the bunnies were SAVED.

I know this will shock you, but sometimes my work makes me irritable.  I usually prefer to focus my studies on sensible, logical people like Phyllis Schlafly and William Buckley.  This semester I decided to expand my knowledge of New Right social movements with a project on Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority. In spite of my standard, accepted, baseline level of ivory tower NPR liberalism, I pride myself on my ability to be pretty objective, moderate, and restrained.  

Falwell has turned out to be a real test of my mettle because there are times that I really do think he was CRAZY.  He had twelve different narratives for every event, a staff of really obvious ghostwriters, and sometimes appeared to be a total huckster.  He just isn't as lovable as Phyllis and sometimes I've really resented that.

Until I came across this:

I

That Jerry! He cared about bunnies so much he included them in his autobiography! When ever I get annoyed with him over the course of writing 15-20 more pages about him, I'm going to look at this photo. The bunnies have such a neutralizing effect. 

P.S. I can't even mention the word "saved" without thinking of this:

picturing the recession.

The NYT has a new section called "Picturing the Recession." It's basically a community archive that people can upload photos and stories to. A lot of the stories are heartbreaking-- shuttered shops and foreclosed homes-- but I thought there were some positive messages that made me think of some of my special readers. You can click on the images to see the text better.

For Big Brother:


For Michaele:

cute.

I don't know what it is about Fridays, but I swear I am more susceptible to be moved by scenes such as this cute bunny relaxing outside my window:


And videos like this one.

I would like to think it's a reflection of how needy I'm not feeling at the end of a rough week, but I can't say for sure.

house parties and being filled with love and whatevs.

Ok, so I am filled with love right now as I have just seen some of my friend's wedding pictures-- said wedding which of course I missed because I am a prisoner of the Wasatch Front*** and my thesis and goals and shit. Glad I saved the wine for Sunday because Sunday is always the day that I wish I had some, because I am prone to loneliness and reading outside and watching movies and being alone and stuff. Wine helps in making it suck less, which gives me some insight into Jesus, who also drank wine. I mean, after being chased around and shit by the Romans and the Pharisees et. al I think you would need something for the nerves. Which I can relate to, of course, because I am filled WITH NERVES because my successful interview lady HAS NOT EMAILED ME WITH HER CONTACTS. Which is a PROBLEM because I HAVE DEADLINES, PEOPLE.

Ok, but for your sake, I am going to keep it positive, because I am now, yet again, filled with white wine, and MORE unusually, filled with love. So first, my gramma is awesome because she called me back, and I haven't talked to her in a while, and she reminded me of the eight thousand reasons why I loved living with her-- the woman is amazing, she takes care of everybody and is SO UPBEAT ABOUT IT. And we just talked, like we used to when I would come home from school or reffing and she would tell me everything she ate that day and the dish on all the family. If you find me plodding about really, really fast in a pair of Sketchers with my sweatshirt sleeves rolled up, trust that I am trying to emulate this awesome woman who is clearly assuming the role of matriarch since the actual matriarch has taking to Houdini-ism******* (Gram-E's words, not mine). :D

Anywho, I watched Better Off Dead. For its genre ('80s teen movie) I thought it was pretty good-- in some ways it completely kills (SKI CHOREOGRAPHY?!?! ON ONE FOOT?!?!) and in other ways it sucks ass (weird talking hamburgers). I suppose one could just obtain some Warren Miller to compensate for the skiing but you have to see this film because, and only because, JOHN CUSACK IS SUCH A CUTIE. So cute, in fact, that all of his subsequent films INSTANTANEOUSLY BECOME ANNOYING!*

Now that I am having some Hogue it reminds me of a recent wedding that I DID attend in which I consumed about as much Hogue as I've had now. And I am filled WITH EVEN MORE LOVE. Which reminds me of a post I was intending to do about HOW MUCH I LOVE HOUSE PARTIES*****. Seriously, I told my friend that House Parties**** are better than church. Sure, I mean there isn't the God factor (which I dig, but find ways to encounter in everyday life) but in terms of social contacting, it's like all the mingling without feeling forced too BECAUSE IT'S MY CALLING, AND OMG, LITERALLY, GOD WANTS ME TO KNOW AND LOVE EVERYONE! So it's way more comfortable, and at this particular HOUSE PARTY OF AWESOME-NESS, not only did I find awesome Mexican beer but many awesome APPROACHABLE PEOPLE which made me feel better about humanity in general. I mean, so many people just living and keeping it real in the SLC and that's what it's all about, right?! Right, Jim Hortis, regular reader and impending birthday extraordinaire??!?!? I mean hell, there was even a bit o' dancing and talk of LINDA KERBER.

It is my opinion that Librarian House Parties are WAY cooler than Skiier House Parties... though Skiier House Parties are of course cool in their own way, like that one time they threw Joe in the hottub with his clothes on. Obviously the Skiiers are a younger crowd, which is again a way in which the Librarians rock, because they are more my age and shit, or at least more my type because they drink like fish but are not so young and overt about DRINKiNG ALL THAT NATTY LITE****** (Librarians are smart and do the Hard A). Cheers to Librarian House Parties, and also cheers to Jim, because I never had any Jack Daniels before (and cheers to Big Brother for the recommendation) and now a bottle of my own is totes on my list** and also to Jim, because he was in a drunken state of elasticity that made me really, really look forward to my own birthday. In AUGUST. DON'T FORGET. THERE WILL BE A HUGE PARTY.

Anywho, the moral of the story is that the day of loneliness is much tempered by a call back from GRAM-E and an 80's teen flick and a bottle o' Hogue.

Frick.

Now I have to go back and link all of my meaningful references.



*sorry ABOUT THE CAPS LOCK but every time I do it IT MAKES MY EYES BUG OUT and I feel SO FULL OF EMPHASIS. Like I'm not yelling at you, BUT MY EYES ARE BUGGY, kind of JUST LIKE MY WHOLE FAMILY DOES. Ok. Inside joke, I APOLOGIZE. :P

**Because white wines is kind of expensive to go through a bottle each time, you know? Hard A is more of an investment or at least economical IN THESE TIMES of ECONOMIC HARDSHIP. Because I keep spending ALL MY MONEY on GAS to drive to the RIVAL SCHOOL AND HAVE AMAZING MILKSHAKES. But I digress, because my tongue is numb.

***I only feel that way on Sundays, when I am too not-busy to feel otherwise.

****Capitalized because House Parties are my third favorite thing, behind Nieces/Immediate-family-tasticness (including Sister in Law!!! she is so rad!!! and such a contributor to feisty nieces!!!! yeah!!!!!!!) and Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Frosting.

*****U know it's on my Netflix queue!

******which too my credit I only drink after skiing when it's been chillin in the snow all day and usually I go to bed after the Hard A and good beer is gone and as a personal policy, do not ever, ever drink canned aluminium tasting beers, except after skiing.

and p.s. if i am ever applying for a job, this blog will become way, way more anonymous in about eight thousand different ways. just so you aren't worried about me being screwed and even more poor after all this hard work (in relation to my career, not work posting-- believe you me i save all the emotional work for my journal, suckaz-- and perceived as a three times a week lush or something, which seems like a lot more than it is, really.

p.p.s it was not the whole bottle, there is still a glass left, suuuccckkkazzz.

*******Her career as an escape artist, since her removal to the Fijian old person's home of compassion, though she does not remember it, inspires me, if anything because she is in some way sticking it to THE MAN in a way that I know she'll be proud of when she gets to a place after this life in which she's in a place to appreciate it because she has ROCKED being old . I like to think she would've wanted it that way, back in the day when she was just bragging about subscribing to Mother Jones and being naturopathic and taking laughing classes and being 90 and living alone. Great-g truly set the example for aging in our family in a way that I look for me and my bro and all of my cuz-power to rock. Watch out, suburbs of Tacoma.

everybody's gonna be happy.

Ok, so I'm feeling a little grumptastic on this blessed holiday Monday. As luck would have it, The Paper comes at me with another attempt to change my attitude with a barrage of subliminal pictorial messages:

Fluffy puppies!

Musical magical garden gnomes!

Chocolate game pieces! After playing you could lick the melty off your fingers!

Another puppy! In sunglasses!

Why don't we?