Plum Crazy

Dear Spammers

Thank you so much for the lovely e-mails. It's so nice to know that so many of you care to write me, since about 75% of my e-mail is spam. But I have a few questions for you.

1. What possible purpose would getting big erections serve me? Write the guys I date.

2. I am sorry to learn that the assorted relatives and aides of Mobutu Sese Seko, Sani Abacha, and Jonas Savimbi have yet to find anyone to help them get their millions of dollars out of their countries. But do you think that asking me every other day is going to convince me?

3. What services do you think I offer that you are writing for more information on?

4. What would possess you to think that after viewing my site it would be a good place to cross-promote your client's aluminum siding business?

5. This is a website, not a TV show. How the hell are you going to bring it to Israeli TV? It doesn't even have a plot. Although if Israeli TV is anything like American TV, that might not seem like an obstacle to you.

Thank you. I look forward to receiving your detailed responses.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

My brother just returned from a trip to Iceland. He had a great time. He also took some great photos, one of which is so amazing I am posting it for everyone's viewing pleasure.

[click for bigger image]
Rainbow in Mist

The Yankees Win!

The Yankees win! This win clinched them the Division title. Woo hoo!

From Book to Film

When you think of novels frequently adapted to film, you probably think of "A Christmas Carol" (17 times, excluding TV adaptations), "Frankenstein" (16 times, excluding TV), "Dracula" (14 times, excluding TV), and "Little Women" (7 times, excluding TV). You probably do not think of Choderlos de Laclos's 1789 classic "Les Liaisons Dangereuses". Yet excluding TV productions, this novel has been adapted to film 5 times (one Japanese).

You probably all remember the 1988 version starring John Malkovich as the Victome de Valmont, Glenn Close as the Marquise de Merteuil, and Michelle Pfeiffer as Madame de Tourvel. Some may recall the 1989 version, "Valmont" starring Colin Firth as Valmont, Annette Bening as Merteuil, and Meg Tilly as Tourvel. Those really in the know may realize that 1999's "Cruel Intentions", starring Ryan Phillippe as Sebastian Valmont, Sarah Michelle Gellar as Kathryn Merteuil, and Reese Witherspoon in the Tourvel-like role, was based on the novel. But how many of you knew that in 1959, Roger Vadim used the novel as the basis for an updated tale of sexual cruelty and intrigue entitled, aptly, "Les Liaisons Dangereuses"? His version starred Gérard Philipe as Valmont, Jeanne Moreau as Merteuil, and Annette Vadim as Tourvel.

Having now seen 4 of the 5 (the Japanese one lacks great interest to me at the moment), I will say that without having yet read the novel, "Dangerous Liaisons" is my favorite. Between the two period adaptations, Malkovich stands out as Valmont. Firth played a more sympathetic version, but there was something about Malkovich's stunningly cold portrayal of the jaded man who warms up too late when he suddenly falls in love. Michelle Pfeiffer's more serious portrayal of the virtuous Madame de Tourvel is also far and away better than Meg Tilly's rather silly one. Although Bening's performance as Merteuil stands out in my mind as better than Close's (Bening brought a sexiness to the role that Close lacked), it was not enough to make up for Tilly's fatuousness and Firth's not-quite-as-good Valmont. I will confess that almost anyone would have been better as Chevalier Danceny than Keanu Reeves in "Dangerous Liaisons", but fortunately his role wasn't big enough to detract too much from the entire film.

Of the two updated versions, I even prefer "Cruel Intentions". By having Valmont and Merteuil married, Vadim took something away from the story. Jeanne Moreau was quite good as the seemingly pure but truthfully scheming Merteuil, but Gérard Philipe didn't quite have what it takes to make Valmont as calculating as I felt he should be. Very charming, but lacking in that true cruelty that Malkovich so convincingly played. Ryan Phillippe actually had that part down better than the man who so nearly shared his last name. Annette Vadim was rather boring as Madame de Tourvel.

Little known trivia about the film adaptations. Swoosie Kurtz appeared in two of them. She played Madame de Volanges in "Dangerous Liaisons" and had a cameo at the beginning of "Cruel Intentions" as Sebastian's psychologist. Catherine Deneuve, another of Roger Vadim's lovers, is appearing as Merteuil in an upcoming miniseries version along with her son with Vadim, Christian, as Monsieur Tourvel. This version will star Rupert Everett as Valmont (I do like Everett, but I don't see him excelling in this role), and Nastassja Kinski as Tourvel (I shudder).

Separated at Birth

I was watching a great movie this evening, Bollywood/Hollywood. During one scene, a guest appears at the Sangeet (pre-wedding celebration) for the sister (Twinky) of the main character (Rahul), a star from Bollywood named Akshaye Khanna. As I'm watching him, I can't help think two things (1) he really reminds me of someone, and (2) damn, he's hot! Finally I remembered who he reminds me of - Bruce Campbell.

Bruce Campbell

Akshaye Khanna

BTW, cute line from Bollywood/Hollywood. When the Rahul's mother thanks Akshaye for flying in to attend Twinky's Sangeet, he says "Of course. Rahul is like a brother to me." Rahul was played by Akshaye's brother, Rahul Khanna.

The Number of the Counting Shall Be

Three .

Sorry for skipping over 5 yesterday, but the Yankees and the fabulously losing Red Sox were responsible for skipping right from 5 to 3.

I Can See! I Can See!

Lawsy, lawsy, Miss Eva, I can see!

The laser eye surgery has been completed, and so far I am quite pleased with the results. Thanks to everyone for their well wishes. A little rundown on the types of surgery I had.

In the left eye, I had the LASIK surgery, which is where they make a flap in your cornea with the Excimer laser, reshape the eye under the flap, and then put the flap back where it heals naturally in a couple of days. It took about 7 minutes all told to do that eye, although most of it wasn't with the laser. I felt no pain at all, just a little pressure when they inserted the speculum to keep the eye wide open and when they used the microkeratometer to make the flap. Last night, it felt like I had something in my eye, but that sensation was gone when I woke up this morning. My vision in that eye went from 20/400 to 20/30 overnight, and my astigmatism went from 1 point to being completely gone. The vision should improve a bit further over the next couple of days, but even at 20/30 I'm ecstatic.

In the right eye, due to a recurring problem with corneal weakness, I had to have the PRK laser surgery (photorefractive keratotomy). In this procedure they use the Excimer laser to remove the top layer of the cornea and then reshape the eye. Because of this, the healing time is longer, and you don't get the same immediate vision benefits. The top layer grows back naturally also, but it takes 1-2 weeks instead of 2 days. Again, no pain, just pressure from the speculum. This procedure also took about 7 minutes. Today there is some minor discomfort and I'm wearing a bandage contact lens (basically a contact lens without vision correction capability). The vision in that eye went from 20/400 to 20/100 overnight and the astigmatism is completely gone. The vision should continue to improve as the eye heals. The PRK surgery will also cure the corneal weakness. What would happen is that part of the top layer of the cornea would erode every 2-3 weeks, so it was like getting a scratch in your eye every 2-3 weeks. When the cornea regrows, it will be stronger, so no more erosion!

I'm on eye drops a-go-go for the next week. Antibiotic and steroid drops 4 times a day and artificial tears every hour while I'm awake. I also have another type of drop just for the right eye which I also use 4 times a day. I have to wait about 5 minutes between types of drops, so it's a 15 minute procedure every time I have to use them. The bandage contact lens comes out on Tuesday evening.

I am not having much light sensitivity after all. There was a bit this morning, but it has mostly subsided by now. The left eye has no discomfort. It's a little dry, but the artificial tears help with that. The hardest part of the entire surgery was having to stare straight ahead for 5 minutes. Well, that and the no eye makeup for a week thing. The room is freezing, so they give you a blanket. They'll also give you a sedative if you ask for it, but I wasn't feeling nervous enough, so I went without, and I don't regret that at all. Didn't need it.

This is so fantastic. I have been wearing glasses since I was 3, so that really means I was born with bad vision. This is the first time I have ever been able to see unaided in my entire life. I haven't been able to wear contact lenses for the last year because of the corneal weakness, so I've been stuck with glasses. I can't wait for the week to be up, so I can start really showing off all that fancy Bobbi Brown eye shadow I bought!

Light Blogging...

...as I will be having light sensitivity for the next few days. I'm having laser eye surgery this evening, and I expect to be unable to blog for the next couple of days as a result. Wish me luck.

Sing a Song

of sixpence. Fortunately Boston lost too.

Let My Espresso Beans Go

Seattle residents have resoundingly said "No!" to a proposed 10-cent tax on espresso or espresso-based coffees. The proposition was put on the ballot to fund better daycare for poor families, but Seattle residents figure there's a better way to do that than taxing their favorite beverage. I can't disagree.

"As we said all along, this is the wrong way to fund child care," said Stephanie Bowman, coordinator for Joined to Oppose the Latte Tax, or JOLT.

"Everybody should be paying for these programs, not just coffee drinkers. Not with a gimmick like the Seattle latte tax," Bowman said.

Although I would have thought that in Seattle "everybody" and "coffee drinkers" were synonymous terms.

Happy Carnival Birthday

The Carnival of the Vanities is one-year-old. In honor of its birthday, it's father, Bigwig, is hosting it again.

Lucky Seven

Seven is a magical number.

The Election Limerick File

Michele is having a Presidential election limerick contest. Having previously tried my hand at haiku and sonnets, I figured why not a limerick too?

There once was a man named Pat Paulsen
Who for President would run and run
I know that he's dead
Still I'd like him instead
Of Dick Gephardt or Joe Lieberman

Speaking of Bitchslaps

Via Strange Cosmos

Eight Maids A'Milking

The magic number is now 8.

People I'd Like to Bitchslap

Urban planners who put in brick sidewalks. They must be men. Sure, they look lovely, but they are killer on heels. Every urban planner who allows a brick sidewalk should be forced to walk across one in 3" heels every day for the rest of their lives.

People who use corporate jargon terms like "business partner." Can't we just call it "doing your job?"

Mike Bloomberg. Just on principle.

Idiots who Google search terms like "why have the jews gone crazy?" But what do I know? Evidently I've gone crazy.

The entire Boston Red Sox team. The Atlanta Braves too (tomahawk-chopping bastards), but if I had to make a choice, I'd go with the Red Sox first.

Steve Ballmer. Face it, Steve, Windows and Outlook are just lousily written programs. It's not just that there are more Windows machines than any other OS. It's that Windows is easier to write viruses for.

Ying-yangs who call hazing rituals where teenage boys have brooms shoved up their nether regions "kids getting carried away." I'm pretty sure that when most kids "get carried away," they do things like drink, smoke, have consensual sex with their partners, and borrow the car without permission. Shoving broomsticks in other people's bodily cavities was the kind of thing the Boston Strangler did or the sort of incident which landed NYC cops in jail. Kind of outside the scope of "getting carried away."

But not Trish Wilson, who has a new home and has posted incredibly cute kitten pictures.

Today's Blog Brought to You by the Number 9

Despite a loss, the Yankees magic number is now 9.

9 Democratic Presidential candidates.

U.S. wrestlers have won 9 straight matches in the third session of the World Freestyle Championships.

Eartha Kitt will be replacing Chita Rivera in the cast of the Broadway Show "Nine".

Tommy Chong was sentenced to 9 months in prison for distributing bongs and marijuana pipes online.

Hideki Matsui has been stuck at 99 RBIs since last Wednesday.

He's a Magic Man

I'm suffering from blogging brain-freeze right now, so I will leave you all with this to contemplate.

The magic of the number 10.

Sept. 12th

Well, the day has passed, and all is well. Except for the deaths of Johnny Cash and John Ritter. I kind of liked Three's Company. I also like ABBA, so what the hell.

I'm just drained, so I don't have a lot to say right now.

9/11 Roundup

Lots of bloggers are collecting links to individual blog entries about 9/11. So rather than do that, I will serve as some kind of 9/11 Remembrance Digest and present you with links to the people with links.

Michele

Yehudit

Stephen Green

Kathy K.

And, of course, Voices

Let me know if you come across any others.

UPDATE: Technically not a link to a person with links, but still a very good post, and one that hasn't been linked elsewhere, Dietz's Fears of a Child.

Random Thoughts

I'm going to post thoughts that stray my mind today about 9/11. This post will be updated as the day goes on.

My office at the WTC was always a mess, with stacks of papers all over. Frank used to joke with me that the only way to clean my office was to throw a match in it. In a fit of black humor on 9/11, I remember thinking "Well, that's a bit of overkill, wouldn't you say?" [Note: Mercifully, although I didn't think so on the day he told me, Frank, who worked for me, had resigned in June, 2001. On 9/11 and thereafter, I was grateful he had. Frank always got in around 7:30 a.m. If he hadn't resigned, he'd have been killed.]

9 months was the hardest time for me. I was freaking out so badly, I was seriously considering leaving the country. By the one-year anniversary, that terrible fear had passed.

I'm glad my company moved us to Hoboken. I'm glad I moved to Hoboken. At the end of every day, I would feel "Another day passed without a terrorist attack." And I never knew which would be worse - that I would be killed in the next attack or that I would survive again but more people I knew would be killed. I don't worry so much about the former, although I do still fear the latter. How do people in Israel live with that fear all the time? How do they get through their lives? It's amazing.

9/11/01 started off as such a beautiful day. After the attack, I remember thinking how wrong it was for such a horrible day to be so sunny and beautiful. It should have been gray.

In retrospect, I'm glad it was sunny. The grayness would have reflected my mood, but the sunshine was like a tribute to the people who were killed. That is much more important.

Today

Here we are. The second anniversary of 9/11. A terrible day for this country. The worst day of my life.

What a difference two years makes. 17,520 little hours.

I still think about 9/11 every day. Maybe a day will come where I don't think about it for an entire day. I don't know, but I don't think so. It was just too big.

But I can think about it now without tears immediately springing to my eyes. I can talk about it now without my eyes welling up, without the choking lump in my throat. Usually. Well, at least sometimes.

There are still the sudden reminders. One of the guys I knew who was killed was named Joe Sisolak. Not a particularly common name, I would think. Two months ago, I get a prescription filled in a pharmacy in my new hometown of Hoboken. The pharmacist's name? Joe Sisolak. That one really caught me by surprise. It was a flashback to 9/11.

My tribute to the victims and survivors of 9/11 this year was to help Michele with the Voices project. I think it's such a good thing she is doing. It's a testimony to the impact 9/11 had on real people. 9/11 happened to America; it happened to New York; it happened to D.C.; but most of all, it happened to us. Thinking of it as something that happened to a place makes it too abstract. But I dare anyone to see it as an abstraction after reading all the entries there.

I remember two years ago, going back to work on the afternoon of Thursday, 9/13/01. They needed people to go through the lists of names of people to confirm who was safe and who was not. I spent two weeks, including weekends, looking at the names of people I had known for years. I had to learn to put aside the pain while doing that in order to get through it. I knew that the work was important. I knew I could do it. So I did.

I took some time off from work on Saturday, 9/15/01, to volunteer in the crisis center our company had set up. By that time, I had accepted that anyone we hadn't confirmed as safe was dead. I just did not believe that many people could have survived in the rubble that long.

We had lost so many of the senior managers in the technology department that they needed anyone who knew the victims to talk with their families. As I was speaking to them and hearing the desperate hope in their voice that their loved one was still alive, out there somewhere, I felt so badly. What could I say? What could I say to the mother who was convinced that her son had been on the subway at the time of the attack and was still alive in the subway tunnels; that it was only a matter of time before he was rescued? Soon enough, she would have to accept the truth. But I wouldn't take away her hope. Not then.

I still have never seen footage of the towers collapsing. I have consciously avoided it. One day I may be ready to see it, but today is not that day. We worked in the North Tower. The plane only hit the corner of the North Tower. We know that some of our colleagues survived the impact. There were text messages and cell phone calls. That is still what bothers me most. People I knew were still alive when the towers collapsed. I am not ready to see that.

I know a lot of people are angry, and I understand why. They have every right to feel angry. Even two years later. But I don't feel much anger. I can't be angry at a faceless enemy, a group enemy. I can be angry at a specific person, like Osama bin Laden, and I am. I just can't be angry at an abstraction. I don't think I'm wired that way.

But I can be sad. Sad for the people I once knew. Sad for all the victims, for the families of the victims.

I can be happy. Happy for the people who survived. Happy that I survived. Happy for the memories I have of the people I once knew.

Today will be bittersweet. I will remember my friends and colleagues. The happy memories I have of them will be laced with the sadness that there will be no more happy memories made of them.

Today I will remember that I am lucky to be alive. That I can still make happy memories of other people; other things. That life goes on.

One Year Ago Today 2

One year ago today, I also wrote my memories of the people I knew who were killed. This was my tribute to them.

To Those I Knew

The memories come. Faces; voices; scenes play out in my head. Sometimes unbidden. An overheard word or phrase. The back of somebody’s head, although that happens less frequently now. I am transported back in time, to a when that seems so much simpler. All the things that bothered me in the then seem so trivial. Although in truth most of them still bother me in the now. I wish they did not.

To all of you, this is my memorial. My testament that you lived and that your life still has effect, even in your death. No music. No speeches. A simple recounting of memories.

Jim – So quietly sitting in your cubicle outside my office. A shy smile. That off-site meeting where you went up to the D.J., twice, to make sure he played that song I wanted to dance to (“White Lines”). I wish now I had taken more pains to say hello to you every morning. But know this – I always thought you were one of the gentlest souls I ever met. I still do.

Rosa – Quick to smile. Slow to complain. I used to wish you were quicker to complain so that I could have helped alleviate the situations that were upsetting you. When you would bring Amanda with you to work. How she used to hide behind you, shyly peeking out at the rest of us. Amanda with all that hair; a mini-Rosa we used to call her.

Jennifer – Usually so very quiet, but with that biting, sarcastic wit that always came as a shock to break your otherwise stillness. How hard and long you worked to pass your CPA. You never gave up until, at last, success a few scant months before your life was robbed.

Patti – You always seemed so serene. Yes, I knew that Dan would drive you nuts. He drives us all nuts sometimes. Who ever knew that “angst” could be a verb? But your life with Warren and your children, Colby and Jordan, always seemed to keep you in balance. I wonder what keeps them in balance now that you are gone?

Jon – One of the first people I met when I was new to the job. Dancing with you at the holiday parties my first years there. I never will forget.

Barry – To know you was to know you couldn’t have been anything but a retired NYPD detective. How you loved to schmooze. If only we could schmooze once more over my hamentaschen or latkes, the ones you liked so much. I still make them. I don’t think you ever knew that a friend told me you had commented to him that I looked “hot” while dancing at one of the holiday parties. I never told you I knew. I figured you would just be embarrassed. Don’t be.

Linda – You of the matching Coach purse. But yours always seemed so much lighter and less lumpy than mine. You were more organized; never carrying around mounds of things “just in case.” Perhaps you knew that “just in case” didn’t really matter.

Kevin – Always on the same schedule. You for your cigarette. Me for a drinkable cup of coffee. The conversations in the elevator. I promise you that I always have liked your old boss, Bruce. I still do.

Gary – How I admired your ability to make the tough decisions and carry them out in a way that didn’t alienate people. That negotiation where Michael would constantly get up and walk out mid-sentence. How you laughed when I said he had the worse case of adult ADHD I had ever seen. Nothing has happened to make me revise that opinion. How much you loved your daughter, and how proud you were when she was cast as an extra in the Memphis Ballet’s production of “The Nutcracker.” Does she still dance? I hope so.

Bernard – Why were you even there that day? Why weren’t you safe in Toronto? How shocked I was to find out days later that you were gone. It never even crossed my mind that you were there.

Greg – With your face like a cherub. You always seemed so cheerful. But then that one time I was walking down the hall on 99. I must have surprised you when you weren’t expecting to see anyone you knew. To my great shock, you were not smiling. The only time I ever saw you without a smile on your face. I didn’t know if I caught a glimpse of a Greg few ever saw or if it was an anomaly. Now I’ll never know.

Joe – I know. I know. Joseph. But you first introduced yourself to me as Joe. By the time, 4 years later, you told me you really preferred Joseph, the force of habit was too strong. So Joe you will forever remain to me. Yours is the face, the voice I remember most vividly. The lunches at Johnny’s. Asking me to teach you about classical music. How sheepishly you confessed to me that you listened to that one piece I told you to trust me on even though you didn’t recognize the composer. Your recognition upon hearing its opening notes – “Ahh, the Theme to 2001.” And the crushing embarrassment when, seconds later, Mike, of all people, walked by your office and said, “Oh, Also Sprach Zarathustra.” We all had to start somewhere, though. That after-work black tie event. Me walking out of the building in my evening gown, my hair done up in a bun with a pearl bun holder. I saw you from afar say “Wow” to Brad. How flattered I was that it always came as a shock to you to find out I was 2 years your elder, not your younger. Each time. Each of the 4 or 5 times. Thank you for that. The cocktail party the week before the attack. That silly little company logo key ring you gave out as party favors. I was planning on making merciless fun of you for the rest of your life for that. How could I know then that the rest of your life would only be 6 more days?

And all the practical jokes. That Tiffany’s box all tied up with the ribbon, with the slip of paper with only the word “dumbass” written on it nestled on the cotton inside. That was all Frank’s idea, but it was brilliant. How you loved that. You kept it on your desk for two years. But it was all my idea to send you that picture of a jail cell with “Who’s your daddy? Love, Hyman,” written on the back. Given your theory about Hyman and how you had disliked working for him, it seemed so perfect. I know you kept that one too. I did tell Frank, though, that if HR ever came to him about those doll parts, I was going to deny all knowledge. Even for Frank, that was weird. Did you ever think anything could be too weird for Frank? And now he’s buying a house in the suburbs. The authentic angry young man settles down.

But the thing I most appreciated about you, although I never told you so, was that you were one of those rare men who never badmouthed his wife; one of those rare men who not only loved his wife but very clearly liked her and liked spending time with her. The affection in your voice and on your face when you spoke of her. I will count myself one of the luckiest women around if a man ever speaks of me with half the affection with which you spoke of your wife.

And to the others I did not know as well – Still I can see your faces. The memories don’t come as often or as vividly. But for all that you still had an effect on me. So this is to Janet, Kermit, Jack, Nina, Mary, Kevin, Rich, Cecile, Ed, Mary, Alex, Elaine, Sue, Dan, Palmina, Bill, Erwin, Dolores, Frank, Vince, Steve, Warren, Valerie, DaJuan, Rebecca, Carol, Dan, Gene, Nancy, Miah, Joel, Cheryl, Patrick, Jim, Margaret, Sal, Jonathan, Joanne, Chapelle, Frank, Ralph, Art, Tom, Astrid, Mary, Bill, Jimmy, Harry, Norma, Phyllis, Garo, Barbara, Malissa, and Eve. And to all my other colleagues I did not know but who were killed. I witness to the world that you were and are.

One Year Ago Today

I started a poem not long after the attack as a way to verbalize my emotions. I also decided to make it an alphabetic acrostic as a challenge to myself and because many prayers in Judaism are alphabetic acrostics. I didn't finish it at the time. I revisited it one year later and finished it. I have never written a poem before. I probably never will again. It is what it is. Not a great work of art. But it is mine. Read it if you like.

Another Day Came

Another day came,
But I barely noticed.
Consumed as I was by petty things.
'Do I wear grey or red?'
'Eat now or at work?'
For how could I know that in an instant the whole world would change?
Gone in a moment - friends, work, safety.
Here to replace them - grief, anxiety.
If I could only have gone back one day earlier,
Jealousy, envy, pride I would have erased.
Kept only finer emotions.
Lost the unimportant, the petty, the vain.
Madness consumes the world.
Now the unity, so fleeting in the aftermath, is gone.
Our nation yet again torn apart by internal strife.
People still hate each other for nonsensical reasons.
Questioning why are you not the same as me?
Robbing ourselves of joy.
Seeing only the minor differences.
Taking no note of our similarities.
Using others to bolster our identities.
Vesting ourselves in one group; excluding the others.
What a waste.
eXclusion is our modus operandi.
Yet on and on it goes.
Zealous in our self-enforced isolation.

Two Years Ago Today

Following are two posts I wrote for a politics forum at the time of the attack. One I wrote on 9/11 itself, after I finally got home. My phone didn't work that day, but my cable modem never went down. The other I wrote two days later.

Written on 9/11/01

I'm still in shock. Nothing I ever saw compares to the sight of the two buildings on fire with gaping holes in them. I am just grateful to be alive. I just pray that many of my colleagues are also alive. I'm also glad I was not downtown when the towers collapsed. I'm not sure I could have handled seeing that. Hearing it on the radio was bad enough. People were crying on the buses. I was crying on the bus and while walking on the street trying to get home. It took me two hours to get home, but at least I made it.

Written on 9/13/01

I was on a bus on the FDR Drive approaching the Brooklyn Bridge exit, on my way to work at the World Trade Center Tower 1. Suddenly, people on the near side of the bus start looking out the window, shocked. Someone said "A plane just hit the World Trade Center." I couldn't even believe it, it really didn't register. The bus driver pulled off at the Brooklyn Bridge exit, stopped the bus, and told us we had to get off and "Good luck getting home." I got off the bus and looked up. Only now did this start to sink in, as there was a gaping black hole in the building, flames rising, and chunks of the building falling off. I couldn't figure out which tower it was, though, as I was in too much shock to remember which had the radio antenna. I tried to get on my cellphone, but it was not working. I walked about a quarter of a block, found a payphone to call my parents to let them know I was not in the building when it happened and to ask them to tell me which tower it was. I suppose at this time I still had some stupid idea that I would try to get to work if Tower 1 was not the one that was hit. Of course, at this point, we all thought it was an accident. Anyway, after I called my father, who hadn't even heard yet, I walked back down to look at the building. By that time, the second tower was on fire, with an even worse gaping hole. I started to cry even harder at that point, because I realized that this could not possibly have been an accident. People all around me were just staring up at the building in shock, some in tears, some unable to do more than stare.

Eventually, I started to walk uptown again, with some vague idea of getting on a subway home. I had a portable MP3 player with an FM radio with me, so I decided to listen to the news while I was walking. Unsurprisingly, and if I had been thinking clearly I would have realized this, the subways were not running. I did see that local bus service was still running, so I walked a ways to a bus stop and got on the First Avenue bus. I was sitting on the bus listening to the radio. Since no one else on the bus had a radio, I was telling the other passengers what I was hearing. I told them that the Pentagon had been hit also, and everybody's faces went even whiter at that. Somewhere around 34th Street, the news came on that Tower 2 had collapsed. At that news, the bus got very quiet. Around 50th Street, traffic was so bad that most of us got out to walk. I walked up a bit, still listening to the news, when I heard that Tower 1 had also collapsed. At that, I started crying again. Some very nice man stopped to reassure me, and then I went to find another payphone to call my parents again. Took me a while to find one, but eventually I did and called them. Then I walked a little ways further until traffic had cleared up and got back on a bus the rest of the way home. All told, it took me two hours to get home that morning.

The rest of the day was spent trying to let people know I was okay. I couldn't make outgoing calls for hours, but I was able to get some ingoing calls and so got some news about some of my coworkers who had not been upstairs at the time of the plane crash. I sent an e-mail to a guy who used to work for me who had moved to Chicago a couple of months earlier to let him know I was okay and to find out if he had heard from anyone else. He had not, at the time, but that got me on an e-mail list wherein we would all report when we contacted someone, so we had a list of people who were okay. I basically spent the rest of the day in shock on the Internet and phone, waiting for news of my coworkers, combing the survivors lists, crying off and on. I have not, to this time, seen actual footage of the towers collapsing, and I'm not sure when I will be able to watch that. It's enough for me to know that my office is completely obliterated and that hundreds of people I know are dead. I don't think I can bear to see it on tape.

Thunderbirds Are GO!

Remember the British TV series "Thunderbirds"? Remember how much fun it was to watch those marionettes performing all the action and "stunts"? Wasn't that pretty much what made the series what it was? Without the marionettes, it would have just been another spy show. That's why this live-action movie version is so wrong. Even Ben Kingsley as the Hood can't make up for the lack of marionettes.

Not only that, but apparently, in an attempt to appeal to the "Harry Potter" crowd, most of the action will center around youngest Tracy son, Alan. Only instead of being in his 20s, Alan will now be only around 14. Why even bother doing a movie version of "Thunderbirds" if all you want is an action/spy film that will appeal to kids too young to even know what "Thunderbirds" was? Just what the world needs, another "Spy Kids"-like series of films.

But Really, I'm Not

A bimbo, that is. I was actually quite amused by being called "kind of bimboesque." And I'm not at all upset about it. But it did get me to thinking about false dichotomies. You know, like the Madonna vs. whore dichotomy. Or the bimbo vs. emasculating bitch dichotomy.

Somewhere there has to be room to be a multi-facted person. A woman can enjoy girlie things without being a bimbo. We can be intelligent, educated, well-read people while still enjoying frivolity. Whatever happened to balance? Being intelligent, educated, and well-read (and a feminist) doesn't automatically assign a woman to the emasculating bitch category. Enjoying frivolous pursuits doesn't automatically assign her to the bimbo category either.

I realize that a lot of men believe that women are shallow for focusing on their appearance so much. Men, on average, don't worry nearly as much as women do about whether or not they're fat or pretty or well-dressed. And, yes, those are all surface qualities. However, men, on average, do worry about whether or not their women are fat or pretty or well-dressed. Which is just as surface. Most men are able to get beyond that when seeking a partner (much like most women have concerns beyond their appearance), but some cannot.

Physical attraction is, without a doubt, a part of any romantic relationship. A lot of it is psychological, however, even though we don't always realize it. Haven't you ever had the experience of meeting a drop-dead gorgeous member of the opposite sex (or same sex, if that's who you are) only to wonder, after talking to them, how you could have ever been attracted to them? Or, conversely, the experience of meeting a member of the opposite sex (or same sex if that's who you are) that doesn't seem all that attractive at first, but as you get to know them suddenly becomes more attractive? Their physical appearance didn't change. Your perception of it did. That is psychological.

Now before anyone breaks in with a "but there are a lot of women who value men based primarily on surface qualities like how much money they make," yes, there are women who do that. I have actually met some of them. I dislike them intensely. Doesn't the argument "Well, she did it too!" or "She started it!" seem rather juvenile, though?

Hey, I'm a Bimbo!

I had a novel experience today. Someone linked to my post "Why I Am a Feminist" in a Yahoo! group (referrer logs are wonderful things). Actually that was rather novel too, but it isn't the novel experience. After reading the post, a man commented that I was "kind of bimboesque." He wasn't actually being insulting, per se, he said he was "intrigued" by it. Now, no one has ever called me "kind of bimboesque" before, but I was highly amused. Then perusing the last few days of posting on my blog I realized the following:

• I posted a picture of my new Bobbi Brown makeup.
  
• I wrote about how much I loved a dance club that has shut down.
  
• I wrote about a soap opera and posted a picture of the Barnabas bobblehead.
  
• I opined about what shoe designers certain philosophers would like.*
  
• I discussed the types of things that would make me melt.
  

Good Lord, I can see why someone might think of me as kind of bimboesque!

*Although how many bimbos would have even heard of Bentham and Hegel, let alone be able to make a pun in a dead language. I mean, I ask you.

F.A.Q.s

I'm bored today. Besides, doesn't like every website need an F.A.Q. section? These may be updated from time to time, as I see fit.

What's up with the Plum?

Plum was the nickname of my favorite author, P.G Wodehouse. When casting about for a somewhat anonymous handle to use on the web, I settled on that one. Now I use my first name, but the Plum has stuck. Which isn't surprising, since plums are a sticky fruit. All that juice runs all over your hands, you know.

Who are you?

My first name is Lesley, and you're not going to find out my last name. I realize that in the eyes of some, this makes me discourteous and/or cowardly, but there are enough freaks in the world. I don't need to make it easy for them to locate me. And trust me, my last name is unique enough that knowing it would make it very easy to locate me. My domain is registered by proxy too, so you can't find it out by doing a WHOIS. I'm not that stupid.

What do you do?

I work in finance.

What do you look like?

Apparently like Sigourney Weaver.

How many calories does a plum have?

Believe it or not, this is a frequent search request that leads people to my little corner of the web. For their edification, a medium-sized plum has 90 calories, 5 from fat (this translates to roughly 0.5 grams of fat). It has 8.5 grams of carbohydrates, only 1 of which is dietary fiber.

Who is shoe god?

See answer here.

Don't the Yankees suck?

Sure, if you define sucking as having won 26 World Series, more than twice as many as any other team, and 38 39 pennants in their history. I bet your boss wishes you sucked that badly at your job. But keep being deluded.

Okay, fine, but what about the Knicks?

Yes, the Knicks suck.

And the Rangers?

The Rangers suck too.

What about the Giants? (added in December, 2006)

Words cannot express my dislike for Tom Coughlin and Eli Manning!

Why are clams the benchmark of happiness?

I have no damn clue, but have often wondered that myself.

A Question for the Ages

One reader wants to know "who is shoe god?" This is one of those deep questions that have plagued philosophers for ages. Jeremy Bentham opined in favor of Cole Haan, believing that the clean, simple lines best fit in with a utilitarian perspective. Hegel, on the other hand, preferred Jimmy Choo, who evinces a more dialectical approach to shoes, with selections ranging from the clean and simple to the more fanciful. Lewis Carroll came down on the side of whimsy with his predilection for Manolo Blahnik. But I fear that no definitive answer to this age-old, important question can be given. We shall have to wait until we are admitted through the pearly gates of shoe heaven.

If I Can Make It There

I have a meeting in Manhattan tomorrow afternoon. Since relocating to Hoboken, I have made the trip many times, on PATH and subway, without second thought. Now I'm freaking out about it. I am sure it's related to the upcoming anniversary of 9/11. Maybe I'll get a bus schedule.

Top 10 Movies

In the keeping things light vein, I decided to go ahead and list my favorite movies. What the hell. In no particular order.

The Producers. Personally, I believe this was Mel Brooks' best movie. I know there's the Young Frankenstein freaks (and that is a great movie) and the Blazing Saddles boosters (another great movie), but neither of those has the same laugh power for me as The Producers. Dick Shawn as the hippie Hitler. "I lieb you, baby, I lieb you. Now leave me alone." That in and of itself is enough to make this my Brooks pick. Add to that Zero Mostel as the sleazy old-lady-seducing Broadway has-been ("Max Bialystock is launching himself into little old lady land!"), Gene Wilder as the nervous accountant ("... I'm in pain! I'm in pain, and I'm wet! ... and I'm still hysterical!"), and Kenneth Mars as the crazy Hitler worshipper ("Hitler...there was a painter! He could paint an entire apartment in ONE afternoon! TWO coats!!") and baby, you've got a hit!

The Philadelphia Story. Katharine Hepburn as the haughty heiress who discovers her heart before it's too late ("I don't want to be worshipped. I want to be loved."); Cary Grant as her charming ex-husband ("Be whatever you like, you're my redhead."), and Jimmy Stewart as the tabloid reporter who doesn't trust the wealthy ("I would sell my grandmother for a drink - and you know how I love my grandmother." This movie mixes the elements together, shaken, not stirred, into a fine cocktail.

Rebecca. Daphne Du Maurier's gothic novel filmed for the screen by Alfred Hitchock. Already the film is off to a promising start. This tale of a shy young woman who marries a widower she fears idolizes his dead first wife has the best opening line of a film. Ever. "Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again." There are also lesbian undertones to the adoration of the housekeeper Mrs. Danvers for the late Mrs. DeWinter, the infamous Rebecca. Joan Fontaine, Laurence Olivier, and Judith Anderson all excel.

The Lion in Winter. Palace intrigue as the wife and sons of Henry II try to get him to name his successor. Peter O'Toole in his second role as Henry II (the first playing a younger Henry in Becket) is perfectly cast against Katharine Hepburn as his scheming queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine. The love/hate relationship they share is wonderfully acted by these two. The remainder of the cast is also excellent. Anthony Hopkins as Prince Richard (soon to be Richard I), Nigel Terry as Prince John, and Timothy Dalton as the young King Philip of France.

Rope. This cat-and-mouse tale of murder was loosely based on the Leopold and Loeb case. John Dall and Farley Granger aptly play the two bored rich men who decide to strangle one of their friends, David Kentley, whom they believe to be intellectually inferior to themselves, as a sort of sociopathic thought-exercise - to see if they can commit the perfect murder. But if they simply commit the murder and dispose of the body, how can they prove to themselves that they are, indeed, intellectually superior to most mere mortals? Therefore they enact an increasingly elaborate scheme to keep the body stuffed in a chest in the library while having a few people over for dinner. They invite David's parents, his fiancee, and the only person they consider on an intellectually equal plane as themselves, their old teacher Rupert Cadell, marvelously played by Jimmy Stewart. And therein lies the challenge - if they can fool Rupert, they will know they have committed the perfect murder. However, as the evening progresses, Brandon becomes increasingly risque with his hints, and Phillip starts to fall apart from the guilt. Rupert begins to suspect something is amiss as David, who was ostensibly also invited, doesn't show up to the party. Filmed to look as though it were shot in one take, and taking place in "real time" (the movie is 77 minutes long, as is the action from start to finish), this is one of Hitchcock's most fascinating films.

Bell Book and Candle. If there were ever an actress I would want to be like, it would be Kim Novak. In this movie, she gets the perfect blend between being smart and independent vs. vulnerable playing Gillian Holroyd, a witch who decides to enchant her handsome neighbor, played by Jimmy Stewart, as a way to get back at his fiancee, a woman she has despised since college. Her plans go awry, though, when she falls in love with Shep for real. Character parts by Jack Lemmon, Hermione Gingold, and Elsa Lanchester make this enchanting tale even more bewitching. And, who could forget Gillian's familiar - the cat Pyewacket.

Hans Christian Andersen. Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen... Danny Kaye sings and dances his way through this fictional story about the life of the famous fairytale writer. Most of the rest of the cast doesn't particularly shine. Farley Granger is suitably annoying as Andersen's "nemesis", the director of a Danish ballet company and husband of Andersen's love interest. And Jeanmaire plays the egocentric ballerina well, in large part because, at the time the movie was filmed, she was basically playing herself. But Danny Kaye and the retellings of Andersen's fairytales make this movie wondrous. The Tale of the Ugly Duckling alone is worth renting the film for.

The Sound of Music. The first film I ever saw, this movie has never lost its magic for me. Julie Andrews is perfect as the young novitiate, Maria. The backdrop of the Austrian Alps is breathtaking. The sweet, innocent story of Maria's coming of age is darkly counterpointed by the Nazi's rise to power. My only regret is that I would have loved to have seen Theodore Bikel play the role of Captain von Trapp, as he did on Broadway.

Much Ado About Nothing. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. But how can you not sigh while watching Kenneth Branagh's spot-on adaptation of Shakespeare's play? Starring him as Benedick, one half of Shakespeare's battling lovers, and Emma Thompson as Beatrice, the other half, in some ways this movie represents the love he must have felt for then wife Thompson. He films her so beautifully, and Benedick's joy when he finally realizes he loves Beatrice goes beyond acting. Wonderful erformances by Brian Blessed, Richard Briers, Kate Beckinsale, and Michael Keaton add even more zest. Not even an incredibly wooden performance by Keanu Reeves or a surprisingly flat one by Denzel Washington (maybe Shakespeare isn't his thing) mar this film too much.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail. What can I say? (Not "Ni"). There is not one unfunny scene in the entire film. From the black knight hopping up and down on his stumps ("I'll bite your knees off!") to the confrontation between King Arthur and the anarcho-syndicalist commune ("Oh but if I went 'round sayin' I was Emperor, just because some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away!") to the insulting French soldiers ("Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries. Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time.") to the ancient bridgekeeper ("What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?"), everything in this film is funny. Python at their bizarre best.

Picture Time

I'm a little drained after going through all those entries for Voices, so I'm going to keep things simple and post pictures that make me happy.

Emma, while I was packing my old apartment to move into my new one, decided she liked the empty wardrobe unit.

Jane in her absolute favorite position - sleeping in a ball of kitty fur.

Two items from the hideous amount of Bobbi Brown makeup I ordered last week. The deep eye and lip palette and the neutral eye and lip palette.

More Voices

Sorry for light blogging. Been helping post stuff over at Voices. I'll be back later.

Voices

Michele is doing a project this year for the second anniversary of 9/11. It's called Voices: Stories From 9/11 And Beyond. I have contributed something, but am saving my posts on 9/11 for the anniversary itself. But I will have things to say on that day. In the meantime, if you have anything to say or just want to read, head on over.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

The end of a retro era. Last night, my date and I were set to go dancing in the Village. Even though it was chock full of bridge and tunnel crowders (and now that I'm part of the bridge and tunnel crowd, I would have fit right in), for some reason I always loved going to Polly Esthers. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the club only to find a note pasted to the window that it was closed, and we should go to Culture Club instead.

The only problem is that I loved Polly Esthers. There's something about the 70s music they would play that made me want to dance. And I do love to dance. When I get started, there's just no stopping me. I love the sensuality of dance. It feels almost erotic when you're out there on the floor shaking your bootie. But in order to get that, it has to be music that makes me feel that way. The music at Polly Esthers did. The music at Culture Club does not. Songs by Wham and Culture Club don't make me want to get up there and strut my stuff. Mostly they make me want to run screaming from the room.

Don't get me wrong. I love 80s music. Just not the kind of 80s music you hear at Culture Club. Find me a place where I can groove to The Cure, New Order, Gang of Four, Roxy Music, Depeche Mode, Jesus and Mary Chain and I'm a happy dancing camper. Play Wham, Culture Club, a-Ha, Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, Duran Duran and I'm going to be covering my ears and heading for the door.

I have fond memories of Polly Esthers. Drinking a Sonny (don't ask me to remember what was in it, it was too strong for that). Watching the goofy 70s movies without sound they would play on the TV screens. Dancing with one of my ex-boyfriends who was a lot of fun to dirty dance with. When I first started going there, they had this thing I would call the Wall o' 70s. Pictures of every 70s teen idol you could think of.

I had completely forgotten about Leif Garrett until I saw that wall. Remembering him was embarrassing, because I was also forced to recall the huge crush I had on him in junior high school, now inexplicable to me. I can understand the Shaun Cassidy crush (and he was on the Wall o' 70s too), but Leif Garrett? David Cassidy, Robbie Benson, Parker Stevens, John Travolta, Scott Baio - all of them had their place on the Wall. It was like taking a trip down Teen Beat memory lane. It was my adolescence staring me right in the face in all its awkward, goofy glory. Now my fix is gone.

Man, I hope they don't cancel "That 70s Show" any time soon.

No Brooms for Boston

At least Boston didn't sweep the Yankees.

World Tilts Off Axis, Cats and Dogs Live Together

First I agree with Mikey. Now I agree with Al Sharpton. All within a 24-hour period.

"We must not be in a relationship with a Democratic Party that takes us for granted. We must no longer be the political mistresses of the Democratic Party," Sharpton told the audience attending the first awards banquet for the Central Virginia Business and Construction Association.

I've often wondered about that. The Democrats talk a good game, but in terms of representation, blacks are still underrepresented in leadership positions. If this dissatisfaction spreads far enough, could there be a viable third party?

He might just be talking big now because of his Presidential campaign. I suspect that if there is no chance of a viable third party, the Democrats will maintain their high percentage of black votes. Although I'd really like to see a credible threat to the two-party system we currently have. It is possible that there might be a swing to the Greens. That would be interesting.

He took particular aim at rap artists whose violent lyrics refer to women in derogatory terms.

"To think that we have come down dangerous alleys, that we have traveled through the backwoods of terror, that we have survived beatings, been shot down in cold blood doesn't give you the right to call your mama a whore," Sharpton said.

Well, hallelujah!

I Shiver, Quiver, and Try to Wake

The internet isn't getting rid of me today. I'm sitting here with a sore throat, a fuzzy head, and the sniffles. So what is there for me to do but blog, surf, and catch up on the Dark Shadows episodes I have TiVoed? Laptops and wireless connectivity are fabby things. I'll also be on AIM: plumcrzy222

It Fills Me Up Like a Hollow Tree

Equality of the sexes. Equal rights. What does it mean? Lately there have been a bunch of discussions about feminism over at Dean's World. Rather than take up any more of Dean's space, I'll use my own.

Equality of the sexes does not mean that both sexes are exactly the same. Obviously men and women are different. Only a fool would dispute that. Are there fools in this world? Certainly. Anyone who believes that men and women are the same, be they a few feminists or medical researchers who would test medicines on men and assume they could apply the test results to women without further research.

When most people talk about equality of the sexes or equal rights, they are really talking about equal opportunity. It is true that men, on average, outperform women in feats of strength and speed, although there is evidence that women's speed has improved at a greater pace than men's over the last century, indicating that the speed differential may eventually be overcome through training. This is not true for the strength differential. Women, on the other hand, tend to outperform men in feats of physical endurance.

We are talking only in terms of the average man and woman, though. There are women who, for whatever reason, are stronger than the average man (although they will never be stronger than the strongest men), and men who are able to endure more than the average woman. It is self-evident that most of our job requirements are tailored towards what the average person can do. If they were tailored only towards the upper limits, you would have an unworkably small pool of labor. I am not going to argue that the strength requirements for jobs that require physical strength should be set below what is really needed to perform the job adequately just to allow women to participate. Neither, though, should they be set higher than what is really needed just to exclude women. If they are set at the proper level, why shouldn't women have the same opportunity to get the job as men? Opportunity meaning only that they can fairly take the test, if they so choose, and have an equal shot at getting the job if they pass it. And vice versa for jobs requiring physical endurance.

It is also possible to look at how we structure such jobs to take advantage of men's greater strength and women's greater endurance. There is nothing that objectively holds us to doing something the way we have always done it just for the sake of having always done it that way. Is it possible to make up teams where once the men's strength has burned out, the women's endurance kicks in? Might this actually be beneficial to all of us? I don't know, but it is worth looking at. We shouldn't simply pooh pooh it because men are stronger on an absolute basis. Getting locked into that kind of hidebound thinking prevents us from considering innovations that could help us all. Although if new innovations do not provide at least as much utility as the current solution, we should stick with the current solution.

But we just might find that's the power of equality.

Ebony and Ivory

A road sign on the remote islands of Svalbard has for years warned motorists about bears with a picture of a black animal on a white background, like signs further south warning of deer or elk.

But after complaints that it was unrealistic, the state road directorate made a new sign, reversing the colors to show a white bear, a directorate magazine said.

What? They were afraid that maybe people would see a polar bear and say "Oh, that's not one of those black bears on the warning signs. That must be one of those friendly warm and fuzzy white bears. Let's go pet it."

Which reminds me of one of my favorite "Far Side" cartoons. There's a Mama bear sitting in a cave with two bear cubs. The Mama bear has two human skulls on her hands like puppets. She says to the bear cubs something like "Ok, one more time and then it's off to bed. 'No, Bob, I don't think there are any bears in that cave. How about you?' 'I don't know, Joe, let's go find out.'"

And the Rangers and the Mets...

Why yes, they do.

UPDATE: My brother wants to tell all Knicks fans who know how badly the Knicks suck that there is a website devoted to firing Knicks GM Scott Layden: Fire Layden. I don't know, that F-Layden mug looks pretty tempting.

Another Sick French Joke

I told this man I'm dating my sick French joke. He liked it, but having actually been in comedy himself, he came up with an even better one. Again, not for the faint of heart.

Q: "What do you call an epileptic on a Paris sidewalk?"

A: "Shake and bake."

Anyway, he's picking me up soon, so I'm off. Toodles.

Mikey Doesn't Like It

I hate it when I agree with Mikey.

In June, the state's highest court ruled that New York City's 1.1 million schoolchildren were being denied a "sound basic education" by the current funding formula. The lawsuit — which the governor fought — was brought by the Campaign for Fiscal Equity, a coalition of parent and community groups.

Pataki's solution to this? Form a commission. Ah, but not just any commission.

The 16-member panel doesn't include members of his administration, New York City schools officials or the state legislature.

A commission to address the funding of New York City schools that doesn't include one New York City school official. Hmmm. Nevertheless, Mikey's take on it is one I absolutely agree with.

"We don't need another blue-ribbon panel to study a problem everybody knows exists," said Ed Skyler, a spokesman for Bloomberg.

What? You mean that our elected officials should just make decisions without studying an issue to death? Wow. It's crazy, but I like it.

AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH!

Red Sox 11 - Yankees 0. Make.The.Pain.Stop.

Why I Am A Feminist 3

I'm sitting here waiting for my furniture to be delivered and feeling a little guilty. A few weeks ago, I promised a woman that I would blog about her daughter's situation. It was just such a horrible situation that I have been finding it difficult to think of what to say. But now I will keep my promise and just say whatever comes to mind.

Her daughter, who she refers to as Plum, is currently in the custody of her father, an admitted child molestor. Her father didn't admit to molesting Plum, although Plum says he did and personally I don't believe that children are likely to lie about things like that, but he admitted to molesting other children. Under oath. In what world do our courts grant full child custody to admitted child molestors? It is truly sickening.

Not only that, but Sonja hasn't been allowed contact with Plum in two years. For two years, an admitted child molestor has had full custody of his daughter and prevented her from having any contact with her mother. And the courts are allowing this.

You may find a story like this hard to believe. Sadly, I do not.

Another Battle of the Sexes

Shell from Across the Atlantic posts a list of 20 ways to make a woman melt. I'm thinking this list should actually have been titled 20 ways to make Shell melt, because last time I checked, I was a woman (and I can get references to that effect too), and only a few of those things would make me melt.

2. When she's upset about something, don't try to fix it. Hold her.

Yes, I can fix my own damn problems, I just want someone to listen.

4. Know her favorites: One of the most romantic things I ever read was a man who saw his wife's brand of lipstick on sale and picked her up a tube in her favorite color. Just knowing those little things means a lot. Acting on them--like bringing home her favorite candy bar from the machine at work or having her favorite cd playing when she gets out of the shower--means even more.

Only if you're going to go out and buy me perfume, in which case, yeah, it would be nice if you looked on my countertop and noticed the perfume brand. Please, don't buy me any old kind of perfume. I'd rather you don't buy me perfume at all, in that case. I'm allergic to most of them anyway.

7. Show her respect and affection in public. When my mom met my partner, she commented later that he treats me like a precious treasure. There's nothing quite to compare to hearing your lover complimented by friends and family.

And not just in public. In private too.

10. When she's working on something, come up behind her and kiss the back of her neck. Just because.

That one definitely works for me.

13. Rub lotion into her hands. Or feet. Or legs. Or her entire body.

So does that one.

20. Cuddle. Touch. Kiss. Say I love you. And not just during sex.

And that one.

A couple of them actually would piss me off.

12. Remind her if she's due for a trip to the beauty salon (every 6 weeks for most haircuts--4 weeks for ultra short) and insist that she treat herself to the full shampoo, cut, and style. Take her out afterwards. Tell her she looks so good you want to show her off.

Do NOT remind me if I'm due for a trip to the beauty salon. Just.Don't.Do.It.

17. Buy a book of short stories, fables or fairy tales and read one to her every night.

I pretty much hate short stories, fables, and fairy tales. And I'll read to myself, thanks. Also, I hate most poets, and the ones I do like don't make for good reading aloud meltiness. T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" isn't exactly romantic.

Jim at Jimspot responds with a fisking of the entire list. I actually relate to much of what he said, but he, too, lost me when he says "Why is it that women want us to be sentimental saps and act the way THEY want us to?" Again, I'm a woman and don't want a man to act like a sentimental sap.

As for why we want men to act the way we want them to, well, face it, who doesn't want someone else to act the way you want them to? The world would be a phenomenally great place if everyone acted the way I want them to. The key thing is I don't actually expect it to happen. Although, if anyone is interested...

Via Andrea Harris via Judith.

The Power of the Barnabas Bobblehead

It is so great that posting about it once made me second in a web search for barnabas bobblehead. So for you fine Dark Shadows fans, another glimpse of the mighty Barnabas bobblehead.

The Dark Shadows DVD Club is promising another 4 Dark Shadows bobbleheads will be coming out. And a coffin display case after one year of membership. I only hope the next bobblehead is the yummy Quentin bobblehead. David Selby, mmmmmmm.

Has Mikey World Become Less Bizarro?

When Michael Bloomberg talks about his goals as mayor he usually says, "over the next six years," -- implying that his re-election in 2005 is a foregone conclusion.

But Thursday, when asked if his education reforms would outlast his mayoralty, Bloomberg conjured a somewhat darker forecast for his political future.

"My hope is that we leave my successor in six years -- or four years or two years, whenever that is -- with a start on fixing a problem that has gone on for decades," he said.

I guess it finally dawned on Mikey that his really low approval rating might just mean that he won't be re-elected. Good man, Mikey. No one ever said you were stupid. Out of touch with reality, but not stupid.

Why I Am A Feminist 2

Because of stories like this one.

Two years ago, a 12-year-old Cree girl was picked up by some men near Tisdale. They gave her beer and the girl was later assaulted on a desolate country road. Three men were charged, but Edmondson was the only one convicted.

Judge Fred Kovatch said he couldn't ignore allegations the girl had been raised in an abusive home. That evidence, he said, supported the defence theory that the girl was the sexual aggressor.

The judge said while Edmondson was convicted of a serious crime, he suspects the aboriginal child was a victim of sexual abuse by a family member.

Yes, a 12-year-old girl who was raped by her father "asked for it." Yeah, what the hell, she probably came on to her father too, eh Judge?

Via Jane at The Daily Rant

Infinite Resources

After reading these two excerpts on Andrea's blog, I start to doubt the economic maxim that all resources are finite. There seems to be an ever-expanding supply of idiots. At first I wished for a (morally acceptable) way to bring supply in line with demand. But now it occurs to me that we might be able to harness energy from idiocy, in which case we'd never have another power outage again.

Why I Am A Feminist

1. Because the original goals of the feminist movement in this country have not been met. As I recall them, and my mother was one of those original feminists, the idea was that (a) women should be able to choose to work or choose to stay at home without any stigma on either choice, (b) women should receive equal pay for equal work, and © that which was traditionally considered "women's work" was undervalued by society. Society still undervalues "women's work". Furthermore, studies have shown that working mothers and stay-at-home mothers are each critical of the other's choice. This indicates to me that in general women are still not comfortable with making the work/stay-at-home choice.

2. Because women in developing countries are still mistreated.

3. Because there is still such a thing as female genital mutilation.

4. Because I went to a really hippie-ish liberal arts college with 300 students and still met 3 guys who said women shouldn't work. They made an exception in my case, because I'm "smarter than most women." I replied that I was also smarter than most men, but no one seemed to think that those men shouldn't work.

5. Not because I hate men, hate cosmetics (ha! I just ordered $200 worth of Bobbi Brown cosmetics yesterday), don't want to get married and have children, think there is anything wrong with women who stay home to raise their children, think there is anything wrong with working mothers, or any of the other negative stereotypes about feminists.

This list brought to you by my reaction to Kay Hymowitz's piece "The End of Herstory". In this piece, Hymowitz argues that the reason only about 25% of women call themselves feminists these days is that they have a negative view of feminism. Unfortunately, there are two aspects to the story, only one of which Hymowitz covers. It is true that only about 25% of women call themselves feminists these days, and younger women are less likely to label themselves that way than older women. But by the same token, younger women are more likely to have a favorable view of the women's movement than older women. This puts the lie to Hymowitz's thesis.

Throughout her piece, Hymowitz discusses "Feminists" and uses only the worst examples of feminism to label the entire movement.

Take the Feminist attitude toward marriage. When college women sit at the knee of their female elders, they may well read from the widely used textbook Women’s Realities, Women’s Choices. There they will learn that “the institution of marriage and the role of ‘wife’ are intimately connected with the subordination of women in society in general.” For the teachers, this attitude isn’t just theoretical. Daphne Patai, co-author of Professing Feminism and author of Heterophobia, books critical of the women’s studies industry, recounts a lunch with other female academics, at which one announces she is getting married. The response: shocked, dead, embarrassed silence.

I have considered myself a feminist since I was a teenager. My mother, as I already stated, was one of the original feminists. It is news to me that THE FEMINIST view of marriage is that it is "intimately connected with the subordination of women in society in general." Are there SOME FEMINISTS who believe that? Well, obviously there are. But THE FEMINISTS? I doubt you'd find anything like 25% of women who believe that. I doubt you'd find even 5% who believe that. Maybe 2.5%. So maybe 10% of feminists believe it, but that is hardly representative of THE FEMINISTS.

And here we come to the primary reason for Feminism’s descent into irrelevance. Whereas most young women will at some point want babies like they want food, for Feminists, motherhood is the ten-ton boulder in the path of genuine liberation. It mucks up ambition, turning fabulous heroines of the workplace—killer lawyers, 24/7 businesswomen, and ruthless senator wannabes—into bourgeois wifies and mommies. It hinders absolute equality, since women with children don’t usually crash through glass ceilings. They resist traveling three days a week to meet with hotshot clients; they look at their watches frequently and make a lot of personal phone calls.

Huh? No, really, just Huh? I don't even get where that comes from. At least Hymowitz had a book to quote from for her previous claim. Here there's just no back up whatsoever. How many women really believe that about having children? The Barnard Center for Research on Women co-hosted a conference last year on maternal feminism. Kim Gandy was one of the speakers. How anti-motherhood could THE FEMINISTS be if they are favorably addressing maternal feminism?

Feminists deal with the unsettling fact that, even after the revolution, women persist in wanting to be mothers in two ways. The first tack is simple denial. Amazingly, given young women’s preoccupation with how to balance work and motherhood, neither NOW nor the Feminist Majority, the movement’s two most influential organizations, includes maternity leave, flex time, or even day care on its list of vital issues.

Well, a quick trip to the NOW website indicates that one of NOW's key issues is Family. Clicking on the Family link takes you to a page discussing Family Leave/Work-Family Balance and Child Care. I think that covers maternity leave, flex time, and day care, no?

Little wonder that few women in their twenties and thirties seek to complete this so-called unfinished revolution. They don’t yearn for the radical transformation of biological restraints and bourgeois aspirations devoutly wished by stalwarts. Even those few who want more androgynous sex roles for themselves don’t wish to impose them on others. Yes, they took women’s studies courses—often only to satisfy their college’s diversity requirement—but they came away unimpressed. To many of them, Feminism today represents not liberation but its opposite: a life that must be lived according to a strict, severe ideology. The younger generation, on the other hand, wants a liberation “that isn’t just freedom to choose [but] . . . freedom from having to justify one’s choices,” as Jennifer Foote Sweeney has put it in Salon. In short, they’re ready to de-politicize the personal.

That might make sense, except that 84% of them view the women's movement favorably. That just doesn't jibe with "Feminism" representing "not liberation but its opposite: a life that must be lived according to a strict, severe ideology." Perhaps they recognize that the view of feminism presented by Hymowitz applies only to a small minority of feminists. I don't know why they don't consider themselves feminists. I also don't really care. It doesn't bother me that they don't. And I don't find Hymowitz's piece to be a study of that question as much as another attempt by her to bash "Feminism."

Top Ten Works of Fiction

Dietz got to thinking about his top ten works of fiction and asked others to do the same. So what the hell. Again, in no particular order.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. I know, given that I named one of my cats after this book, who would know? Possibly the world's first feminist novel. And is Rochester a great character, or what?

Emma by Jane Austen. Since I named my other cat after this book, another shocker. A finely drawn social satire with great characters.

Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll. White rabbits, hookah-smoking caterpillars, moving playing cards and chess pieces, and the Walrus and the Carpenter. What's not to love?

The Manticore by Robertson Davies. The tale of one man's experience in Jungian therapy written only as Robertson Davies could write it.

Dune by Frank Herbert. The interwoven themes of religion, politics, and environmentalism make this a fascinating read.

Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery. I have loved the Anne of Green Gables series since I was a little girl. The story of the plucky red-headed little orphan girl (the first person to make a Li'l Orphan Annie crack gets it) is absolutely charming.

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle. No other book could explain the concept of a tesseract to a child and non-science-minded adult so well.

The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. Don't panic! And always know where your towel is.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Jo, Meg, Beth, Amy, Marmee, and Laurie. I always felt like I knew them.

Daniel Deronda by George Eliot. The story of one Englishman's discovery that he is actually Jewish.

Things That Make You Go Hmm

Why are clams the benchmark of happiness? How could you even tell if a clam was happy?

Why do people never seem to have two right feet? Is this some kind of sinister plot?*

Why would you even try to get blood from a stone?

Could you even get in on some floor other than the ground?

Are pins particularly neat?

What if Dante's right and snowballs have a great chance in hell?

*Yes, we here at Plum Crazy bring you puns in Latin.

Persuasion

Right. If you need to do a web search for how to persuade someome (sic) marriage is a good idea, I'm thinking you're already in trouble.

I'm Really Rich

This is a highly effective tool for getting donations to charity. Seems that on a global basis, I'm within the top 0.241% of the richest people. On a gross salary basis. This doesn't take into account expenses, although even on that basis I'd still be pretty damn high when compared to most of the world. Keep in mind, though, that this is compared to most of the world. I would be a lot lower down if you were to only look at industrialized nations.

Also, I did know that about 50% of the world's population gets by on less than $2 per day. On that basis, most people in the U.S. are really rich.

Two Kinds of Queens

It's time for catblogging again. Today we have Jane and Emma both making appearances as queens.

Jane in her red boa (Okay, my red boa that I got when I went to see "The Rocky Horror Show" on Broadway).

Emma as queen of all she surveys.

True Imperilment of Free Speech

So this guy I know suggested that The Wiesenthal Center's publicly requesting Mel Gibson to alter his film "The Passion" was an imperilment of Gibson's rights to free speech. For his benefit, I would like to present to him with what a real imperilment of a filmmaker's rights to free speech looks like.

A veil of censorship is hanging over the Venice film festival, with a series of contentious new films facing bans, savage cuts and a looming threat that their makers may be locked up when they return home.

Let's compare and contrast. In the first case, a private group requests that a filmmaker alter his film with no threat to his freedom or his ability to release his film if he doesn't. In the second, the government may ban the filmmakers' works outright, alter them forcibly, and/or imprison the filmmakers.

Gee. Stacked up next to each other like that, really, no comparison. The first is not a threat to anyone's rights to free speech. The second clearly is. Remind me to feel sorry for Mel Gibson some time next week, though. Otherwise I'll certainly forget.

Baby You Can Park My Car

At long last, someone has designed a car for women. The new Toyota Prius can parallel park itself. Yippee! I hate parallel parking.