WELCOME TO THE NEW FASCISM

from Lewis Lapham's essay, in the current issue of Harper's Review:

We have before us in the White House a thief who steals the country's good name and reputation for his private interest and personal use; a liar who seeks to instill in the American people a state of fear; a televangelist who engages the United States in a never-ending crusade against all the world's evil, a wastrel who squanders a vast sum of the nation's wealth on what turns out to be a recruiting drive certain to multiply the host of our enemies. In a word, a criminal—known to be armed and shown to be dangerous.

Neo-medieval

Here, from Choire Sicha's op-ed piece:

"..... what about a passing thought to the craziness of other people? When
what so many people believe is by any rational standard crazy—that depicting
human beings is a major sin, or that you’ll go to a fiery pit if you don’t get
sprinkled with water, or that witches float, or that bad thoughts are caused by
an infestation of pissed-off alien spirits, or, you know, that your spiritual
leader was reincarnated in some infant in Seattle—well, why should anyone give
two shits about any of it? For unbelievers, the world is a hell of
warmed-over medieval superstitions. "

Saturday I learned that my hairstylist believes in guardian angels. On Sunday, I met a lady who believes cats can heal you with their purrs. ("Take two kittens and call me in the morning!").

untitled

Just go read this. It's my very favorite blog, even though, like my subscription to Harper's, reading it makes me really mad. Thankfully Twisty is also hilarious and one of the best writers on the internet.

How are we going to stop the coming Fascism?

trying to catch up

Now that I have your attention, I will surely disappoint you by saying that I really don't have time to do a real entry. Many interesting things have happened since I last stopped in to drivel at you. I met a motorcycle delivery woman which was pretty awesome (mad mad lanesplitting skillz). I met the son of late actor Anthony Quinn, Francesco Quinn, who owns way too many Vespas and is very warm and personable. What else? Everything, nothing...

In return for your indulgence here I give you the following links: First, go read this story on nytimes.com (sorry that you have to register but it's free):

"...the I.R.S. devoted vastly more resources to pursing questionable refunds by the poor, which she said cannot involve more than $9 billion, than to a $100 billion problem with unreported incomes from small businesses that deal only in cash, many of which do not even file tax returns."

Even a repugnant Republican is concerned:

Senator Charles E. Grassley, the Iowa Republican who is chairman of the Senate Finance Committee, said he was troubled that taxpayers were not told that their refunds had been frozen.
"The taxpayer advocate's report raises serious questions about the I.R.S. criminal investigation division's freezing taxpayers' refunds," the senator said.
"We've seen a significant increase in refund abuse in recent years," he said. "However, I'm concerned by the advocate's findings that thousands and thousands of taxpayers are having their refunds frozen by the criminal investigation division, yet the taxpayers often do not know their refund has been frozen and can't effectively challenge the IRS' actions."

Secondly, and more importantly, hurry now and revel in the fabulousness that is TwistyFaster's 'I Blame the Patriarchy'. Makes ya mad but makes ya laff too. This is my new favorite blog.

Just a quick one

I have oh so many other things to blog at you about, but I only gots time for this quick thing. I got this email see...

From: Female DBA from upstairs
Sent: Wednesday, November 30, 2005 5:08 PM
To: Me
Subject: pink stone

Found pretty pink stone in the ladies room, probably from an earring. Can you email the ladies and ask?

Thanks,
Female DBA from upstairs.

Here's my reply:

From: Me
Sent: Wednesday, November 30, 2005 5:45 PM
To: Female DBA from upstairs
Subject: RE: pink stone

Why don't you post a sign? I don't really have time to determine who the "ladies" are and send them an email.

Monday reporting

Traffic was not as light as one might have preferred, but it had a pleasing, flowing quality all the way to the office. All the roads seemed smoother than average too. I’m not sure what to attribute this to. Maybe all the extra sleep I got during the four-day weekend?

In other news, I'm really annoyed that I am still not able to upload directly to my buzznet page from my cell phone. I can send pictures to other email addresses, but they ain't working at buzznet. Since last Thursday. I guess all their tech people are still on holiday. I don't begrudge them at all, but it's quite strange that I should be unable to post from my phone for so long. Each time I re-test it, too, I get pinged against my pix messaging account.

Coffee Walking

Friday, B and I spent three hours walking around the fashion district so I could gather supplies for my foray into sewing for sales. AND he helped me find the right walking (even-feed) foot for my machine.

On Saturday, we went in search of coffee for brewing at home. B, ever the astute researcher, found Groundwork in the Arts District. On the way there we passed through the Little Tokyo Farmers Market. At a bit after 10 am the market was pretty deserted. They definitely did not have enough critical mass of either vendors or shoppers to sustain any kind of regular market. I felt a little sad for them. B said he’d overheard someone there saying “maybe we’ll just go dark.” If I were a less lazy blogger I’d find some link for you on this topic. Oh well, you know how to search as well as I do.

On our way to the Groundwork café we passed by a small restaurant offering Mexican fare. We ignored the obvious indicator (empty dining area) and decided to try it for brunch. Friday, B and I spent three hours walking around the fashion district so I could gather supplies for my foray into sewing for sales. AND he helped me find the right walking (even-feed) foot for my machine. On Saturday, we went in search of coffee for brewing at home. B, ever the astute researcher, found Groundwork in the Arts District. On the way there we passed through the Little Tokyo Farmers Market. At a bit after 10 am the market was pretty deserted. They definitely did not have enough critical mass of either vendors or shoppers to sustain any kind of regular market. I felt a little sad for them. B said he’d overheard someone there saying “maybe we’ll just go dark.” If I were a less lazy blogger I’d find some link for you on this topic. Oh well, you know how to search as well as I do.

On our way to the Groundwork café we passed by a small restaurant offering Mexican fare. We ignored the obvious indicator (empty dining area) and decided to try it for brunch. Ay!Carumba was one of the worst dining experiences I have had in recent memory. For starters, the waiter, a guy who could out-white Frasier Crane’s brother, didn’t know what a “café con leche” was. “What number on the menu is that?” he asked. I thought there might be hope since they serve the coffee in a French press. But alas! It was awful. The coffee made up in bitterness what their salsa lacked in flavor. Was it watered down V8? Finally, they mixed up our side of potatoes – B had ordered the standard – with chorizo – and I had ordered without chorizo. The waiter informed us of the mix up as he delivered the plates and chalked it up to a “language barrier” problem. As our friend K. pointed out later, “No chorizo” in Spanish is “No chorizo.” Next time we'll try eating at the coffee place instead. was one of the worst dining experiences I have had in recent memory. For starters, the waiter, a guy who could out-white Frasier Crane’s brother, didn’t know what a “café con leche” was. “What number on the menu is that?” he asked. I thought there might be hope since they serve the coffee in a French press. But alas! It was awful. The coffee made up in bitterness what their salsa lacked in flavor. Was it watered down V8? Finally, they mixed up our side of potatoes – B had ordered the standard – with chorizo – and I had ordered without chorizo. The waiter informed us of the mix up as he delivered the plates and chalked it up to a “language barrier” problem. As our friend K. pointed out later, “No chorizo” in Spanish is “No chorizo.”

Next time we'll try eating at the coffee place instead.

Thanksgiving

Thursday was excellent and ranks very highly on the scale of Thanksgivings I have had. The food at B’s parents was delicious. I loved the side dishes and, face it people, Thanksgiving is about the side dishes! Admittedly I could have eaten more stuffing – but hey, since B’s brother regards most vegetables as suspect, I helped myself freely to Brussels sprouts and yummy sweet potatoes. And yay for that cranberry sauce, mmm. I didn’t even miss the canned stuff, my guilty pleasure.

We also had fun with B's stereo microscope, to look at my ring. I was aghast at how dirty it had gotten in one week! Ultrasonic cleaner to the rescue! We also examined a potato chip with giant pools of grease, B's brother's adorable dachsund's paw, and our disgusting cuticles.

Just before dinner, B’s sister had orchestrated a simultaneous champagne toast between our party in Southern California and her party with her husband and in-laws in Northern California. She wanted to give us a toast in honor of our engagement - a sweet and fun idea! For this and many other things, I feel sincerely welcomed by the family.

Maintenance

Last week was a bit hectic in the days running up to the holiday. Tuesday night I spent a long time with my ever-affable Vespa mechanic. I got oil change & filter, new variator rollers, new belt, rear brake adjustment, front brake pads, front tire. I really, really needed new pads. If you look on my buzznet page you will see just how low they were. The new (stock) rollers make quite a difference; the old set were Malossi and were worn down, causing accelerations in the lower speeds a bit rough. Now it’s creamy smooth and a pleasure. And the knocking I thought I heard on Wednesday seems to have corrected itself.

After work on Wednesday I had a relatively short - only 2 and a half hours! - hair appointment with Julio at Estilo. He’s working on getting a website together with the help of a family member. I love the name: shampoolio.com. Maybe one of these days he'll get a computer and will be able to receive emails. Julio is sooo analog.

Sartre's Famous Deli

I could not get out of the mall. No, really, I couldn’t get out of the parking structure. No, really, I couldn’t physically exit the mall.

I took a ticket upon entering this time, remembering how the last time when I didn’t take a ticket I had a very difficult time trying to wiggle myself and the scooter around the end of the barrier.

I shopped. I got excellent customer service at Sephora (A woman named Flower is a color expert and I recommend you seek her out next time you shop for concealer). (And don't you love the samples??) Then I took to depart.

In the approach to the exit gates I noticed they had changed the older ticket readers for smaller machines, and there were no attendants anymore. I inserted my ticket in the prescribed manner, magnetic stripe down and to the right, just like in the picture. The machine, in its machine-like obstinacy, refused to consume it. I insisted. Again it refused. The machine must be defective, I thought, and backed up to try the other ticket-taking barrier-raising machine. Like its imperturbable twin, I was denied.

A blue help button hailed a sarcastic male voice remotely instructing me to put the ticket in again. As I expected, it wouldn’t go in. He had to send someone. I waited on my idling bike and tried to keep people from lining up behind me by waving them to the other machine. I eyed the barrier again to see if I couldn’t possibly squeeze around or under it. Back in the day before they began renovating, I could go around the bar, but now, they made it lower and lengthened it so it extended past the curb. I was trapped.

Finally a parking attendant showed up. He asked me if I had told the guy on the call box if I had told him I was on a scooter. I said no, he didn’t ask me. Then he pointed out the sensor lines in the asphalt. My bike didn’t trigger the sensor – the sensor which makes the machine accept the tickets. (Why don’t they just make the machine taste the ticket like others of its kind? Why a pavement sensor for this?) Then he told me that they didn’t allow motorcycle parking there anyway.

I asked him for the name of someone to speak to about this. He couldn’t remember the guy’s phone number. He told me his name but I all retained was some Griswold or something. Finally back at my desk, late and inconvenienced, I tried tracking someone down in the mall management office. Why would they purposely exclude an entire class of shoppers from shopping at their mall?? There is no place to park in the area, other than their structure if you want to shop there. After a little web search, I told my tale to Vivian in their management office. She would research the issue and call me back on Monday. I'm interested in hearing their reasoning. If I don’t like the answer I get, be assured I’ll be sending a letter to the U.S. corporate offices, conveniently located in L.A.