SassyBlonde

I know I've been overly political here lately for my norm, but it's getting to be too much for me here in the nation's capital and I can't not make a shout-out when I see something that makes me smile as much as this does:

Sarah Palin et al like to call us "Joe Six-Pack," and they think we like it too. They think it sounds folksy and homey and cute.

Sure. It's a folksy, homey, cute way to euphemistically call us something very close to trashy, ignorant hillbillies. We're just not supposed to be smart enough to realize it.
...
So, Governor Palin et al, let me tell you who the Joe Six-Pack that you think you're talking to really is.

Joe is the guy I worked with who served in Vietnam, worked construction, had four kids, thought Portland micro-brews were for hippies and weirdos -- and told me one day about having to change churches, because "our pastor spends all his time talking about how bad the gays are, and I go to church for God, and I really don't think God cares who you sleep with or who you marry." Oh, and he went back to school at 45 to get a degree in architecture, so I guess he won't be Joe Six-Pack soon. His income will put him into that Better Class of People y'all think you're part of.

Joe is a writer or an actor or an artist who waits tables, pumps gas, shelves books, does landscaping, delivers pizza, scrubs toilets, and otherwise works his or her ass off all day or night to pay the mortgage so they can continue to write or act or make art.

Joe spends 8 hours a day on an assembly line with a wrench, turning bolts and hoping you don't send his job to a child in China. On Thursday nights he bowls with a bunch of construction workers and he does share a pitcher of beer with them. Budweiser, even. Then he goes home, puts on his ABBA records, and dances with his partner -- Andrew.
...
Joe Six-Pack isn't who you think he/she is. You don't have a fucking clue about Joe Six-Pack.

I wish I were only talking to one camp. But I'm talking to my own, too. We "liberal elitists." Because we say the same kind of things when talking about "the average American." We assume we know them, and they are the same people Palin knows.
...
Joe Six-Pack.

You are JSP. I am JSP. I grew up white and middle class. I have that endangered mortgage. I worry about putting food on the table. Hell, I'm an artist and a writer, I'm not even as high up as blue collar...I can barely find a good shirt to wear. And I'm bisexual, polyamorous, and pagan. And by the way, I know Cindy Soccer Mom. She's a full time nurse, "single" mother, drives a minivan, takes her kids to soccer and dance classes -- and goes home at night to strap on a leather harness and roger her girlfriend silly.

I am Joe Six-Pack. I am not who they think that they are talking to. Are you?

-- from Copperwise on LJ

Posted by Sassy at 1:42 AM under DC's Favorite Contact Sport, | Permalink | Comments (0)

See, this makes me sad I work on Saturday nights:



And while we're at it, WTF? And have a good laugh, anyway.

UPDATE: And furthermore. so I can get it out of my system, maybe this is what she had on her cards on the podium. It would have explained a lot. (Found on The Cantaloupe Machine via a tip from Keith Handy.)

Posted by Sassy at 12:39 AM under | Permalink | Comments (2)

This is the part where I plug my ears with lima beans and burn every flute I own in my barbecue grill: Sarah Palin is an "accomplished floutist."



And dig the band in the background. Someone needs to shoot that trumpet player, like, yesterday.

Posted by Sassy at 12:36 AM under Friday YouTube RoundUp, Friday YouTube RoundUp, | Permalink | Comments (3)

LiveSnarking the debate on Twitter in fifteen. Tune in-- it's gonna be good.

Posted by Sassy at 8:45 PM under Blogosphere, DC's Favorite Contact Sport, Technophile, | Permalink | Comments (0)

So, ladies and gentlemen, it has been an eventful and stressful week here at Chez Sassy, but I am happy to report that everyone here is doing fine and at least making an attempt at being frisky and healthy, including the hungry spaz-cat.

Though he basically terrified the hell out of us, he seems none the worse for wear and has been taking his treatment for the Lily Debacle of 2008 pretty well. He spent four days in the vet hospital being cleaned out, shot up, and generally traumatized, and I have to say it's probably the best money I've ever spent. Thank goodness we have good credit, so I managed to get him out without bankrupting us for rent and bills, and I have to say I'm not sorry for one dime of it.

Why? Because, my friends, for the enormous four-figure cash drop that we've put in, he received finer care than *I've* ever received when in the hospital. Seriously, I'm not kidding. For the four days he was there, I can confidently tell you that he was monitored 24 hours a day by no less than three vets, coddled and scratched and tested by vet techs, and basically ensconced in a setup cleaner than anywhere I've ever been, besides perhaps my mother-in-law's house. I know this because I went during visiting hours (I shit you not. This place has visiting hours.) and coddled and scratched him myself, and met every single one of his caregivers, including the incredibly attentive vet who called me three times a day with updates and came in personally to talk to me whenever I stopped by to visit him.

Let me pause for a little rant here for a second: after the time I've spent in hospital myself and with friends, I am floored that my cat receives more attentive care than we ever have. It makes me want to storm Washington and forcibly tie every Congressman to a hospital bed and make them experience the kind of ineptitude and insanity that I've been forced to endure, so they will somehow be motivated to FIX. THE. PROBLEM. (Ahh... much better. This rant has been brought to you by the number 6 and the letter D.)

At any rate, he's now home and back to maniacally chasing shoelaces and fuzzy mice and sleeping like a rock on his perch above my computer, and all seems right in our little corner of the world. (Financial crisis? What financial crisis? Oh. Right. More on that later.)

I want to thank you all for the kind Tweets and messages and comments and phone calls-- it really helped shore me up in a couple of scary moments, and I love you all for it. And so does Gizmo.

Posted by Sassy at 10:41 PM under Pets Files, | Permalink | Comments (1)

Seriously. Don't vote.



Via Aimee at Greeblemonkey.

Posted by Sassy at 10:32 PM under Friday YouTube RoundUp, | Permalink | Comments (0)

All right y'all, it's that time of year-- BoobieThon 2008 is out of the start gate-- get over, donate money, and see some boobies!

Posted by Sassy at 10:04 AM under Blogosphere, | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm not saying you have to, but that's certainly what I'll be doing from now on.

When a student brings you flowers, of course the proper response is to thank them politely and put them in water. At least, that is, unless you have a cat.

Well, yesterday a student of mine brought me a beautiful bouquet of Asiatic lilies-- one of my favorite smells in the world and an exquisite gift. Until I moved them down onto the table today for a minute to clean the counter and our lovely little spazball cat decided they'd make a really, really great dinner.

I came into the living room to the sounds of retching and the sight of the tattered remains of the flower leaves strewn on the table. The poor cat was turning himself inside out on the carpet, but quickly finished up and seemed none the worse for wear. However, having read about the effects of lilies before, I called the vet's office and they told me to take him to the emergency vet ASAP, so I bundled his still frolicking furball self into the cat carrier and made off with him to the nearest reputable emergency vet clinic, which was still 45 minutes away. (I ask you-- what the hell happens when your cat gets attacked by some random dog down here? You have to schlepp it that far? That's just so wrong.)

Well, I checked him into the clinic and waited, and waited. The vet came in and explained that they'd be inducing more vomiting and checking his kidney levels and keeping him on an IV drip for fluids to help try and stave off possible renal failure, and said that she'd be back in a minute with a quote. And when she came back I thought I was going to have a coronary.

His encounter with a five dollar bunch of flowers will now be costing me more money than you can possibly imagine, not that I care as I'd just really like to have him back in one functioning piece.

Not that I balked longer than it took me to total up exactly how I would make this happen (to which I had no answer) since I love the little spaz and I couldn't very well leave him to expire of renal failure (it's a very, very bad way to go.) And I still don't know what the outcome is going to be-- even though I caught it early, all of the intelligence I've been able to find suggests that he MAY PROBABLY survive... not WILL. Poor little squirt.

I think it's drinky-drink time for Sassy, because I don't want to think about what the possible outcomes of this might be. I'm hereby sworn off from the internet until I hear how my little blondie's doing, because here's a whole lotta scary shit out there about this subject, and the internets is giving me the crying jags. I'll post Twitter updates as I hear more.

Posted by Sassy at 10:52 PM under Pets Files, | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've already made my decision for November, but of the things I've been most frustrated about during this election cycle is the sheer time burden of having to sift through sound bytes, spin and lies to ferret out where the presidential candidates actually stand on all of the issues.

Fortunately, OFRecord.com has created a handy table comparing the positions of the candidates head to head, complete with facts and figures on proposed tax burdens, position statements, and proposed policies and programs.

Best of all, it's compiled by Bespoke Information from CITED SOURCES. No or little spin, pure information.

Go. Read. Then VOTE.

Site heads-up and cartoon courtesy of Hugh MacLeod at GapingVoid.

Posted by Sassy at 1:29 AM under DC's Favorite Contact Sport, | Permalink | Comments (1)

So D and DanP and I just got done playing a gig with a great group a couple of hours west of home, and seriously, it was probably one of the best musical experiences I've had in a long friggin' time.

D and I have been playing at the theater where we work for a long time. It's not a terrible gig, by a long shot: by and large the people are pretty decent and it's fun to play the shows for sure, and I'm grateful to my bosses there for not firing my ass when I was still cutting my teeth on flute and sax. That being said, it's kind of become an untenable situation for us-- it pays too little to have to drive so far, and the interpersonal bullshit factor has gotten to be a whole lot to deal with lately. More to the point, we've come to the decision that the way we feel when we leave that building isn't worth any amount of money anymore, for more reasons than I've talked about here. Gigs like the one we played tonight are a good wake up call and a reminder to stick to our guns: we left tonight feeling like that was the kind of experience we aspired to have as musicians when we started out on this path.

We got called a couple of months ago to fill in for the horn section with this band on a gig a few hours away from home, and we negotiated a deal and planned it out-- a full day of driving and playing. We showed up this afternoon to read down the books with the rhythm section, and frankly my head was completely turned around from beating myself up about my theater gig for two weeks. I was nervous as shit that I was going to embarrass myself and DanP and going to have to sell my horns and go into insurance sales or ditch digging or something.

Well, we started the rehearsal and from the outset totally exceeded the director's expectations, no exaggeration. I'm not gonna lie, I love it when my playing blows somebody's mind enough that their jaw drops. We read down the book with them, including totally owning a couple of section licks that the director had no clue we had in the pocket. I believe the quote at the end of the night included the word fantastic, and the best thank you that can ever come from a musical director: "You made my job easy."

For that, I'd like to formally give all those assholes that make me hate my job the finger. You guys suck, and I'm worth more than you think. And no matter how much you'd like me to think I suck, it's you who gets the raspberry once I break out of that little box.

And I do know, in fact, that this feeling is better than ice cream because that was my reward afterwards-- a heaping bowl of the fresh Mom and Pop store frozen mint chocolate chip custard they left for us in the green room. Damn. It's a good feeling.

And now I'm gonna go home, take a Lactaid and P.T.F.O. (definition one, and thanks to DanP for reminding me of that phrase) until tomorrow, when I get to go back to hell for two shows. And they can officially eat my musical dust. Bitches.

Posted by Sassy at 10:40 PM under Tales From The Cardboard Box, | Permalink | Comments (1)

Hilarious. Love it.



And furthermore, Paris Hilton for President?

Thanks to my fabulous brother in law for this one, which is *totally not YouTube, but meh, close enough.

Posted by Sassy at 3:47 AM under DC's Favorite Contact Sport, Friday YouTube RoundUp, Friday YouTube RoundUp, | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Vagina Monologues's Eve Ensler on Sarah Palin at HuffPo.

Posted by Sassy at 11:09 AM under DC's Favorite Contact Sport, | Permalink | Comments (0)

Details here.

Posted by Sassy at 6:49 PM under And The Band Played On, | Permalink | Comments (1)

So, D totally helped me solve a lifelong question last night.

When I was in school, I had to read The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster. In it, there's a point where the main character passes through a market in Dictionopolis where letters are sold after being grown in orchards, and descriptions of a few of the letters' tastes soon follow.

I read Tollbooth when I was about twelve, and ever since I've wondered what all the letters would taste like. Lying in bed last night reading, I explained the question to D, who promptly opened a lively discussion with me about the issue.

Me: Q is so not cardamom. You totally pulled that out of your ass.
...
D: Q is totally garlic because it never goes out on its own and is better with other things. And when you use it on its own it's totally garish.
...
D: See, G is totally banana-- it goes with H (wheat bread) and U (honey), and if you spell dough it totally makes a peanut butter and banana sandwich!
Me: But O is mayonnaise...
Together: Eeeew.
Me: And yet, Elvis would probably approve.

• A: cucumber (crispy and yet somewhat nondescript but with a nice flavor)
• B: peach (juicy-- I admit, this one got thrown here because peach had to be in it somewhere)
• C: apple
• D: peanut butter (it always sort of hangs in the roof of my mouth)
• E: butter cookie (crispy and goes with everything, but can be soft and a good complement)
• F: marshmallow
• G: banana
• H: wheat bread (a soft complement to other letters: filler with decent stand-on your own vagueness: think beige, peeps.)
• I: pineapple
• J: celery
• K: lettuce (crispy with lots of crunch, but not a lot of independent taste)
• L: water with lemon (fluid and liquid, but not quite flavorless)
• M: filet mignon
• N: cream cheese
• O: mayonnaise (a little or a lot, it's good with other things but a little senseless on its own)
• P: sugar snap peas
• Q: garlic (stated above)
• R: strawberries
• S: soda water (good to dilute the more serious stuff down, makes a good combination with pretty much everything else)
• T: chicken (it's sort of the baseline for everything)
• U: honey
• V: onion
• W: orange jello
• X: sawdust (of course)
• Y: tomato
• Z: Pop Rocks (obviously.)

Posted by Sassy at 10:40 PM under BookWorm, | Permalink | Comments (4)

Seriously, this needs no explanation:



That is so wrong.

Thanks to Sister Sassy for sending that on.

UPDATE: Oh. My. GOD. (Pun intended.) Apparently the fun never ends: Jesus Is My Friend. (Somebody call Child Services-- apparently there's some guy out there named Jesus who's touching kids inappropriately.)

Posted by Sassy at 6:52 PM under Friday YouTube RoundUp, | Permalink | Comments (1)

Because the weather is so lovely and inspires us to fire up the smoker, and because it is so completely hilarious and so completely true, I give you The Barbecue Song:



Oh Brother Johnny Ray, where art thou?

(Thanks go to my dad for finding this one.)

Posted by Sassy at 12:02 AM under Friday YouTube RoundUp, | Permalink | Comments (1)

See, there's a reason I don't usually blog about politics: someone always gets there first and says exactly what I'm thinking, and usually better than I can.

Exhibit A. (This blog is generally NSFW)

Exhibit B.

Exhibit C.

Posted by Sassy at 6:52 PM under DC's Favorite Contact Sport, | Permalink | Comments (2)

This one goes out to Frankenberry, who made us laugh our asses off with his recounting of Louis CK's recounting of the following observation about rationalizing racism (at 1:22):



I pretty much walked around the grocery store today saying "Jewwooooooooooos..." and giggling like a maniac. Awesome.

P.S.(8/29/08:12:35AM):Yeah, I know it's not YouTube, it's Comedy Central. And the video will play if you click it. The "Not Available" graphic is a dodge, at least at the moment.

Posted by Sassy at 12:26 AM under Friday YouTube RoundUp, On Screen, | Permalink | Comments (1)

I am too old for this shit, seriously.

Why doesn't life come with a reset button? There are times when I hate my job, unequivocally, completely, and with abandon. Today was definitely one of those days.

Let me tell you a little story: after closing a very successful show last week, for which there was a lot of drama as usual, we moved on to the next one. Because we never know where the next paycheck is coming from, we agreed to pitch in on this one, even though we've spent our entire summer slogging through with no time off in pursuit of the meager paycheck working there affords. Granted, I know, it's not as meager as some things, but when you break down the rate per hour it's nowhere near union scale, or even fair wages. It is, however, a guaranteed check and a generally fun job sometimes, which can be few and far between as music gigs go.

Well, I can unequivocally, completely, and with abandon tell you at this very moment that it's not worth it. Tonight I was subjected to more shame, fear, and anger than anyone should ever have to deal with in a two-and-a-half-hour show, and I don't ever want to have to do that again. Not for any amount of money, and not for not-enough-money. All I could think about was when our friend bailed out last year in the same scenario, and how I couldn't blame him at all now that I was there now. And how I wanted to slap the conductor for making all of the same mistakes she railed on my friend about the year before that. And how trapped and shoddy and second-rate and prostituted I felt because I had to calculate in my head whether or not we could make rent if I walked out right then.

And then I felt like I couldn't breathe and I realized that two fucking hours had undone four days of sun and sand and song and laughter and relaxation with the Frankenberrys, and that there was not going to be any hope of me sleeping normally tonight. People dream about doing what I do for a living, but all I dream about it bringing someone coffee a la Mad Men and not worrying about paying the phone bill.

Reset, please.

Posted by Sassy at 1:53 AM under Tales From The Cardboard Box, | Permalink | Comments (1)

So one of the most of the most hilarious things to do when you're vacationing in a rented beach house is to peruse the contents of the video cabinet. I've found things in beach houses where I've stayed that would honestly make you lose your mind. Or laugh your ass off. Or scare you senseless.

Therefore, I have a contest for you: of the following list of videos, which is the one that was NOT found in our video cabinet? First one to answer correctly wins a jar of my fig preserves.

• Blank video tape (opened) ("Anybody wanna see what the owners look like?" --Boo Berry)
• Star Trek III ("Seriously, guys? I mean, it's the Search for Spock." I'll leave it to you to determine how Frankenberry meant that.)
• Star Trek IV ("Double damn." Or, whales and a big cigar.)
• Nefertiti Resurrected (D says "Heh heh-- titties,"
• The Great Raid (remake with Benjamin Bratt) ("It's Benjamin Bratt. It's gonna be crappy." --Boo Berry)
• American Chopper: Jet Bike/Biketober (There is nothing I can say on this one.)
• Arthur II ("*When you get caught between the moon and New York Ciiiii-ty,*" sings Frankenberry. "What... It's Christopher Cross...")

Posted by Sassy at 10:23 PM under Like Moss On A Rolling Stone, | Permalink | Comments (0)

Frankenberry on making rum and cokes:

"There wasn't that much Diet Coke left in the can, but the glass needed to be full."

Posted by Sassy at 8:49 PM under Like Moss On A Rolling Stone, Like Moss On A Rolling Stone, Shout Outs, | Permalink | Comments (0)

First Bernie Mac, then Isaac Hayes, and now LeRoi Moore from Dave Matthews Band. Good Lord, this has been a tough summer for famous black men, especially when you throw in Morgan Freeman's accident.

Ever since I first heard Moore play with DMB I've had immense respect for him as a saxophonist-- he pretty simply owned that instrument and was a blast to watch on the stage with them. And gone so fast. Damn.

So much to say.

Posted by Sassy at 11:53 PM under And The Band Played On, | Permalink | Comments (0)

... but I just have to share this website I just Stumbled Upon: The Skeptic's Annotated Bible. I was laughing out loud and snorting loud enough that I was afraid I was going to wake up The Muse. Case in point:

"And Cain knew his wife." That's nice, but where the hell did she come from? 4:17

Noah is called a "just man and perfect," but he didn't seem so perfect when he was drunk and naked in front of his sons (9:20-21). 6:9, 7:1

God swears to himself. 22:16

"He washed his garments in wine ... His eyes shall be red with wine."
Did Judah really wash his clothes in wine? Were his eyes bloodshot from drinking too much? Or is this a prophecy of Jesus? (I didn't know Jesus had a drinking problem.) 49:11-12

"Be careful what you eat during these animal sacrifices. Don't eat fat or blood -- these are for God. (And he doesn't like to share!) 7:18-27"

Posted by Sassy at 3:22 AM under Two Hail Marys and an Our Father, | Permalink | Comments (1)

"So what were the two words God said to you that first day?"

"Fractal theory."

"What the hell is fractal theory?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm just God's sock puppet. He shoves his hand up my butt and words come out the other end. Who knew math was involved?"

-- from "Strange Attractors", an episode of Jeremiah

Posted by Sassy at 2:48 AM under On Screen, | Permalink | Comments (0)

I am an inveterate procrastinator at heart. Most projects I undertake get finished at crunch time or not at all, and I'm a creature of deadlines and to-do lists for a reason: if I don't have a deadline I'll never finish. Sometimes that's because I overbook myself or burn out, but usually it's just because I forget or it falls off my radar until I'm down to the wire.

Now this can become a real problem when it comes to my philosophy of gift giving, especially for events like weddings and baby showers: I hate giving nondescript stuff off registries, or at least to give only that kind of thing-- I've had way too good of an example set for me by Sister Sassy and my aunt in terms of thoughtful giving. This of course means that I have to plan ahead, and well, you can see where that train of thought leads.

Procrastination was definitely the case for my friend's baby shower today-- I had a great idea for a gift weeks ago and simply got too busy with painting, cleaning and concert PR and let it slip my mind until my commute last night to the theatre. Crap, I thought, and resigned myself to another night of watching the Olympics like a zombie while I worked.

I had hit on the idea a while ago to do a watercolor calligraphy setting of this poem for her newly decorated nursery, but just hadn't dug out my aquarelle pencils and paper, so that's what I did when I got home. Hour by painstaking hour I outlined, inked, and washed, and eventually was left with the piece that I wrapped up for her this morning before I left, never having seen my bed and having burned through about five episodes of Jeremiah and a lot of esoteric sports coverage.

I honestly have to say it was worth it, though-- after opening mounds of cutely wrapped bibs, blankets, clothes and equipment, she was eventually handed my brown-paper-wrapped packages (note to self: if your package doesn't have riotous scrawls of pink and blue or puppies on it, the Vera Bradley-toting shower coordinator will place it at the back or under the table like a red-headed stepchild no matter how big or small it is) and after pulling the paper open, her eyes filled with tears and she hugged me close. (It didn't hurt either that the other gift made her howl with laughter.) At least I hit this one out of the park, even if it was last minute. Woohoo!

Posted by Sassy at 8:08 PM under Blatherings, Crafty Sassy, Everything's Relative, Snapshots of the Inner Me, | Permalink | Comments (0)

D on why he likes his job:

"Woodwinds are so finicky-- you have to play test them and pick around to see if they're fixed. Brass work is great, I mean it's like being a plumber: you don't have to sh*t in the toilet to see if it works, right?"

Posted by Sassy at 10:20 PM under Tales From The Cardboard Box, | Permalink | Comments (1)

You'd just know that Sasquatch would be from Georgia. Hilarious.

Posted by Sassy at 5:32 PM under Blatherings, | Permalink | Comments (0)

In honor of the upcoming college football season, I bring you one fan's thoughts on the University of Tennesee from a Tide student's perspective:



Roll Tide.


(P.S. And also, have your daily dose of cute kitteh. You're welcome.)

Posted by Sassy at 1:54 AM under | Permalink | Comments (1)

Three words for you people: Grilled. Cheese. Sandwiches.

D and I went to the Montgomery County Fair tonight, to ogle the livestock and the other oglers and partake of that most expensive nasty indulgence-- fair food. And let me tell you, it was gooooooooooood.

For some reason I've never really indulged in fair food-- we've always just sort of shared a sandwich and gone to peek at the bunnies, but this year we decided to give it an all-around go: one last hurrah (I seem to be doing a lot of those) before we beat this diet question back for good. I think what's always put me off was the price-- nothing there sells for less than two dollars (sodas and water) and usually more like six or seven (sandwiches, desserts.) I'm not going to say how much money we spent, but it was considerable, even if it was mostly worth it. We avoided all of the cheaper, chintzier items like pizza and Chinese chicken on a stick (well, almost) and tried to stick to more traditional fair offerings, which pretty much left us with fried everything. So you don't have to make the same trial-and-error choices, here's the rundown:

• Corn Dog: Oh my sweet holy Lord, I can truly now say there is nothing like a county fair corn dog. It was deep-fried to perfection and toasty hot, slathered with mustard. And a fair bargain at $3. Probably my second favorite thing of the night.
• Crab Dawg: An overpriced ($6) crab cake wrapped up like an egg roll. Tasty, definitely, but seriously sad for the price. Skip it.
• Fresh Grilled Cheese Sandwich: Oh God, save us lactards from the cheese house-- the grilled cheese sandwiches are made with fresh cheese and lovingly hand-grilled by someone's grandma using real butter and awesome cheap white bread. D and I almost fought over the last bite. A complete and utter steal at $3.50 or 2/$5. Run, do not walk.
• Pit Beef Sandwich: Tasty, but pricey at $6.50. Great with horseradish and mustard, but I could live without it. Definitely loses to the grilled cheese hands-down.
• Deep-Fried Oreos: People, this has to be the greatest opinion upset of all time. Ever since I heard about these things, I've been making fun of them non-stop. I mean, deep fry an Oreo, which as we know is basically Crisco and sugar? It always sort of seemed like overkill in theory. In practice though, these weren't just good, they were life-changing. Not that I'm going to go out and eat them every day, but I think they've just earned themselves a new fan. They were hot as hell, but melted in my mouth with just the right amount of crunch from the tasty outer coating of batter, and the cookies had softened inside so that they just dissolved in your mouth. The $5 price tag is a little daunting, but they totally beat the tar out of the standard funnel cake, and for six specimens of deep-fried perfection I think it's entirely reasonable.

Posted by Sassy at 10:06 PM under Blatherings, | Permalink | Comments (1)

So I think by now we're all aware that I can be a little OCD about organization. The cleaning thing was the first admission, this just follows for a Type-A person, right? (That was for The Muse and for Heidelah, with whom I was debating where we fall on the whole A-B continuum the other night. The first step in recovery is admission I guess.) Anyway, for a while one of the things on my OCD little list has been to catalog all of the books we've got in this house and sort them out in terms of keepers and traders.

Keepers are defined as books we're particularly attached to, have special memories of, or are likely to read again at some point in the near future. There are particular one-offs there, but mostly there are a lot of series authors in this category: Tolkien, Jordan, Goodkind, Carey, Willams, Rowling, Rice, Montgomery, etc. Stacks and stacks of pristine hardbacks, and a list of to-be-acquireds to replace the paperbacks that have become ragged and overly loved.

This kind of brings us to the traders column: books that we're done with or have too many of in some form, which are promptly posted on PaperBackSwap and hopefully soon winging their way across the planet to people who have some use for them and earning us book credits so we can get the books we're looking for too.

But back to the keepers for a minute-- I have to have a way of keeping them all straight, so to do that I use LibraryThing. (Many thanks to domesticat for that heads-up a long time ago. Smooches-- love ya' for that, and a lot of everything else too, but that's beside the point.) LibraryThing rocks my socks, because Zip, Boom, Bonjour! you whip out your :CueCat and you have a neatly assembled and searchable list of your entire library, complete with duplications and swapping capabilities on the most popular book swap sites.

There are all kinds of other cool bells and whistles, book suggesters, lists of people who have overlapping collections like yours, and probably my favorite one, The Unsuggester.

Basically what The Unsuggester does is figure out what books you are least likely to have in your collection based on those that you've entered, and man does it come up with some seriously awesome and spot-on assumptions. For instance, after my long bout of entries today, The Unsuggester has decided that my sci-fi collection and Christian biblical analyses and sociological literature are uniquely unsuited for one another, which I find strangely validating and pretty much exactly correct-- the only Christian lit I have was basically given to me at some point, outside of a couple of C.S. Lewis analyses that I find interesting on a purely theoretical basis.

To further back up its track record, it also lists Sophie Kinsella and some Jodi Picoult, to which I say, bang-up job, you lovely piece of software because neither of those are even close to on my radar. Apparently I have no love for queens and presidents either, but at this point there's not much room in my heart as I'm spending my days drooling over Aaron Peirsol (rrrrowwrrr) and the American swimming boys.

I wonder what it would "unsuggest" for you guys?

Posted by Sassy at 2:03 AM under BookWorm, | Permalink | Comments (1)