just bored people.

Reading comments

I read every comment that anyone leaves on my blog. This includes those on older posts. I get an email notification whenever a new comment is left. (Occasionally, the email gets eaten, and I discover a comment weeks or months later, but I think this is rare.)

I also read most of the comments on the blogs where I comment. (Do you?)

responding to comments

The blogs I read have varying responses to comments: some bloggers comment back in the comment section, some will send an email response, and some will not respond directly at all. And me, I’m so mixed up, I do all 3 of these behaviors!

I’m a big fan of getting responses to my comments, and I will check back at blogs where the author tends to respond.

Because I like getting responses, I have the goal of also responding to other people’s comments. Sadly, I typically fall short of this goal.

When I do reply on the blog, I try to reply to everyone who left a comment for the particular post. I will sometimes also/instead send an email response to comments. (Actually, I’d love it if WordPress could just send an email to commenters when there is a response to a comment. I believe that LiveJournal did that. There’s now a little checkbox where you can request to be notified of subsequent comments on WordPress, as there is on Blogger, but I only occasionally use this feature. Do other people use this?)

I fully understand why bloggers don’t respond to every comment, especially when they get lots of comments. I’ve noticed that the bloggers who tend not to reply directly to comments tend to leave frequent comments on my blog and around on other blogs, so they keep up a discussion that way.

Leaving comments

I generally tend to assume that everyone else feels the same way as I do, and that everyone else wants proof that they are the center of the universe. Or that they at least want comments. Therefore I make an effort to leave comments. I more-or-less always have the goal of leaving a comment when I visit a blog (except on blogs where I lurk).

Sometimes comments come easy, sometimes I have to think.

I make extra efforts to leave comments on blogs or posts that get fewer comments. If I see that a post has already gotten dozens of comments, I am less likely to work at writing a comment.

I also sometimes read blogs when I don’t have time (or two free hands) to type comments. Sometimes I go back later to comment, but many times I don’t get around to it.

I leave comments on blogs whose authors leave comments on mine. If I leave comment after comment on a blog and never get any sort of return visit, I’ll eventually stop commenting.

Every once in a while, I’ll come across a blog where the author does not allow comments, and I find this odd. I tend to move along, because without being able to leave a comment, I don’t expect to be able to establish any sort of conversation with the blogger. (I can understand turning off comments for the occasional post, though.)

How many comments?

I’m not sure how many comments I leave (per week, for example), but I probably actually leave more comments around than I get. The number of comments I leave, though, is roughly proportionate to the number of comments I get. If I go through a stretch where I don’t leave many comments, I tend to get fewer comments; if I go wild with comments, I get more comments.

It frightens me to realize that I have probably left thousands of comments around the blogosphere in the past couple of years.

My WordPress stats page tells me that I have gotten 5104 comments on 564 posts. This is over 2 and a half years. (2 and half years to the day, as it happens.) Of course, the 5104 number includes response comments that I have left on my own posts, as well as pingbacks (most of which are from my own blog). These probably account for a good quarter of the total count.

The biggest number of comments I have gotten on a post (not counting my own responses) is probably 33. I have quite a few posts that have gotten 0 comments. Most get somewhere between 4 and 12.

My stats also inform me that “Akismet has protected your site from 61,870 spam comments.” Yikes! Thank goodness for spam filters.

More thoughts

I have more thoughts on comments, but I should probably just post this, since I’ve been drafting it for over a week now.

By the way, have I ever mentioned here that I wrote a paper on blog commenting for the sociolinguistics class I took a couple of years ago? At some point, I may share some of it here.

Here are a few other questions I may or may not get back to. (If anyone wants to chime in, please do!)

  • What makes some posts get more comments than others?
  • What makes comments good?
  • What is the right length for a comment?
  • Are lame-ass or short comments better than no comments? (My short answer: usually!)
  • When (if ever) should comments be deleted or edited?
  • What makes us lurk?

    • I remember a couple of other posts from blogs on my blogroll on comments:
    enkerli offered Solving the comment problem (which was in part in response to my own chart of suggested comment shorthand) and YTSL wrote more metablogging.

    If you have more, please leave a link in the comments.

    This post has been another installment of my Merry Merry Month of Metablogging, which may well meander out of the merry merry month of May.