I'm kind of in a desperate, self-imposed spot here. It's 12 a.m. ON THE DOT, I've just completed one freelance article, I have another one to complete (whoops, now it's 12:01!), and a haiku needs to spring forth from ... somewhere. And so I take a real-work intermission now. The two stories I was hyperfocused on today were a) Anthony Weiner telling NYC he just won't quit in his bid for mayor and a former intern trashing him in the NY Daily News and his campaign manager calling the aforementioned former intern all kinds of gloriously nasty things, and b) TEETH MADE OUT OF URINE. I think it's obvious what I have to do here.
Today's theme is ...
IF ANTHONY WEINER'S TEETH WERE MADE OUT OF EXCRETORY STEM CELLS AND HE WERE TELLING US ALL ABOUT IT, BECAUSE HE SURE LIKES TO TALK A LOT, DOESN'T HE
Urine for it now — Next I'm getting a pee-NEZ! I'll text u pics, k? —J.A.G.
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go. Credits: Courtesy Anvari.org
It's been a challenge to make sense of all this political sexytime permeating our already-steamy summer nights. I've got a lot of thoughts swirling around in my brain regarding New York City mayoral candidate Anthony Weiner and San Diego Mayor Bob Filner. As of late, Eliot Spitzer's been able to resist the bewitching pull of the presser, but I've been having half-hearted deliberations about him, too. All of these thoughts remain unarticulated and stuck in my head — muddled, broken, and confused, like the smashed mint leaves that are no longer able to gracefully float to the top of the highball tumbler. For the sake of my mental real estate, I'm going to jump-start the therapeutic purging process and interview myself. All answers must be in a yes/no format. These are the rules. I'm about to take the words right out of my own mouth.
Hello. [silently waves] Ready to do this?
No.
Well, we're doing this. Have you been following all this news about Weiner, Filner, et al.?
Yes.
Are you following it because you think these guys are hot?
No.
Can you see why someone else might feasibly find at least one of them physically attractive?
Yes.
Just not your type?
[blinks] Yes.
At any point over the last week, did you entertain the idea that most pictures of Bob Filner look like they were taken using the "Bulge," "Dent," and "Stretch" filters in Photo Booth?
Yes.
Do you regret this immature activity?
No.
East Coast or West Coast?
[ ... ]
Sorry, rephrase: Are you East Coast?
Yes.
I mean, I know you're on the East Coast, but are you EAST COAST (flashes gang sign)?
Yes.
Does that automatically mean you like Anthony Weiner more than Bob Filner?
[short pause] No.
Let's keep this train of thought going. If you had to rank these three guys from worst to best, relative to each other, would it go Spitzer, Weiner, Filner?
No.
Weiner, Spitzer, Filner?
No.
Filner, Weiner, Spitzer?
Yes. Did you hear the word "wienerschnitzel" when you were sounding out those names in your head? Yes. Can you say "red leather, yellow leather" 10 times fast? No. Do you have any valid reasons to explain why you would rank them that way?
Yes and no. Let's overlook the "and" as a one-off conjunctional slip and move on. Do you think a guy who currently governs a major U.S. city and who has instituted a reign of terror upon the women of that city is marginally worse than a mayoral candidate with a relatively undistinguished political record who should be eliminated from any race of any kind based solely on his utter lack of judgment and understanding of how technology and the Internets works?
Yes.
Do you think an Anthony Weiner could turn into a Bob Filner if allowed many, many years of unchecked tomfoolery?
Yes.
Do you believe in second chances?
Yes. Do you believe in even more chances when recipients of these second chances shit all over your second chances? No. Do you think most people feel this way? Yes.
Do you think that there are scores of other men out there who participate in similar activities and that these three very public cases are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg?
Yes.
Did you laugh when I said "just the tip," because SEX SCANDAL?
Yes.
Do you think any of these three men should hold public office?
No. Is that because you feel bad for their significant others? No. Do you feel bad for their significant others? [ ... ] You want to say "maybe" or "a little" or "I guess" or "in a human being kind of way" or something like that, don't you?
Yes. Are you intrigued that Huma, Silda, and Filner's ex-fiancee Bronwyn all have somewhat exotic-sounding names?
Yes.
Should George R.R. Martin create Game of Thrones characters based on them?
No. Would you stop watching Game of Thrones if he did? No.
Do you think it's fair to call them "doormats" and "weak" if they stand next to their husbands/significant others at a press-conference podium?
No.
Do you think they're doormats for staying in relationships with these awful men?
[pause] No.
Are you hesitating only because you don't have all of the information and only these women themselves know for sure why they would stay in these relationships with these awful men?
Yes.
So you're curious why they do?
No.
Meaning you have your own problems to worry about.
Yes. But you are slightly curious, in an US Weekly kind of way. Yes.
Do you think these women are fair game for any kind of criticism if they stand next to their partners at a press-conference podium and/or speak up in their defense?
Yes.
Do you think that their words and actions have some kind of Sith-like force grip on the brains of the general populace and that their pre-scripted sound bites will go over the heads of most intelligent people who have lived life for more than 20 years?
No.
Do you still think it sends the wrong message?
Yes. So all of this is the women's fault. [long sigh] No.
Do you think overall that too much attention is being paid to the women of these awful men instead of to the awful men themselves?
Yes.
But aren't you, in a roundabout way, perpetuating that by including said women in this blog post?
No.
Because you're trying to make some kind of point?
YES.
You're getting testy — let's change direction. Do you think not putting women you work with in headlocks and not asking them to stop wearing underwear to work is something most adult males should know without having to go to intensive therapy?
Yes. That said, do you think that these men in particular have problems that could benefit from psychiatric assistance?
Yes.
Do you think therapy can be a beneficial thing for many people?
Yes.
Do you think someone who's probably been a sexual predator for close to five decades and is now cheerfully on board to become the "best mayor" he can be through intensive in-patient therapy for a grand total of two weeks (followed by occasional out-patient sessions), yet who refuses to even temporarily relinquish his governmental duties, is really taking this opportunity to unlearn his despicable, "inexcusable" behavior seriously?
Um, no.
You just broke the rules with that "um." That wasn't a necessary conjunction or interjection or whatever form of speech it is. Are you sorry?
Yes. Do you think that, since that guy we were just talking about has no immediate plans to resign, he understands what the word "inexcusable" really means? No. Are you going to buy him a dictionary for his birthday? No. Do you even know when his birthday is? No. Did you just look it up on Wikipedia out of curiosity? Yes. Do you get the impression he's truly sorry? No. Can you know that for sure? No. Do you hope he gets well in the same way this columnist does? Yes.
Have you worked recently with any men like this?
No.
Have you in the long-ago past?
Yes.
So you think maybe there's been progress on a generational level?
Yes.
But we still need to do a lot of work, because there are obviously other women who are currently working with men like this.
Yes.
Could you have come up with a better texting name than "Carlos Danger"?
Yes.
Have you tried to make anagrams with all of their names, successfully or otherwise?
Yes.
Are Flib Boner, Zit Spore Tile, and New Train Honey some of those anagrams?
Yes.
Do you know how Anthony Weiner managed to make his penis bigger than his leg in one of his texts?
No.
Will he offer me his mouth?
Yes.
Will he offer me his teeth?
Yes.
Will he offer me his jaws?
Yes.
Will he offer me his hunger?
YES.
Again, will he offer me his hunger?
YES! And will he starve without me? YES!!!!!!!
And does he love me?
Yes.
Yes.
[patiently waits]
On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red — whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Did you just psychically manipulate our back-and-forth to compare the fact of men like this working anywhere at all (let alone as public servants, or potential public servants, in positions of power) to the ridiculousness of the entire Meatloaf discography?!
Yes.
Yes! [holds up hand for high-five]
[high-fives]
Are these guys wolves, with red roses or otherwise?
Yes.
Should Duran Duran write a song about them?
No.
Should Liam Neeson kill them?
Yes.
Are you looking forward to the premieres of Breaking Bad and Impractical Jokers?
Yes.
Do you like ice cream?
YES.
I bet you say that to all the boys!
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go.
I'm currently reading Slaughterhouse-Five. I read it once in high school, once in college, one other time after college, and now. This is one of the techniques I use to remember parts of my life: recalling time periods in which I read certain books. I don't have as much time as I used to for reading books, so thank dog for my kids — their birthdays help me keep track of my time travels more efficiently.
I'm reinhaling this Vonnegut staple because I recently heard that Charlie Kaufman and Guillermo del Toro might be working together to adapt it for the big screen, and even the slimmest possibility of that excites me beyond my wildest Tralfamadorian dreams.
Anyway, I got to page 56 in the beat-up old paperback that I think was my mom's from when she was in high school (antiquity bonus!), and I read this passage:
"Billy traveled in time, opened his eyes, found himself staring into the glass eyes of a jade green mechanical owl. The owl was hanging upside down from a rod of stainless steel. The rod was Billy's optometer in his office in Ilium. An optometer is an instrument for measuring refractive errors in eyes — in order that corrective lenses may be prescribed."
This passage made me laugh, because I have a friend who's an eye doctor who also happens to love owls. I love owls, too, but I'm not an eye doctor. So it goes.
Today's theme is ...
OPTOMETRY AND OWLS
Whoooooooo do you think will Pay for your myopia? Eye really don't know. —J.A.G.
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go. Credits: Courtest Vitaver; courtesy robwitham.hubpages.com; courtesy http://iriview.blogspot.com/
As I lay supine on my bed after an action-packed 36 hours in which I worked an eight-hour shift, followed immediately by a three-hour Monopoly marathon with a belligerent 6-year-old banker, followed by an amateur-hour packing session in which I actually had to resort to the old I Love Lucy technique of sitting on a suitcase to get it to completely close, followed by a cab-sav-infused repast with extended family, followed by a 90-minute MacBook tutorial with my 85-year-old grandparents because they've finally decided to ditch their 13-year-old PC and want to know what this Apple hype is all about, followed by an impromptu editorial pow-wow with the 8-year-old publisher of our 15-page "What We Did Over Summer Vacation" newsletter (small point-size only), followed by a couple of hours of late-night reading (because who can go right to sleep after all that?) about Tasmanian devils that spread cancer by biting each others' faces, followed by an early-morning flight from Fort Lauderdale to Long Island with the aforementioned belligerent banker and her similarly belligerent brother (the aforementioned newsletter publisher), a journey that commenced with airport security ripping apart one travel companion's Spider-Man carry-on because there was hair gel and a hidden rubber pool-toy torpedo stashed inside (subterfuge!), I realized this: Microwaves have it real easy when it comes to euthanasia, because they just have to ask the doctors to stop pressing "Add 30 seconds." Which led to my next revelation, which is that alarm clocks are Jesus, because when you stop pressing the "Snooze" button, the opposite happens and they're permanently resurrected. You won't look at microwaves or alarm clocks the same way again. Everything's going to be all right.
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go.
Yeah, yeah — those pesky IT problems you're on your own to solve.
Yeah, yeah — the temptation to loop The Yeah Yeahs Yeahs all day long with no one to tap you gently but firmly on the shoulder and tell you to stop that right now.
Yet I've got no beef with you, telecommuting. You afford me great luxuries, including avoiding this:
And being able to create content while looking like this:
Again, if you missed it — or if you're Marissa Mayer and naturally repulsed by the mere mention (ZING!) — today's theme is ...
TELECOMMUTING
And so it begins, that slow slide across the couch: Time to go to work! —J.A.G.
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go. Credits: Courtest Vitaver; courtesy robwitham.hubpages.com; courtesy http://iriview.blogspot.com/
I don't see dead people (usually), but I've discovered that even the most everyday items can prove to be compelling photographic subjects if you can reveal or imagine a story behind them.
I recently captured a series of images on the dunes of Robert Moses State Park on Long Island, as well as on the lush grounds of Soyuzivka, a Ukrainian resort in New York's Shawagunk Mountains. I'm not the most-advanced photographer, and I don't have the best photographic gear (these images were captured with a first-generation Samsung Galaxy S1 smartphone and a Sony point-and-shoot). I hope to step up to a DSLR soon and elevate my picture-taking to the next level.
In the interim, it's fun to keep looking for those interesting compositional elements that relay the stories I see in front of the viewfinder. Maybe you'll see something different. Maybe that's the point.
"Scene from the Bathroom Line at Field 5"
I don't have much to add to that title, other than I really liked the slope and lines of the shingled roof the seagull was perched on.
"Creepshow"
There's really nothing creepy about this shot, except with the surf closing in on me, it reminded me of the scene from the 1982 George Romero movie where the guy is buried in sand up to his head and the tide slowly comes in.
"Atten-Gull! (aka The Patriot)"
I tried to Norman Rockwell it up, add some grain and supersaturation. Something different, anyway.
"Give Us a Kiss — 25 Cents!"
It just looks so ... lonely. Look at that downturned mouth! Those imploring eyes!
"Requiem for a Dude"
I don't know. Broken boogie boards make me melancholy.
"Vintage R&R"
This was a crappy shot taken on a particularly foggy day on my smartphone, so there wasn't much I could do, save for making it look like one of those grainy old-time photos from LA or Hawaii, like a Steven Soderbergh film with all those crazy yellow filters he uses.
"Swoop-da-Woop"
It's all about the seagull here. You know that — you see that. I converted to black and white so you wouldn't be distracted by any colors, because the seagull wouldn't like that so much and would fire at you with his lasers.
"The Lonely Lifeguard"
This is one of those times when I really wish I had a good camera and lens to capture all the gorgeous colors as I really saw them. It comes close, and I really did it for the composition, but still.
"Closing Time"
I swear that silhouette on the right is FDR. That's the only reason I vignetted it.
"New York Boo-Way"
If you don't think Interstate 87 is a frightening thoroughfare, you haven't driven on it right before an impending storm.
"Road to Kerhonkson"
It was foggy and spooky as I approached the looming mountain in the distance. I applied a slight sepia tone to this image, because it feels exactly the same as when we used to do the long drive in the 1980s and why not just come to terms with the fact that I'm an antique?
"Tooting His Own Horn: A Welcome"
I was going to make a joke about him just being happy to see me, but I use that joke about once a week, so moving on.
"Chapel in the Woods"
This reminds me somehow of the church where everyone got massacred in Kill Bill 2, but it was mostly peaceful when I was here.
"From the Outside Looking In (or Not)"
Close-up of the chapel windows. I liked the cut of their jib.
"Never Break the Chain"
Someone left this string of flowers on the chapel entryway. I really wanted to rip it off and wrap it around my body and dance to Van Morrison in the moonlight. It was daytime, though.
"I Get Your Point"
The spires on the chapel roof were sharp and impressive and wasn't going to mess with them.
"+ 1"
That's what I got for finding the chapel hidden deep in the woods. One Explorer Badge, coming up!
"Road of Life"
I just liked the way this looked, especially the handcrafted "Bump" font.
"Head"
There are lots of these busts hanging around the grounds. Alternative name for this one: "Booyah, Marlon Brando!" Nah, gonna stick with "Head."
"Feminism or Bust"
I like this sculpture next to the moss-covered tree, which I imagine she uses to beat off misogynists. Her fat potato face looks like me and nearly every other Ukrainian woman.
"GAHHHHHH"
This bust kind of creeps me out because he looks like he's going to eat us. It also looks kind of like my late grandfather, so that mitigates the creepiness somewhat. Though does that mean my dead grandpa wants to eat me?!
"I Lichen You a Lot"
Here's your fungal-photosynthetic Rorschach for the day. Let me know what you see.
"Tables = Turned"
This guy thought he was sneaking up on the resident wildlife with this DSLR. But it was I sneaking up on him with my point-and-shoot.
"The Rocks"
This is just what they're called. Because there are a lot of long, flat rocks you can sit/sprawl out on to watch the waterfalls.
"Trickle-Down Rock-a-nomics"
One of the many waterfalls you'll find here.
"Fun With Fungi"
These guys were just hanging out near the chapel, perhaps praying. Or maybe just genuflecting. I can't see their knees here, hard to tell.
"Magic Mushrooms"
There's nothing magic, really, about these mushrooms, which serve as a somewhat depressing appointment in the lobby of the Uzhorod residence, guarding the peeling paint and soda machine.
"Hold Tight"
Many of the banisters here are held up by wooden trees you'd ostensibly find in the Carpathian Mountains. And in Ulster County. I just think they're pretty cool.
"UNA, Opa!"
"UNA" stands for "Ukrainian National Association," and they want you to see it even when you're swimming. I applied an antique layer over this image, because isn't this the sort of thing you would have seen during the Cold War?
"The Queen of Veselka"
This swell lady overlooks the entire main pavilion and sends admonishing glares if you're not drinking enough wodka.
"Hangovers and Holopchi"
There was a huge party at the Veselka Pavilion the night I stayed here. The next morning, the aftermath was evident. This table seems worthy of a painting.
"Lviv Strong"
This is the cabin where the Soyuzivka kiddie camp resided. It looks exactly the same as it did 25 years ago, as evidenced by ...
"Lviv and Never Let Die"
... this pic from the mid-80s, with Lviv in the background. I'm in the second row from the bottom, third from the left, exhibiting my nationalism with my Soyuzivka T-shirt.
"Harbor No Resentment"
Especially not from Centerport's Jellyfish Restaurant, which afforded me spectacular Fourth of July views while I devoured a lobster roll.
"High-Speed Hijinks"
My view from the back of a convertible speeding through NYC's West Village.
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go.
