Channel V

Dee of On The Curb has posted a playlist of some of her favorite “vagina music,” with her post entitled exceeding my bandwith on the word vagina.¹ (You should go check out Dee’s blog, by the way. In case you haven’t guessed it, she’s freakin’ hilarious.)

Dee doesn’t quite give a definition of “vagina music,” but she gives quite a few examples. If I had to summarize, I’d say that the songs are ones that move her down to her…um…core, and tap into her emotions. And perhaps also those that remind her that she is biologically female.

Further, Dee has requested comparable lists from others. In her words, “I show you mine, you show me yours.”

Okay, Dee. I’ll show you mine. While I’ve never thought of this music in quite those terms², this is my response playlist:

1. Save Me – Aimee Mann (listen)
2. Thief – Belly (listen)
3. Lucky – Bif Naked (listen)
4. Bulimic Beats – Catatonia (listen)
5. No Need To Argue – The Cranberries (listen)
6. Virgin State Of Mind – K’s Choice (listen)
7. Autumngirlsoup – Kirsty MacColl (listen)
8. Your Ghost – Kristin Hersh (listen)
9. Famous Blue Raincoat – Leonard Cohen (listen)
10. De Cara A La Pared – Lhasa (listen)
11. Wild Is The Wind – Nina Simone (listen)
12. Down By The Water – P J Harvey (listen)
13. Dancing Barefoot – Patti Smith Group (listen)
14. Haunted – Poe (listen)
15. Glory Box – Portishead (listen)
16. Possession- Sarah McLachlan (listen)
17. i am stretched on your grave – Sinéad O’Connor (listen)
18. Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me – The Smiths (listen)
19. Anchor – Trespassers William (listen)

How about you. Wanna show me yours?

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¹ Dee is not shy about using the word vagina. In fact, in her post, she uses the word vagina no fewer than 38 times. (Yes, I counted. One vagina, two vagina, three vagina, four. Five vagina, six vagina, seven vagina, more…) And that, my friends, is a most impressive feat.

² The thing is, though, I’m not a big fan of the word vagina. In fact, this post here marks the first time I’m using the word on my blog. (Yes, I did a search.) Also the 2nd through 15th times. (Yes, I counted.) Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against vaginas. Or vaginae, if you prefer. I’m glad I have one of my own, and all. I just find the word vagina awkward.

Now spleen, on the other hand, there’s a word I like. Spleen. It’s a word that amuses me. I also appreciate its range of meanings. Some of you may know the spleen as an organ in the lymphatic system. But it was once esteemed as “the seat of spirit and courage or of such emotions as mirth, ill humor, melancholy, etc.” Me, I’m all about the mirth, the ill humor and the melancholy. Then there’s the whole archaic meaning of splenetic to mean “melancholy.” And my playlist is pretty darned melancholy.

So maybe you can consider this my spleen music.

The Princess and the Bag of Tools

One of the presents Phoebe got for her birthday, when she turned three back in February, was a “Pretty Princess FeltTales” felt board set. It’s actually quite a cool toy, consisting of a felt-covered board with some background scenery, and a bunch of smaller felt cut-out pieces. This particular set has three girls and separate clothing (a bit like paper dolls), a horse and carriage, a frog, a castle, and some other assorted princessy accessories:

The Pretty Princess FeltTales set, as shown on the company website.

Here’s how the website describes how a kid might play with the set:

“Pretty Princess” lets you get ready for a night at the castle. Dress your princess in her favorite ball gown, and add a cloak as the evening approaches. Gather her handmaidens and travel by carriage. Make a wish and kiss the frog, and perhaps….

Here’s how Phoebe set up the board.

Phoebe's version: The mechanic gets her bag of tools to fix the car after the accident.

A: So what’s going on here, Phoebe?
P: Well that’s the bag of tools.
A: Yeah? Now why do they need the tools?
P: Because that’s an accident.
A: Yeah.
P: It’s a car
A: Okay. And who’s got the tools?
P: That’s the mechanic, though.

Damn, I love my little girl.

gathering moss

The first time I ever moved was when I was three years old. My family lived in a rental house in Sausalito, California. It was a tiny house built into the hillside overlooking the San Francisco Bay, with 30-odd steps leading up to the house from the sidewalk. One of my earliest memories was of moving day. The movers put down big pieces of plywood over those steps so that they could slide the boxes down to the street level.

That move sent me and my things in two directions, as my parents were separating. My mother rented an apartment a few towns away, and my father rented a house in a neighboring town. My sister and I would go back and forth. A couple of years later, my mother left the apartment for a rental house in another town, and my father rented the same apartment vacated by my mother.

When I was six, my mother, my sister and I moved our things in with my new stepfather, into a big newly built house. My father died that same year, and my mother and stepfather cleared out the apartment that had been one of my two homes for three years. I remember trying to save all I could get away with.

When I was nine years old, my mother, my sister and I moved to France to start anew. We packed up what we could fit in a few suitcases and a big trunk, and headed to Paris. We travelled a bit, stayed in hotels here and there, and finally settled in an apartment in a Paris suburb, near the school my sister and I would attend.

We stayed there a year before returning to the US. We moved in with my Grandmother in her house in a small, rural town in the mountains of Colorado. The following year, we moved to another Colorado town, where we rented a log cabin-style house.

We stayed there for just over 3 years, which up to that point was the longest time I’d spent in any one residence. Part way into my freshman year of high school, we moved to Honolulu, Hawaii. We got rid of lots of things, put some into storage, and moved over with little more than a few suitcases. A few months later, it was back to the mainland, where we settled once more in California. A couple of years later, my mother married a Frenchman and moved back to France. It was the spring of my junior year of high school, and I moved in with a friend’s family for a couple of months to finish the school year. That summer, I moved to France with a few suitcases, though I recall I had my mother’s full sterling flatware set in my carry-on bag.

The next year, I headed back to the US for college. Over the 4-ish years of college, I lived in 2 dorms and 4 apartments. I also had a semester studying abroad in Brazil. If I’d had a car at that point, I could easily have fit all my belongings into it.

In addition to the homes I lived for stretches of months or years, there were more temporary places. Hotels or friends’ homes for a few days here, a few weeks there, filling in the gaps between moves.

How can I count the places I’ve lived? 5 US states and 2 other countries? (Do I count differently the times I moved back to a place after moving away? That happened twice. Unless you count coming back from Brazil, then it was 3 times.) Was it 15 towns, or do I count those other transitional towns? (There were at least 2.) Was it 9 schools during K through 12, or do I not count changes in the same district? (That happened once.) There have been 8 different houses and at least 11 different apartments. (And that one apartment where I lived twice.) Or do I just count the number of times I packed up all my belongings? (Because I doubt I can figure that one out.)

When I was 24, John and I moved up to Massachusetts. When we moved out of that apartment, four years later, it was the longest time I had ever been in one place. Amazingly, that was 10 years ago, as of last month. In May of 1999, we bought our house. That was the last time I moved.

I’ve been in Massachusetts for 14 years now, in New England for nearly 20 years. I never imagined myself staying in one place for so long. (And I never imagined how much stuff I could accumulate.)

12 Classics of Pants Theater

We at the Pants Institute are dedicated to education of the public on the many contributions that Pants have made to our culture and society. In our previous monographs, we have been pleased to share with you in-depth discussions of great works of Classic Pants Literature as well as more popular media, such as critical analyses of the genre of Pants Horror Cinema. Our next installation of this ongoing series of Great Seriousness and Importance delves into the pants classics of the stage:

Pants of a Salesman
A middle-aged man discovers that his pants are both terribly unflattering and decades out of fashion.

Waiting for Pants
A story of time wasted away in the laundromat when the dryer cycle is unbearably slow.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Wear Pants
Two men hang out at the laundromat playing quarters while waiting for Hamlet to finish his laundry.

Pants on a Hot Tin Roof
When a family’s dryer is broken, they consider laying their laundry out on the roof to dry.

A Raisin in the Pants
A legal drama about the status of a raisin left in a pocket on laundry day.

Who’s Afraid of Virginia’s Pants?
An inebriated couple exchange verbal barbs as they sort through their dirty laundry.

The Importance of Wearing Pants
Two young men practice deception by frequently changing their pants.

Oedipus Pants
The story of a man’s unholy love for his mother’s pants.

Barefoot in the Pants
A newlywed couple find how hard it is to put on pants when you are already wearing shoes.

A Doll’s Pants
A marriage falls apart when a woman discovers what a small pants size her husband really wears.

The Pants of Dorian Gray
A young man’s pants increasingly show the stains of his escapades.

The Pants Menagerie
The story of a blogger who writes obsessively about pants.

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Thanks to Painted Maypole, thespian and pantsblogger extraordinaire, whose recent flurry of pants posts has given me the much needed kick in the pants to get back to pantsblogging. Thanks also to John, who suggested the addition of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Wear Pants.

The 2009 Golden Pants Award

I’m ever-so-pleased to announce the winner of this year’s coveted Golden Pants Award:

Painted Maypole!

Painted Maypole is no newcomer to pantsblogging. Her highly acclaimed 2008 post, The New Pants Network, is considered one of the finest pieces of contemporary American pantswriting, and is frequently discussed in upper level college pants seminars.

This year, Painted Maypole has added to her pants repertoire with three stunning new works of pants under her belt this year: Shakespeare’s Pants, More of Willy’s Pants, and undoubtedly her finest pants oeuvre to date, Showtunes in the Key of PANTS. This latest work explores the gamut of pants emotions, from sheer pants exuberance to pants melancholy, and will have you singing in your pants:

When you are PANTS,
You are PANTS all the way
From the first time you’re worn
To your last dyin’ day.

Truer words were never sung.

Congratulations, Pantsed Maypole. You are invited to try these pants on for size.

The historic and highly coveted Golden Pants Award was first awarded in 2008.

Vroom!

Something that you may not have known about me is that I have a bit of a soft spot for British cars.

I fell in love with the Austin Mini when I was 9 years old, living in France. Over the years, others caught my eye, like the little MG and Triumph convertibles I’d see from time to time in the San Francisco Bay Area. When I was 16, I became enamoured of the Lotus driven by Mrs. Peel, my idol. And what fan of the Prisoner could forget 6’s Lotus 7?

So when John told me he’d heard of a British car show coming up nearby, I put it on the calendar. We went this past Sunday.

The car show was held on the lawn of the Larz Anderson Auto Museum in Brookline, MA, which is in an incredible park.

We picked a shady spot to picnic near this sweet purple MG.

Phoebe and Theo enjoyed the sunny day at the park.

John and I enjoyed taking pictures of the pretty cars, most of which were polished up to a high shine, like this Triumph GT6+.

This little Berkeley, though, appeared to have its original paint.

The paint showed some really cool cracking patterns, like this spider-like one.

There was quite a variety of unusual sports cars. Here’s an Allard and a Jaguar. Note the leather straps fastening the bonnet of the Allard (left), and the third headlight on the Jaguar (right).

I didn’t see any wicker seats, but there were a few wicker baskets, like the one strapped to the boot of this classic MG (left). There were lots of two-seaters at the show, and at least one single-seater, like this Lotus (right).

Here’s a row of Triumphs.

I wanted to get a closer look at this (more humble-looking) Triumph, but it drove off as we were walking towards it. (Yes, it started!)

This new Mini was parked next to a hand-built reproduction of a Lotus 7.

This was the only classic Mini we saw. I wanted to take it home with me.

May Just Posts

Holly and I are pleased to share the May Just Posts, the latest installment of the social justice blogging roundtable. This month’s collection of posts cover a range topics. Poverty. Racism. Sexism. Marriage equality. There are also several posts about the impact of health concerns and health care.

Each month, I’ve been sharing a song that speaks to topics of social justice. The song I’ve chosen this month is “Dust Bowl” by 10,000 Maniacs, a title fitting for these lean times being dubbed the “Great Recession.” Natalie Merchant gives voice to a mother struggling to make ends meet for her family. The illness of her daughter leads to additional hardship due to loss of work time and medical costs:

My youngest girl has bad fever, sure. All night with alcohol to cool and rub her down. Ruby, I’m tired, try and get some sleep. I’m adding doctor’s fees to remedies with the cost of three day’s work lost.

I try and try but I can’t save. Pennies, nickels, dollars slip away. I’ve tried and tried but I can’t save. The hole in my pocketbook is growing.

Sadly, many families can’t afford adequate healthcare for their children. SCHIP programs exist to provide insurance to children in low income families. However, many families still fall through the cracks, as they neither qualify for those programs, nor can they afford other insurance options. (For a very personal and eloquent account of these issues, please go read Kyla’s recent post.)

(The sound quality isn’t great in that video. Someone has posted the studio version, as well. )

Please go pay a visit to the blogs below, and encourage the bloggers to keep speaking out (well, keep writing out) for social justice. Let them know that their voices matter to you.

The May Just Posts:

• Becky at I‘m Just Sayin with Racism? Really?
• Claudia at The Bottom of Heaven with Creative Freedoms and the Not Now Book
• Erika at Be Gay About It with Fingerprints make a family and day of decision
• Girlgriot at If you want kin, you must plant kin with Roundup and Please tell me
• Her Bad Mother with Humanity I Love You
• Holly at Cold Spaghetti with You don’t want to meet the new boy in town and Pondering Fate
• jen at One Plus Two with Everyday Piscasso and school daze and at Blogher with Bird by Bird
• Julie Pippert at Using My Words with Women with Big Dogs (and infertility)
• kittenpie at Life of ‘Pie with No Less
• Matt at Matt, Liz, and Madeline with yesterday…
• Mouse at The Mouse’s Nest with A pre-Blogging for LGBT Families Day rant
• Neil at Citizen of the Month with Proposition 8 and the California Supreme Court
• Paul Newnham at Give a damn about poverty? with Fairtrade fortnight begins and What is going on in Canberra?
• Skye at Heroine Content with On Anachronisms, Sexism, and Reality
• thordora at Spin Me I Pulsate with I’m sorry, is The Mother’s Act trying to help women? My bad…
• wrekehavoc with Guilty Pleasure Monday: Goodnight Saigon Billy Joel
• Zack Ford at Zack Ford Blogs with Why the Prop 8 Decision Inhibits Equality
• Zoom at Knitnut with Warts, wars, and the language of cancer

readers:

de
girlgriot
jen
painted maypole
alejna
Holly

Please also drop by to see what Holly has to say this month.
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If you have a post above, or would just like to support the Just Posts, we invite you to display a button on your blog with a link back here, or to the Just Posts at Cold Spaghetti. If you are unfamiliar with the Just Posts, please visit the information page.

spaghetti day

This video just makes me happy.

p.s. Speaking of spaghetti, Holly¹ and I are cooking up the May Just Posts. We’re aiming to serve them up a bit early this time around, so send in your nominations soon!²

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¹ …of Cold Spaghetti, mind you.

² You know, I really didn’t mean to work the cooking metaphor, but when there is a metaphorical door open, I have to walk through. Which sometimes leads me down predictable corridors.³

³Apparently this particular corridor led me to the kitchen. Where I put on water to boil.

driving home

So, um, yeah. I have another bad driver’s license photo.

I didn’t end up going to the RMV on Wednesday, and went this morning before John had to go to a meeting. I wasn’t sure there would be time, but I thought I should give it a try. In the end, my number got called just at the point that I’d determined would be the latest time I could wait before heading back home. The transaction went fine, except I had trouble getting a decent signature with that stupid plastic fake pen dealy. By the time it was time for my photo, I just really needed to get out of there. I went with the first photo. I look bedraggled, disheveled, and weary.

In other words, just how I felt.

I guess I’ve been feeling rather run down. I just hadn’t really realized how much. I’ve been falling asleep while working at night and waking up bone tired in the morning, I’ve been so fatigued the past few weeks that I was actually convincing myself that I must be pregnant. The last few days had me practically at the point where I was choosing names for the twins (as surely it must be twins).

But I’m not pregnant. I’m just really damn tired.

Yesterday was a particularly tiring (and trying) day, with rushing around and a long commute and meetings, and trying (not all that successfully) to fit in pumping. I ended up getting stuck in traffic, being late to meet with the friend who was kind enough to be my subject, late to my scheduled lab meeting, getting a parking ticket, rushing out of my meeting, and having a really long uncomfortable drive back to pick up Phoebe and Theo from daycare. And I was late for that, too.

So today, I should have probably just taken it easy instead of rushing around some more. And now I’m stuck with another awful photo for up to ten years. I was amused when I left the RMV with my new temporary license, and drove home feeling mildly victorious for having gotten that dealt with.

But by the time I got home, I was hating the photo, and feeling like crap. I’m actually pretty comfortable with my looks in general. I mean, I’m not thrilled with them all the time, but my appearance is just not all that important to me. Until I see a bad photo, that is. And it reminds me that I haven’t managed to get my hair cut in over a year, and that I’m tired and busy and rushing all the time and that most of my clothes don’t fit me all that well. It reminds me of how little time I have to take care of my own needs, let alone my appearance.

Nothing like a bad photo to drive all of that home.