On entitlement complexes and Birmingham's new smoking ban

Okay, so you walk into a bar and ask the bartender for a Grey Goose martini. And the bartender says, "We don't have Grey Goose. Would you like Ketel One or one of our other fine vodka offerings?" and you tell him no, you want Goose. He repeats--patiently, because he's a nice guy--that they don't have it. That if you insist on a Grey Goose martini, you'll have to go somewhere else, and if you insist on drinking here, you'll have to settle for Ketel (or one of their other fine vodka offerings). So what do you do? Of course you pass a law requiring every bar in town to stock Grey Goose so you can walk in wherever you want and have whatever you want.

NO, YOU DON'T. You decide that Ketel One will make an acceptable martini and order one of those. Or you decide to go down the street to see if another bar has Goose, and you get a martini there. Or you go home, where you have a freezer full of Goose, and you make your own cocktail. Sure, it's disappointing--you wanted that drink at that bar. But you're an adult, so you suck it up and recognize that, in the words of the Prophet, you can't always get what you want.

As of June 4, smoking is forbidden in basically any public area in Birmingham, including less than seven feet from the entrance of any bar or restaurant. In theory, as a dedicated nonsmoker, I should like this. It means I don't cough, I don't get exposed to secondhand smoke, and I can come in after a night out and not have to wash my hair before I go to bed.

But no one has every guaranteed me the right to go wherever I want and not have to wash my hair afterward. And no one has ever marched me into a smoky bar at gunpoint. On nights when I don't feel like getting smoky, I'm perfectly free to NOT GO to any of the establishments where people are smoking. And--up until last week, anyway--no owner of a private business was required to provide me with a smoke-free environment, just because I wanted one.

On the deadly bite of the Black Widow

Okay, so over at Feministe, I posted about my love of the Black Widow in The Avengers and my frustration with reviewers who completely dismissed her as eye candy despite ridiculous amounts of evidence to the contrary. (Warning: That post, and this one, are chock full of SPOILERY SPOILERS THAT SPOIL.)

According to movie reviewers, she's also a "token sexy female," who "spends a lot of time looking puzzled or confused" and "clench[ing] her brow," "repels invading aliens through the sheer force of her corsetry," and provides "images of Scarlett Johansson in a black bodysuit."

The funny thing is that that very reaction is one of the things that makes the Black Widow so effective at what she does. She's a sleeper--constantly underestimated and manipulative. She acrobatically defeats a team of Russian arms dealers--with both hands and a chair tied behind her back--because they had no idea what she was capable of. While normally I'd find Loki's derision of her as a "mewling quim" to be utterly horrendous, I kind of liked it here because it underscored the fact that our alien demigod villain was falling for her act and giving her everything she needed.

...

One great thing about the Black Widow is that the penalty for dismissing her and making assumptions about her generally involves blood loss. Now, far be it from me to say that violence is the answer (although I’m also not saying it isn’t...), but it would be nice if the real world had more tangible penalties for sexism. Like criticism by one's peers, censure in the public arena, or a reflexive expectation of public apology for misogyny. Or the public calling-out of idiot movie reviewers who obviously struggle with viewing comprehension. Or being hung upside down by one's ankles. Whatever.

And on that point, I'm of course completely right. In the subsequent discussion, several commenters mentioned that they'd love to see Natasha Romanoff interacting with other badass women, like Agent Maria Hill, in the next movie. I'd like to see that--and in addition, I think the Blu-ray extras for the movie would be a great place for a scene with them interacting casually, maybe blowing off some steam at the firing range after a mission. Something like this, for instance.

JOSS WHEDON, I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS. I'VE DONE YOUR WORK FOR YOU. YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE NOT TO DO THIS.

On speciality

Or: I never thought you were special. I thought you should know.

Okay, so I wasn't there at the Wellesley High School graduation last weekend, but I would have loved to watch all the proud parents swallow their tongues as English teacher David McCullough told their brilliant progeny that they aren't special.

No, commencement is life’s great ceremonial beginning, with its own attendant and highly appropriate symbolism. Fitting, for example, for this auspicious rite of passage, is where we find ourselves this afternoon, the venue. Normally, I avoid clichés like the plague, wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole, but here we are on a literal level playing field. That matters. That says something. And your ceremonial costume… shapeless, uniform, one-size-fits-all. Whether male or female, tall or short, scholar or slacker, spray-tanned prom queen or intergalactic X-Box assassin, each of you is dressed, you’ll notice, exactly the same. And your diploma… but for your name, exactly the same.

All of this is as it should be, because none of you is special.

You are not special. You are not exceptional.

Contrary to what your u9 soccer trophy suggests, your glowing seventh grade report card, despite every assurance of a certain corpulent purple dinosaur, that nice Mister Rogers and your batty Aunt Sylvia, no matter how often your maternal caped crusader has swooped in to save you… you’re nothing special.

On the new cola wars

Okay, so in an effort to combat super-sized New Yorkers, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg is combating super-sized sodas.

Gas guzzlers, McMansions, Walmart, Costco: If one thing is certain about American consumer culture is that bigger is better, especially if it is cheaper.

So more than a few New Yorkers took it especially hard Thursday when they learned that Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg wanted to take away their plus-size sodas in restaurants, movie theaters, stadiums, arenas and mobile food carts, as a way, he said, of fighting obesity.

Under the new rule, grocery stores and convenience stores will still be able to carry large-quantity sodas, but places that serve food (rather than just selling it) are restricted to 16 ounces at a time. It doesn't restrict a person's ability to chug down those same 32 ounces in one sitting--it just makes costs the person more money and more hassle. And it also doesn't restrict the size of diet drinks (which can reduce satiation), fruit juices (which can have as much sugar as sodas), or alcohol (which can pickle your liver and make you kill someone with your car or call your ex at 3:00 a.m. and beg him to take you back), because apparently those aren't public health risks.

On the Good, the Bad, and the Friday Random Ten: Final frontier edition

Okay, so I was really sad to see the space shuttle program go. I know NASA has its reasons for backing off of manned space flight, but for me--a child of the 80s--that's just what the space program is about. Huge, powerful telescopes and rovers on Mars are super cool, and I get a thrill every time astronomers report the discovery of a new celestial structure, but space exploration has to involve people in jumpsuits doing slow backflips in outer space and eating pudding out of midair while talking to second-graders live via video feed. I wanted to be Sally Ride.

That's why the science-fiction-y concept of commercial space flight is such a thrill to me--even if the government doesn't feel compelled to put humans back into space, private companies (hopefully) will be able to pick up the slack in terms of discovery and general childlike wonder. And this morning, I got to watch via live feed as the SpaceX capsule Dragon docked with the International Space Station. The Boy and I both remember the thrill of watching rocket launches when we were little, and we were sitting rapt the entire time as the docking happened in real time, right in front of us. It made me hopeful for the the future, and not a lot of things really do that a lot.

What's good (for the week ending 5/25):

- The Replacements. I'd spent enough time quoting this movie that I finally managed to convince The Boy to sit down and watch it, even though he doesn't care about football or Keanu Reeves. But of course he loved it, and now when I say, "Get the ball! Get the ball! I'm comin' for ya, blue eyes!" he laughs because he knows what I'm talking about, not because I seem slightly unstable and it's best to humor me.

- Google Chrome

- Otis Redding

- Kayaking. I'd never done it before, but The Boy bought a kayak, because it was half-off, and who can resist a half-price kayak? and I thought it would be fun to try. Dude. That's the most intense upper-body workout known to man, and it's transportation, and it puts you right next to the water on a hot day.

- Nutrisse Nourishing Color Foam in Light Intense Auburn

On fifty shades of lame

MOM AND DAD: I'm a virgin, The Boy and I haven't gotten past second base, and I'll probably never have sex because it's totally gross and icky. Maybe you go read another post now. Look, this one has kittens!

EVERYONE ELSE: Mom, Dad, I told you to go read the kitten post.

EVERYONE ELSE FOR REAL: This review almost certainly isn’t safe for work. The novel might be. Ho hum...

Okay, so despite (or perhaps because of) the frenzy surrounding Twilight, I resisted picking it up and struggling through it until I was informed that it might help me better understand true love. Now, no one has tried to imply that I don't understand true kink (thank God), but since the newest suburban-mommy literary craze--alleged kinkfest Fifty Shades of Grey--is receiving those same kinds of accolades, I thought it might be time to update my education. And what better way to do that than with a book that is not just inspired by Twilight fanfiction but directly adapted from it in a search-and-replace kind of way? Fifty Shades of Grey, by British author E.L. James, started out as “Master of the Universe,” by fanfictioner Snowqueens Icedragon. Ctrl+F, and Bella Swan turns into innocent virgin Anastasia Steele; Ctrl+F, and Edward Cullen turns into powerful and enigmatic business magnate Christian Grey. The couple that taught me so much about love between a 107-year-old bloodsucker and the high-school student he stalks and longs to murder can now teach me the joys of a good spanking.

(I actually thought I knew the joys of a good spanking, but then, I thought I knew about true love, so maybe I've just been kidding myself all this time.)

For the record, I have no problem with fanfiction. (I mean, hi, y'all.) There are actually some fairly well-written ones out there. This is… not one of those. The prose is repetitive, florid, and boring. Removed from its source material, the novel is staffed with underdeveloped, one-note characters without history or motivation (not that the ciphers and caricatures of Twilight were that much better). The twentysomethings talk like teenagers. Christian talks like my grandfather. Hispanic Jacob-analog Jose talks like Dora the Explorer ("Dios mio!"). The exposition seems written for the sole purpose of reminding us that Christian is dark! and Ana is innocent! while shuttling us along to the next sexy part. It's a fic about Bella and Edward getting kinky, and so that's what the novel is about and the only thing the novel about. The story arc goes from "Hey, wanna let me whip you?" to “Okay.” to "No, too much whipping! (runs for the door)" over the course of 26 chapters.

And who struggled through it anyway, for you? Who’s sparing you the time and heartache? Who loves you? That’s right.

On my mom

Okay, so it wouldn't be right to let Mother's Day pass without a tribute to the unequivocal and objectively best mom of all: mine. I'm sorry that none of you have a mom as cool as mine; you can take comfort in the fact that, since my mom is the best of all possible moms, that means that your mom can certainly be awesome even if she can't compare to the awesomeness of my mom.

All joking aside, though, Mama ACG is an incredible human being. She gives a great example of how to live as a person--she's kind, smart, generous, funny, kind of bitchy sometimes, easy to talk to, and fun to be around, but all in an attainable way. She's compassionate and sweet, but not in a way that makes you feel like you can't be yourself around her. She's mastered the maternal art of laughing at something inappropriate you just did while simultaneously shaking her head disapprovingly. She doesn't make you feel ashamed because she's a nicer or more charitable person than you--she inspires you to want to be like her. When I was little, she was the kind of mom a kid needs; when I was a teenager, she was the kind of guiding hand and sympathetic voice a teenager needs and occasionally the jailer a teenager deserves; and as I've grown into a woman, she's become my best friend. I'm indescribably blessed.


So. Some time ago, possibly the summer before my junior year of college, the family took a trip down to Seagrove Beach. With me nearing the end of college and Big Bro already out on his own, we wanted to get in a family beach vacation while we still had the chance. Mom and I headed down first, with Big Bro and Dad to follow the next day. Somewhere near the Florida state line, we passed a roadside stand advertising bonsai trees for $10 each. Mom and I decided that $10 was an absolute steal for a bonsai tree and that we'd have to be sure to pick some up on the way home. Then Mom said, "You know, we're going to be riding with Dad on the way home. He's going to think it's silly, and he won't want to stop." I agreed, and she pulled a Rockford Files u-turn in the middle of the highway, and we went back and bought our $10 bonsai trees and brought them to the condo with us. I eventually managed to kill mine, but I think hers might still be alive.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there, but especially to mine. I love you, Mom.

On inviting Thai sex works to come to Daddy

Okay, so courtesy of perennial Practically Harmless favorite JBF comes a video that will make your entire day feel creepy. This is the story of eleven young women from the U.S.--almost exclusively white--who went to Thailand to save the "bar girls" to Jesus. "We found that we were the perfect ones to fight for them," say the title cards. "Because we used to be women in chains… Just like them."

This is then illustrated by a series of "testimonies," written in Sharpie on cardboard, squicktacularly set to the contemporary Christian song "When I'm With My Daddy."

 

Just like a woman willingly or unwillingly providing sexual services in Phuket's red-light district, their "chains" include masturbation, not fitting in a magazine, and perfectionism. "I stopped touching my neener through the grace of Jesus Christ--and so can you."

I had sex ... Now I'm pure 

I struggle with masturbation ... No condemnation for those who are in Christ 

Felt like I was supposed to fit in a magazine ... Now I fit perfectly in His arms 

I labeled myself as an adulteress at 17 years old ... Daddy called me his bride

Ew.


[Cross-posted at Feministe]

On the Good, the Bad, and the Friday Not-Even-Random Ten: I Feel Pretty edition

Okay, so for those of you (for instance, say, ZenBubba) who were wondering when I got back: Um, whenever. Not sure. March 23? We'll call it that. Sounds as good as anything else.

The good (for the two-week period ending 4/6/2012:

- Good Friday

- Good Fridays (the kind where your boss lets you out early on a sunny day)

- Hard-to-schedule interviews that, once scheduled, turn out stellar

- Cocaine shaped like shoes. (I mean, obviously cocaine is bad, but painstakingly crafting it into Manolo Blahniks to sneak it through airport security? That's at least got some class)

- Feeling inspired. Even gooder? Acting on that inspiration

On another meaning of Easter

Okay, so I'm finna get sincerely religious all up in this piece--and we're talking full-on religious, like Episcopapist religious, and not just "spiritual"--so if that's not your thing, just wait a few minutes and then hit "refresh." TGTBATFNERT is coming up next.

Today is Good Friday (as opposed to a merely good Friday, which is most of them). It is, for the drastically uninformed, a big day for Christians, as it is the day Jesus was crucified and died, which was the necessary step before rising on Sunday, because if He hadn't died first the rising part wouldn't have been nearly as impressive.

As Christians, we're expected to live up to the example Jesus sets for us. Usually, that's more to the "God" side of His dual nature of God/man. Spread the Word, always be obedient to God. Do good. Be respectful. Be kind, generous, and compassionate. Be faithful. All important things, and all things we can do in our own lives, but at a certain level also kind of unrelatable for people who aren't themselves at once God and human. We're given this task of being like Jesus, but we're also given a literally unattainable goal--because while Jesus was like us, He also was entirely unlike us in an almighty and everliving kind of way. We're told over and over that we're meant to try to be like Jesus and that there's no chance we will ever succeed.

One of my favorite Lenten passages (defined here as "most striking and most likely to make me cry in church") is the recounting of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane on the night before He was handed over. He brings his friends with him--all of whom end up falling asleep, incidentally--and prays and prays and prays for something that doesn't get a lot of emphasis in the Easter story: He prays to God to not make him do this.

On trollin' through Arizona

Okay, so politicians' complete and willful ignorance of the way the Internet really works would be entertaining, if it weren't so dangerous. For instance: In Arizona (oh, always Arizona), the state legislature has passed HB 2549, which states (in part):

It is unlawful for any person, with intent to terrify, intimidate, threaten, harass, annoy or offend, to use any electronic or digital device and use any obscene, lewd or profane language or suggest any lewd or lascivious act, or threaten to inflict physical harm to the person or property of any person.

Of course the bill is pretty much indefensible on grounds of free speech, intent, general vagueness, whiny-titty-babytude, and basic geography. But the Arizona government has demonstrated that silly concerns like reason aren't high on their priority list. So all y'all who are just out to annoy me and offend me using your computers (or cell phones or tablets or whatever)? Y'all had better not be from Arizona, is all.

(Actually, you'd better hope you're not from Arizona anyway. That place is getting rough.)

On Mashup Monday: Rock God edition

Okay, so I'm usually the first person to rant about the difference between a remix and a mashup (and don't even get me started on medleys), but this one's funny enough that it's worth bending the rules.

Siri "Rock God" commercial the way it is/Siri "Rock God" commercial the way it should be


Call me a rock god.

On auspicious comings-out

Okay, so I've never had to come out of any kind of a closet, really, so I don't know if the preferred response from friends would be "yay!" or "okay" or "yeah, dude, we knew." But one guy's coming out post on Facebook lands pretty much where I'd want to be.

Read the entire thing at the link above (post title: Guy comes out of closet on Facebook to friends who are entirely too geeky to care), of course, but I shall provide a few highlights.

The gentleman posts:

I've been in the closet for far too long, so here goes: I'm gay. I've known, in retrospect, for about eight years. This is the easiest way for me to deal with it; I apologize if anyone feels affronted that I didn't tell them in person.

As proof that this is not an account hack, I have posted a somewhat longer post on my blog, at http://[REDACTED].

His friends respond encouragingly.

Good on you man :)

...

takes guts to broadcast this

Congrats

I like the proof of no hack. Well anticipated. I didn't expect it but well done for getting it out. Must be a relief. It must have sucked to hold it in all this time. Could you possibly link a style sheet to that html? I hate bland markup.

ROFL @[REDACTED], "could you please make your blog post that says you're gay look prettier".

Ha ha, I swear I wasn't mocking. I just work on asp.net stuff all day and I've grown sick of ugly sites.

...

Not that your site is ugly. Just could do with some text alignment and maybe a background pic.

Good advice, especially if [REDACTED] decides to come out of the closet again, he can do so in style and elegance. @[REDACTED], perhaps we pretend you didn't come out, and then you have a few days to do a site overall, and then come out again and we'll asses the creativeness ;)

Go read the entire thing--the entire thing! Promise me!--and wish you had friends as cool as Green and Red.

On Hunger Games: What do you mean, the black girl was black?

Note: This post is cross-posted at Feministe. It's spoiler-free after Chapter 18 of the first book, so if you've read Chapter 18, you're good, and if not, read this later.

Okay, so when casting announcements came out for the Hunger Games movie, I was surprised (and yet, sadly, not really surprised) to see that there weren't more non-white tributes. While over the course of a few hundred years and a few disasters the ethnic makeup of the various districts may have shifted such that of the 24 tributes selected at random, only two were black, but it takes some logic-wanking to get there. The book specifies a blond guy, a blonde girl, a redheaded girl, and maybe a couple of others, but otherwise sadistic dystopian reality TV shows wherein children are forced to murder each other for the entertainment of the privileged masses might be expected to know no color.

But that, as well as the search for the perfect Caucasian Katniss, just wasn't enough for some people. Hunger Games fans ("fans"?) were up in arms at the casting of Lenny Kravitz as Cinna, Katniss's kind, compassionate stylist. Through the magic of reading comprehension, they managed to miss that a) Cinna's description isn't given beyond short, dark brown hair, gold eyeliner, and green eyes, and b) Kravitz is a cool drink on a hot day and they could have cast him as President Snow for all I care. (And--spoiler alert--in the movie, Kravitz does such a stellar job as Cinna that there could be no other.)

The wailing only got worse after the movie's release on Friday, as "fans" who hadn't seen a lot of advance materials got the shock of their lives to see a black character depicted by a black actress. Rue, played by the adorable Amandla Sternberg, was described as having "dark brown skin and eyes"--thus the ruination of the film at the hands of a dark-skinned, dark-eyed actress. On Twitter:

On the Good, the Bad, and the Friday Not-Even-Random Ten: I'm Back, No Seriously, This Time It's for Real edition

Okay, so I've become irrationally obsessed with The Hunger Games. I'd heard about it from here and there, and it was always somewhere toward the back of my reading list. When the first movie trailer came out, I found it intriguing and decided I definitely wanted to see the movie and should probably read the book first.

I loved it way too much. I'm saying I loved it more than is reasonable for a book that is solidly readable but not in any way spectacular. It's a good book, but not a great one such that I should be thusly fixated on it. No explanation. But this is all by way of saying that the movie is coming out today and I'm so inexplicably excited. The Boy teases me. He's probably teasing me right now.


What's good (for the indeterminate period ending 3/23/2012):

- Dirty Signs With Kristin, wherein Kristin teaches you to say things you probably shouldn't in American Sign Language. Today's lesson: how to sign "giant cock-topus."

- Firefighters doing their job like a boss.

There's a story behind this, and I could tell you, but I'm… not. (Totally feeling for the guy who has to pull up his dress while he's running. Strapless is a pain. I have to do that all the time.)

- Getting paid to do something you actually enjoy, not just something you tolerate doing because it pays the bills

- The Motorola Droid Bionic

On Mashup Monday: Groaning Pains edition

Okay, so BRAAAAAAAAAAINS. BRAAAAAAAAAAAAINS.

BRAAAINS. BRAAAAAAAINS. "No, we have to wait for this kid who wandered off, even she's obviously too stupid to be anything but a liability!" "Hey, while we're in Atlanta, you know what we should do? Not pick up some guns and non-shitty vehicles!" BRAAAAAINS. "Hey, let's give the unstable chick with a chip on her shoulder a firearm and a high-up place to sit!" BRAAAAAAINS. "Hey, has anyone else noticed that we aren't actually seeing more than about two zombies an episode anymore? And we're spending most of our time inside? And pretty much all we do is talk a lot? Like, a whole lot?" BRAAAAaaeugh.

Anyway.

The Walking Dead/Growing Pains


Aww. It warms the heart, and then pulls it out and eats it.

On Super Commando and the Funky Bunch

Dooouche...

Mark "Invincible" "Entourage" "Date Night" Wahlberg has a message for all the families of passengers on Flight 93: Your loved ones died because they were pussies and didn't have the balls to judo-chop one of the terrorists and punch another one in the sternum so hard he flew all the way back into coach and blast another one with his eyeball-rays and choke the fourth one to death with the sheer force of his steely glare, then singlehandedly land the plane like Marky Mark totally would have if he'd been on board.

"If I was on that plane with my kids, it wouldn't have went down like it did," Wahlberg says. "There would have been a lot of blood in that first-class cabin and then me saying, 'OK, we're going to land somewhere safely, don't worry.'"

Douche.

Super Commando did issue an apology ("apology") via People saying that his statement was "irresponsible" and he's sorry that it "came off as insensitive." (Yeah, "came off as insensitive." It totally wasn't insensitive, but I can see how it might have sounded like it was.) Then, while his publicist was in the bathroom, he sneaked onto a radio show to keep digging a deeper hole. Radar has the transcript, but Celebitchy offers a more concise summary.

First, he would NEVER disrespect 9/11 families. Then he only disrespected the families because he's not really an actor, he's a tough dude from the streets and he just wasn't thinking. Then he just said that stuff because no one ever wants to talk to him about all of the charity work he does! Then he only said it because he was asked about it and he is forced to go wherever the interviewer wants to go. And finally, he only said that stuff because it's just the interviewer's interpretation.

"I'm really sorry." Say it with me, now, Super Commando: "I'm really sorry. I was shooting my mouth off, and it was completely wrong and insensitive." Got it?

"It was completely wrong and insensitive, but all I was trying to say was that--"

No, Super Commando! No!

"I'm really sorry."

There you go. Jesus, someone find his handlers. I think they're tied up in a closet somewhere.

On the Good, the Bad, and the Friday Not-Even-Random Ten: Enough With the Bad Already edition

Okay, so so 2011 is drawing to a close, and it's been… a good one? There are twelve months to look back on and decide, and just listing things out, it comes out pretty even. But just in terms of it being a landing you can walk away from, then yeah, I'll say it was a good year, warts and all. And for this TGTBATFRT--just this one--we're going to look past the warts, the failures, the exhibitions of cruelty, and the general stupidity that arises from time to time and makes one wonder about the fate of humanity, and focus on the good things that give the world hope.

I don't want to give any indication that the low points of 2011 aren't worthy of notice. But just for a moment, I want to fill the glass halfway. The good parts number far more than I have room for here, and I'm sure I've forgotten many more and will have to add them in comments as they come up. My mom has a superstition, passed down from her dad, who probably got it from someone crotchety and Slovak, that whatever you're doing on New Year's Day is what you'll be doing all year long. I like to think I'll spend 2012 thinking happily about good times. (And eating Chick-fil-A, and I have plans for making that happen.)

So in the interest of following through with that plan, I give you:


What's good (for the year ending December 31, 2011):

- Readers who've stuck with me. I've been so unforgivably lax about keeping up with this blog, even after crafting myself multiple ways of making it just as laziable as possible. The fact that when I do post, I still get comments, is a real thrill.

- Subway veggie subs, 6", on wheat, with spinach, tomato, cucumbers, green peppers, black olives, a little bit of salt and pepper, and a little bit of mustard. They're a delicious and fresh and crispy lunch for those of us who don't insist that something die for every meal.

- People making good, smart, compassionate choices in Mississippi

- The last episode of The Walking Dead before the break

- Lanacane Anti-Chafing Gel. It turns out the stuff that athletes put on to keep from getting all chafed in their chafey parts--I know, right?--has basically the same ingredients as foundation primers from big makeup brands like Smashbox at one-sixth the price. I started wearing primer when it became evident that my skin isn't, for some reason, the same as it was when I was 20, and this is some good stuff.

- The new gig at Feministe. This one has its good and its bad aspects, the worst being that yeah, I've been really bad about neglecting the readers I have back home. And being beholden to a community that big and that… vehement can be kind of stressful. But it's also pretty fulfilling.

- My family. They're good every year, but they were good this year, so they go on the list. Also good is that not only is it expanding, it's expanding with good people, among them Big Bro's girlfriend whom I dig like the sister I didn't know about until my early thirties. Also, Skipdog.

On Emma Sullivan vs. Sam Brownback: A marketing case study

This post has been cross-posted at Feministe, which is a good place to go for more about Emma Sullivan and her shameful tweet.

Okay, so the biggest screwup out of Kansas Governor Sam Brownback's office of late is easy: tattling on an 18-year-old to her high school for some juvenile comment she made on Twitter during a Youth in Government field trip to the capitol. I mean, seriously: Emma Sullivan says, to her mob of 60 whole Twitter followers, "Governor Brownback sucks." Brownback's staff runs to YinG and Sullivan's school to say, "Waah! Your student is being mean!" And supposedly Sullivan is the immature one.

One thing Brownback's office didn't do wrong, although they're taking some flak for it, was monitoring Twitter for mention of Governor Brownback. This isn't creepy or paranoid--it's actually marketing best practice. Online social media offers people, businesses, and organizations unprecedented access to the feelings and opinions of their target audiences. If you hear that people are criticizing you about a certain issue, you're now able to reconsider your stance on it, make a note to address it publicly in the future, or even communicate with aggrieved individuals directly. Or if you see that some high-school student has tweeted that you suck, you can roll your eyes and say, "Nice. Really mature" and move on. (Or show some respect to a constituent and reply, "I'm sorry you feel that way. Why do you think the governor sucks?" Or be silly and reply, "No, YOU #blowalot… for tweeting about the governor when you could just ask him yourself. What can we do for you?" There are a hundred ways to handle it before you get to tattling.)

But there's one comment from Brownback's director of communication, Sherriene Jones-Sontag, that makes me think she's completely ignorant of the functions of her own job:

That wasn't respectful," responded Sherriene Jones-Sontag. "In order to really have a constructive dialogue, there has to be mutual respect."

1. When someone tells you you suck on Twitter, she's probably not attempting to start a constructive dialogue--she's probably just venting. And/or goofing around with her friends.

On homophonia

Okay, so I'm a word Nazi. (I know, I know--take a moment to clutch your pearls… Moment's over.) I work in writing. I come by it honestly. And there are a few mistakes I've seen from people who otherwise tend to have their stuff grammatically and semantically together. George Orwell called the phenomenon "dead metaphors": when a common phrase loses all context and becomes just words arranged in a pattern, so it's easy to sub in a wrong word for a right one and end up with a both virulent and self-sustaining case of incorrectness.

Read on to learn about a few common mistakes. (I'd say you should read on if you suspect you're making mistakes, but you probably don't even know you're making them, or else you'd stop doing it.)

You don't reign someone in. It doesn't have anything to do with royalty or reigning over anyone. (Besides, that would be "reigning over," not "reigning in.") it's reining someone in, like they're a horse and you're pulling back on the reins to restrain them.

The horse was getting kind of crazy, so I reined him in.
Congress needs to rein in its out-of-control spending habits.

Similarly, you don't give someone free reign. This one's a more understandable mistake--someone could, theoretically, be free to reign--but it's still wrong. It's about horses again.

I gave the horse free rein so he could jump the fence unhindered.
Atkins doesn't allow you to eat dessert, but you do get free rein to attack the carving station.

You don't tow the line. You aren't a ski boat. (Or maybe you are a ski boat. I don't know your life.) You toe the line: Someone has drawn a line that you're meant to line up on, as in the military, and by putting your toes on it, you're doing as directed or performing as is expected of you.

If you don't toe the line, I'm going to make you peel potatoes.
The boss has laid down her expectations for you--you'd better start toeing the line, or you're going to get fired.