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The mother-in-law picked the baby up from school on Wednesday, and when we got to her house to pick him up, I noticed a smudge on his forehead. The mother-in-law had indeed taken him to Ash Wednesday services and had indeed asked the priest to “bless” the baby and, according to her, he just happened to bless him with his ash thumb.

Now, she’s pulled this subversive Catholicisim stuff before and I don’t appreciate it. Because while I’m not against the baby practicing some sort of religion, I really don’t want anyone besides me or the husband dishing it out with him. I don’t want him getting the idea that Catholicism, or any religion, is superior to any other, which is what I’m pretty sure will happen if I put his religious education in the hands of the mother-in-law. I say that because when we griped at her for the ashes, she snotted that it’s not like they were off doing witchcraft or weird rituals.

And, like…ugh. Dude. Just because you grew up with them and you happen to live in a country where Catholicism is mainstream, doesn’t mean that you’re not doing rituals and that they wouldn’t be perceived as weird to other cultures. I mean, doesn’t one of the main rituals involve eating the body and blood of Christ? Plus there’s chanting and incense and bells and dudes in robes. Shit. Put that outside on a solstice and add some topless bitches. THEN tell me how it’s not like witchcraft.

Anyway, Bolt asked the mother-in-law about this and the mother-in-law told her what she also told us, which is that we all used to go to church and loved it. And we should be repentant for our sins. God, back off lady. And then she added that when we discovered this thing called independent thought, we would surely return to the church.

Quoi? I mean, not to say that all practicing Catholics or whatever are devoid of independent thought, but, uh, my independent thought is what led me to peace out from the church quite some time ago.

But, seriously, if I’m doing my thing and being a good person and Catholics are doing their thing and being good people, can’t we all just get along leave each other the hell alone?

Anyway, I was thinking about the upcoming presidential election yesterday. I don’t know, it seems to be the hip, in thing to do these days. Also, this piece on Jezebel got me thinking, because I do think it’s bullshit that women’s tendency to cry more than men is perceived as a sign of weakness. I think it was Wanda Sykes who said that God made women the weaker sex because otherwise we would just go around beating the shit out of people.

I mean, I cry when I’m sad or devastated obviously, but I also cry when I’m angry and it’s so annoying. I wish I could stop because I think it gives the objects of my anger an opportunity to be like, “Oh, whatever, she’s not THAT angry.” And it’s like, “No, I AM, motherfucker. I just can’t box for shit and I’m furious and everything’s starting to, like, SEEP or something. Here, why don’t you just choke yourself with my hand and we’ll call it even. Cool?.”

But, yeah, the presidential election. Folks are grasping onto the two times that Hilary has managed to hint at crying and prove that this is why a woman can’t handle being president. Fuck that. Hilary is just as self-serving and psychotically ambitious and centrist-serving as any other person that makes a serious run for president…which is what makes her campaign and Obama’s campaign such a drag. I got to thinking about how I cry often about the state of the world. I mean, it just fucking bums me out, you know? I can’t imagine if I was the president and had access to ALL of the information of just how fucked we are…I would be splattered on the sidewalk outside of a tall building about 15 minutes into my administration.

Last night I read “Politics and the English Language” for class and one of the metaphors that George Orwell was already sick of way back in 1946 is “toe the line.” This irritates me because “toe the line” is one of my favorite metaphors ever. It makes me think of petulant people in black catsuits staring at a line in the sand in some version of nowhere. In my vision, these ne’er-do-wells mischievously tap the line with the tips of their toes much to the dismay of the people who drew it.

How can anyone hate “toe the line?” Look how much fun I’m having with it!

There’s also that scene in Three Amigos where Ned draws the line and says, “Men or mice?” At least I think that’s how it goes.

Also, for your consideration: CNN is the new National Enquirer. The 00s are the new 80s. The new recession is going to kick the asses of all previous recessions on American Gladiators.

Eh, whatevs.

I think I shall start a new feature called “Nicolette Grant’s Shush It List,” named, of course, for the Mormon badass on Big Love

This installment: voting motivations.

“Women will vote for Hilary Clinton because she is a woman. Black people will vote for Barack Obama because he’s black.”

Shush it.

There are plenty of Republicans who vote for Republicans because they are Republicans and plenty of Democrats who vote for Democrats because they are Democrats and I’m sure they could use an earful on how to choose a suitable candidate. That’s why we have those levers or buttons that say “Vote Democrat” or “Vote Republican” that allow a voter to do the handy-dandy straight-ticket voting.

As soon as they create some “Vote Woman” or “Vote Black” levers, then you can worry…and still shush it because that would be kinda rad.

Do you ever have one of those mornings where you think, “Nothing. None of this is working. I must quit everything?” And I recognize that that statement sounds very woeful, but I’m coming from a very frustrated, irritated point of view in which my willingness to give a shit has simply ceased.

See, the husband’s classes started up again today and suckily enough he has a 9 a.m. class on Mondays and Wednesdays. 9 a.m. classes don’t go over very well in our family because a) we’re not morning people, b) the baby’s bus sometimes doesn’t arrive until 8:30, and c) we live in a cheap part of town, meaning we sacrificed convenience and are usually faced with horrendous traffic. Added to all of that is the fact that one of the main boulevards in Pittsburgh is closed for the next year for repairs, so our usual morning commute clusterfuck has been replaced with the new ‘08 model clusterfuck: The Motherf@($*#((%@)$%*%))@!!!!one! 3000.

This morning, we gritted our teeth through the traffic which was way worse than usual, probably because all of the Pitt students are back in the mix. By the time we got to Oakland, it was about 8:58 and I still needed to be dropped off at work. So the husband was already seething and muttering about how we were going to have to radically alter this routine before Wednesday. We pulled up to a red light at the intersection of Forbes and Craig, right in between Starbucks and Kiva Han, the cool indie coffee shop where all of the English and film majors and white Zapatistas go and say cool things like, “Yeah, me too.” *

So, we’re sitting at the red light and all of the artsy and academic types that populate Oakland are blearily shuffling on the sidewalks, absorbing the Mondayness of it all. And the light changes to green. And then this fucking shithead starts to cross the street. Very. Slowly. And he had timed it so that he was walking right in front of our car as the light turned green. And he has his Starbucks cup and his backpack and his floppy hair and just totally did not care that it’s 9 a.m. on a Monday morning and people have to be places because he only has to drink coffee and be a shithead. The husband laid on the horn because what the fuck?

Then. That kid. Spit. At. Our. Car.

The husband rolled down the window and screamed a string of obscenities at him. Ordinarily, I would have tried to reign him in a bit but that kid totally deserved it. And all of the artsy and academic types looked up, startled, and were probably irritated with us but whatever.

The 9 a.m. class. The traffic. The closed boulevard. The Starbucks-spitting shitheads. The lack of apostrophes.

I want them all to die.

Happy Monday!

* Louis C.K.

So, the Steelers lost last night, ending a rather tumultuous season. But what an exciting game! Indeed, it is frustrating to see how the team’s collective insecurity prevents them from soldiering through. It’s like they don’t think they can beat a team if they’re not completely crushing them, when they so can. As soon as their opponents put up a fight, they get shaky. But they rallied in the fourth quarter and even though the outcome wasn’t as great as it could have been, it was fun to watch.

I will admit to being a tad relieved about not having to stress through games anymore. I’m certain I gained a few gray hairs during the Super Bowl a few years back and last night, as I tried to get my hands to stop shaking, I thought, “Yeah, I don’t miss this.”

Anyway, psychotic football fangirl crap aside, the final season of The Wire premieres tonight. I’ve been anticipating and dreading this day for a year and a half. I can’t wait to see how hard this season is going to rock but I’m extremely sad that in ten weeks it will all be over.

I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that The Wire is the best show ever. Sure, the writing is incredible, the acting is all amazing…all of those basic criteria are blown out of the water. But what makes it really wonderful is it’s simple statement of the world that we live in, how we have all failed, how we try to succeed. In this fantastic article, actor/director Clark Johnson says, “You don’t want to preach to people, but you want them to think about why things are the way they are, the history that is there as well as the possibilities.” The show certainly offers up its own ideas of how things got to where they are and what would need to happen if things are ever to change, but it does it carefully enough that the viewers are able to consider those possibilities and still develop their own opinions about it. The folks behind The Wire and the people and situations it portrays may not agree with other assessments, but through the show they are heard and considered, which is saying a hell of a lot more than most “dialogues” about the current state of affairs.

This season focuses on the media, which should be of interest to everyone. Considering what a sad, sad state the media is in today, when we need it more than ever, I don’t know how we can’t watch art like this.

At the very least, consider the fact that the man who took this image:

took this image 35 years later, to the day:

Frighteningly similar political climates between then and now. But in those days the biggest image of the year was of the horrors of our foreign war. Last year the biggest image was of a perpetual child in grief over being punished.

Perhaps this year we can start giving a shit.

…I pray for Dexter to be real. I don’t agree with the death penalty, but this man needs to die.

Flying Spaghetti Monsterists earn a spot on the agenda of the American Academy of Religion’s annual meeting.

The superintendent of schools wants to close my alma mater, and the students are fighting to save it. We drove past this rally the other night and honked in support. It was really awesome to hear the cheers that came in response. Apparently there is a new ninth-grade civics class called “Be the Change,” which, I’m guessing, teaches students how to create change themselves, not wait for it happen to them by someone else’s hands. The rallying students took their lessons to the streets.

I’m so proud of them. The district seems intent on closing the school and splitting it up, no matter how many sensible arguments they hear from the opposition. Perhaps this is inevitable. But at this time in history, when governments seem to feel that they can do whatever they want because they receive no resistance from the people they serve, it’s wonderful to hear someone say, “No!”

These kids are smack dab in the middle of one of the most self-centered and passive generations that the world has ever seen. And they’re not taking it. They’re not selling themselves short. They know what they have and they know that the school is THEIRS, not Mark Roosevelt’s.

What was so wonderful and unique about Schenley was that you had every single socioeconomic group represented there and they all got along. There were no static cliques. There was no popular crowd. Sure, there were groups of people that gravitated to one another, but it was never like, “Well, you’re really smart and you’re headed to college, therefore you can’t hang out with the kids that sneak out to smoke,” or “You’re a jock, therefore you can’t hang out with the pimply kid playing Magic.” People moved between groups like water. And, yes, we had school spirit because we knew how uncommon it is to fit 3,000 extremely different people into one building and have only minor incidents. We knew how uncommon it is for people to have a sense of pride in their high school. We knew how uncommon it is to find a place where a guy can come to school wearing a dress and make it through the day intact. We knew how uncommon it is to see rough kids from the ‘hood working in pottery class next to ballerinas from the suburbs.

That is what these kids are trying to save. And if the district really cares about them, they better damn well listen. Because if we’re not going to fight for our kids and their wellbeing, then what the hell is there worth fighting for?

Yes, it’s been a minute since I posted last. I’ve been busy and I feel like I say that waaaaaay too much. But, tis the truth.

The dudes* and I made our annual jaunt to Trax Farms on Sunday. It was a gorgeous day, though a little too warm and while we had the brilliant idea to go on that particular Sunday since the Steelers game didn’t start til 8, so did everyone else in the tri-county area.

I ran into a PhD student from my department there. We managed to chat for a full five minutes while we stood in line for the ladies’ room. During that time the dudes were in and out of the mens’ room and already standing outside getting irritated with me about the fact that women are built in such a way that it takes longer to go to the bathroom and that’s all my fault.

Anyway, I ran into the PhD student right after we had left the petting zoo and I had a fine coating of goat slobber all over me.

Yesterday I talked to her for a few minutes and she told me that two suburban moms got into it later in the afternoon. Something about a place in line. The velour sweatsuits were on fire and phrases like, “Bring it on, bitch!” ricocheted off the SUVs. The police showed up. I’m so bummed we missed it. Even though I’m pretty sure I fall squarely into the “city folk” category, I’m still so amused when urban and suburban people take a trip to the country and forget how to act. We think we’re so civilized and sophisticated compared to people in rural areas, but we’re so not.

Anyway, there are some pictures after ye olde jumpe…

(more…)

I’m slowly (sloooooowly) working on an essay and I have TLC on in the background so I can half-watch crap shows about weddings and babies and interior decorating. What? It helps me think. Plus, the dishwasher isn’t working so I got all aggro. I need to balance out the testosterone before I go out to the street and start picking fistfights with strangers.

Currently, there’s a show on called Moving Up. One of the couples featured consists of a barber from New Jersey and a seamtress from Honduras. The husband describes meeting his wife: “I could tell she was a good one. That’s why I picked her. Snapped her up real quick.” What? He goes on to say that she’s a wonderful homemaker. The wife grins and says, “I try to be good.”

My new favorite couple takes a walk through their new house and they discuss what changes they’re going to make. The husband says that his oldest son’s room will be decorated in a baseball motif. “We want to push him toward baseball.” The designer, sure that he’s at least partially kidding, says that they don’t want to push him too hard because what if the kid wants to do ballet. “I’ll break his ballerina legs.” Oookay.

Later on in the episode, the wife is “out of the country” to “deal with some family things.” Did she suddenly realize she married a total douche?

Kids learn cause and effect pretty early, but I guess the finer points of that phenomenon take a little bit longer to sink in. Earlier, I was upstairs doing laundry when the baby yelled to me that he was having a nosebleed. I came down and was helping him clean up, when he said, “I don’t know why this happened. I was just picking my nose when all of a sudden it started bleeding.”

It’s Blog Action Day. My action item for the day was emailing Turner’s Dairy Farm, home to ubiquitous Pittsburgh milk (sounds gross), the most delicious, cheap, sweet tea and the awesomeness that is Turner’s tea-shirts, to find out if they had considered reviving their home delivery service. My rationale was that there would be a lot of interest since attention has turned back to the environment, reducing waste, and buying local.

They wrote back.

“Dear Kelly,
No.
Love,
Turner’s”

Well, they weren’t that brusque, but costs are a huge roadblock to this service ever returning, which isn’t surprising.

Okay, so no home delivery of milk. Drat.

Other things that I’m trying to get going with include composting (and if anybody can steer me in the right direction on how to get started with that I would really appreciate it), gardening with said compost, despite the fact that my brown thumb is probably deadlier than any smog, and my latest obsession has been making my own yogurt.

I eat a lot of yogurt nowadays and have been buying it by the quart. However, the quart containers aren’t accepted by the recycling folks here. So, I’ve been saving them…but now I just have a bunch of containers cluttering up my kitchen. It makes sense to me to refill them with yogurt. I know Alton Brown has poo-pooed yogurt makers, but I’ve been eying them. I am lazy and am always fond of a machine that can do for me what I can do for myself in a more low-fi way (see also: my big ass rice cooker).