harry who?

I am so glad that young Daniel Radcliffe has shed his career-debilitating alter ego, Harry Potter. How frustrating it must have been to carry a super-successful movie franchise based on a super-successful series of books. Now he's free to explore new territories and express himself as he sees fit.

And, my, he certainly seems fit.

As someone who is old enough to be his mother, it seems almost incestuous to delight in young Harry's...er, Daniel's pecs. But delight I shall, because the invisibility cloak of celebrity allows us all to fantasize...er, think about public figures without consequence or punishment.



Well, maybe a little punishment would be nice.

shake that fascist groove thing

There's a post on HuffPo by Robert Guttman here, assailing Bush for being the worst president ever (and as a commenter added, the worst president possible.) Guttman's no slouch; his bio says he is director of the Center on Politics & Foreign Relations at the Johns Hopkins University School of Advanced International Studies in Washington, D.C.

I get so angry thinking that Bush is the president. I mean, how the hell did THAT happen? But after six years, I'm also exhausted thinking about it, and I admire those who are politically active, who attend the rallies and the meetings and write the blogs and work to get the rest of us fired up. People with passion.

In fact, it's really only been since Bush's election that my interest in politics has developed and now unfortunately I waste a lot of time reading left-leaning political blogs. Before that, my first interest in anything presidential was when Nixon was elected.

I was in sixth grade, and as I recall, he started out being a pretty popular president. I wrote him a letter to tell him how great it was he was president.

I received a reply, with a photo of him and his family, including Tricia and Julie. They reminded me of Betty and Veronica, if Veronica were the blonde one. Or maybe more Marianne and Ginger. If Ginger were the blonde one.

When Bush was elected, I was reminded of a song I liked in the the 80s when Reagan was elected: "(We Don't Need This) Fascist Groove Thing" by Heaven 17. It was banned by the BBC. The lyrics are quite prescient:

Have you heard it on the news
About this fascist groove thang
Evil men with racist views
Spreading all across the land
Don't just sit there on your ass
Unlock that funky chaindance
Brothers, sisters shoot your best
We don't need this fascist groove thang

Chorus:Brothers, sisters, we don't need this fascist groove thang

History will repeat itself
Crisis point we're near the hour
Counterforce will do no good
Hot you ass I feel your power
Hitler proves that funky stuff
Is not for you and me girl
Europe's an unhappy land
They've had their fascist groove thang

Chorus

Democrats are out of power
Across that great wide ocean
Reagan's president elect
Fascist god in motion
Generals tell him what to do
Stop your good time dancing
Train their guns on me and you
Fascist thang advancing

Chorus

Sisters, brothers lend a hand
Increase our population
Grab that groove thang by the throat
And throw it in the ocean
You're real tonight you move my soul
Let's cruise out of the dance war
Come out your house and dance your dance
Shake that fascist groove thang(Shake it!)

I'm not sure what "Hot you ass" means; I think whoever transcribed the lyrics from the song made it up. Like "scuse me while I kiss this guy."

But anyway, it's kinda scary that British fop refugees from Human League penned something that applies to our current administration nearly 25 years later.

bonding

On Friday, Boo went on a daylong ski trip with the ecology club at school. That left Remy and me home alone for the day (because somehow, President's Day has turned into this 4-day weekend extravaganza. These kids have so many days off for holidays and inservice that they're in school until nearly July.)

But it's cool, though, spending time with one kid without the other. The dynamic totally changes. No sibling taunting, fighting or provoking.

Remy had suggested that we "have a bond" in his usual, wacky way of mangling the English language. So we went to Bell Lake to slide around on the ice.

I'm always a little awestruck at the joy kids get from the simplest things. Yelling "Watch this!" Remy hurled himself across the ice on his stomach a few times. "Watch this!" He found a branch and wacked at a melted spot in the ice. "Watch this!" He found a bigger chunk of wood and dropped it on the ice, making that eerie, echoey, hollow sound that floats on the air. He slid and slipped. He fell. He got up.

He was oblivious to my presence, other than as a spectator to his play.

Later he wanted to go to Taco Smell. He got 3 soft tacos. The gal at the window at the drive-thru told us to "have a wonderful day."

Wow, not just a nice day. A WONDERFUL day. Now, that really puts the pressure on. I had been having a perfectly adequate day, but here she is telling me I should have a WONDERFUL day. "Nice" is no longer good enough. Shit. What do I do now? Because clearly I haven't done enough to ensure the day's wonderfulness.

"Are you having a wonderful day, Remy?" I asked as we pulled away from the drive-thru. "Because the gal said we should have a wonderful day."

"Yeah. We're having a bond. And tacos."

I guess that's pretty wonderful.

everyone needs a little dickie

It's a lipstick! It's a crayon! It's both! I wonder what your body chemistry must be like if the lipstick turns yellow or green? Mighty unattractive body chemistry, I'd say. And what mood would you be in if your lips turned green? A vomitous mood? A reptilian mood? Who the hell thinks up this shit? And if it changes to match your mood....why do you need 12 different tubes?!

A lady never leaves her house without her lace dickie. Lord knows, I don't want to foist my massive, Grand-Canyon size cleavage on an unwitting public. But I have to disagree about the cold draft. Sometimes a gal likes a beer on her chest.

I've been working on these dreary articles about microbiology and genetics and microRNAs and ligands and dimers and anti-VEGF therapy and, well, I needed a little break here. Back I go.