nina turns 40

Well, I was gonna bitch and grumble about the fact that I got to spend less than 24 hours with my family for Christmas, had to drive three hours each way and wait in ferry lines to do it, and I have to go to eVil corp. in a short while, but luckily I read Go Fish first, and Mac, being ever so much more up on world news than moi, blogged about the horrible earthquake in Iran, and now I just feel blessed. Earthquakes and densely populated third world cities are a nasty combination. When I lived in Mexico, everyone had a horror story about the big quake in Mexico City back in 1985. It is truly frightening. At least now maybe president fucktard will stop his Axis of Evil blathering for awhile. And while we're on the subject of Iran and its people, be sure to check out Persepolis a graphic novel (ie comix) by Marjane Satrapi, an Iranian woman living in exile in Paris. So far I've only read excerpts but even with just a taste it is obvious that this is an important and beautiful book. Her graphic style is simple and evocative and she tells a story that we as Americans need to hear. I went to high school in a suburb of Seattle at the end of the 70s, and yes it was about as white as you'd imagine it to be, but all of a sudden during my senior year a small group of Iranian students enrolled there. I knew one of them fairly well (I kissed him), but no one ever talked about what had brought them so far from home. Here's a chance to find out.

God, I hate fucktard and his administration. Here's another reason why (from the NYTimes): "The Bush administration announced on Tuesday that the Tongass National Forest in Alaska, the largest in the country, would be exempted from a Clinton-era rule, potentially opening up more than half of the 17 million-acre forest for more development and as many as 50 logging projects." I'm so disgusted I can't even rant about it now.

Vaca loca

Yet another reason not to eat beef: they found mad cow disease in some Holstein slaughtered right here in my very own home state of Washington. You remember when mad cow was found in the beef supply of other countries we were damn quick to stop importing beef from those countries? Now that the tables are turned, of course, everyone is trying hard to put a happy spin on it. Here's a quote from the NYTimes: "Federal officials did not say where the meat is now, but the agriculture secretary, Ann M. Veneman, said the meat supply was safe because of precautions taken over the last decade to keep the nerve tissue of slaughtered beef out of the food supply. Only the brain, spinal cord and related parts can spread the disease to humans, Ms. Veneman said, and she added that she intended to serve beef to her family at Christmas". The governor of WA made an announcement that he is having beef for Christmas this year as well. What a marvelous coincidence! Now I'm not a raving lunatic PETA card carrying animal rights activist or anything, but I've heard me some stories (and by all means do some googling yourself on this issue) and seen me some fotos and I'm none too keen to go trustin' what happens inside of any slaughter house. But that's just me. You enjoy your holiday meal, whatever it is you're chowing down on!

A festivus for the rest of us

After the drunken posting of the night before comes the hung over posting of the next morning. Blech. The kidlet's daddy (and most Mexicans I know) swear by eating a spicy tripe soup called menudo as a hangover cure. The mere thought of such a thing right now makes me wanna yak. I'm sticking to coffee, as being hung over in the morning doesn't really feel that much worse than my regular morning grumbling around.

I'm surprised by the number of my friends who not only don't really get blogging, they kind of shudder at the thought of it, and some of these people are serious attention whores (you know, theater people). I realize that it's not for everyone, and I (usually) spare them my top ten reasons why I blog speech--to each her own and all of that, but the best part about these kind of friends is that you know you can blog about them with impunity.

Whatever jingles your jangle this time of year, may you have a wonderful time in the company of those you love.

My dear friends Mr. and Mrs. M. took me out tonight for much belated birthday drinks and dessert. They got me drunk. On purpose. We flirt a lot always. Mr. M. wants to fuck me. Mr. M. wants to fuck me and Mrs. M. at the same time. Mrs. M. is intrigued by this possibility, but way too shy about it for now. Mr. M. holds out hope that someday he'll get us both drunk enough and loose enough that maybe, just maybe, we'll all be in their bed. I know two other married men who'd like to fuck me right now (and please remember, I am just a wee bit drunk, so please forgive my crudeness), one who lives thousands of miles away and one who I see almost every day. It's nice to be wanted, believe me, my battered ego appreciates it greatly, but I really don't see what I can gain from a quick roll with a married man. Sure, maybe some immediate satisfaction of a physical sort, which lord knows, I'd love right now. But I've been there and done that, and I want the real thing. I want love, dammit. Love and great sex. Ongoing great sex with a partner I love. Why is that so fucking difficult to find?

PS And what did I get drunk on, you ask (and it doesn't take much to get me drunk, I only had two)? A wonderful conconction called an Albino Cosmo, a crystal clear drink with three deliciously red cranberries floating on top. I wouldn't even have cared if it wasn't so delicious, I drank it for the sheer aesthetic pleasure of looking at it as I brought it to my lips.

Warning--she's gonna rant

I'm in a ranting sort of mood this morning. Sorry, I can't help myself. I'll let the foto speak for itself. My rant this morning is a simple grammar rant. When I ask you, "How are you?", the proper response is NOT "I'm good." I'm not asking you how you are in bed, or about your skill at tennis. I'm asking how you feel, which requires an adverb like fine or well. I realize that I'm fighting a losing battle and adverbs are slowly dying out of the language (think different, fresh roasted, etc.) but it still drives me crazy, so I'm gonna bitch about it. And don't get me started on your/you're.

It's 4:41pm and pitch black outside. Hope you folks in Buenos Aires appreciated your long summer day, 'cause now the light is on its way back North, and I for one am damn happy about that.

My shipment from Storyhouse Coffee was on my doorstep when I got back from Sequim last night. I'm drinking a big fat mug of organic free trade Ethiopian Yergacheffe right now. Yum. I can't wait to roast the raw beans that I got from them as well. My cell phone died, and I was hoping that its replacement would also be waiting for me, which it wasn't. My upstairs neighbors/landlords left gifts for the kidlet and I, though, making me feel bad for ever cursing their hogging of the laundry facilities or their stupid (mommy, stupid's not a nice word) squeaky-ass rocking chair. They are out of town until after the first of the year, which is rather nice, and which gives me time to get something for their little wee baby. Glad to have avoided one of those awkard gift moments when someone gets you something, and you weren't planning on getting anything for them, and they present you with this beautifully wrapped package and you just sit there smiling, feeling like an asshole.

And what the hell does it mean to be on high alert anyway? News like this just makes people like my mother even more paranoid than she is naturally. It doesn't help anyone, doesn't make them any damn safer.

Saw Confidence last night, and while Ed Burns is cute, and Dustin Hoffman is creepy, and Andy Garcia steals the whole movie (and I do love me some Andy Garcia), I was fairly disappointed. Perhaps that's because I've recently seen a much better movie in the same genre: Nine Queens, an indie con man movie out of Argentina. Which means, of course it's in Spanish which is extra fun for me. Now I realize that's not a bonus for some folks, but you all can just activate the sub-titles and go from there (OK, I admit I had them on most of the movie, too I'm not used to those Argentine accents--or at least that's my excuse.) I found the plot, pacing, and surprise at the end all to be much better than its Hollywood counterpart. And it was much less slick, it wasn't trying so hard to be hip and cool like Confidence was. Nine Queens just relies on a good story and good acting without preening or showing off, which exemplifies why I tend to prefer indie movies. It should all be in service to the story.

The kidlet is a poet

The sunrise in Seattle this morning was stunning. The kidlet's conclusion? "It looks like hot lava up in the sky."