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Saturday, April 23, 2011

the Brileen nuptials?

Planning and thinking about our wedding is a wonderful, fun experience... except for one woefully disappointing thing.

Brian and I don't have a good mashup name. 

I can't remember if it started with Bennifer or Brangelina, but either way mashup names have become the new cool way to refer to couples, especially when they are about to tie the knot. 

My best friend getting married this summer has an awesome mashup name made from her and her fiance's last names (Tait + Kellogg = Taitllog), and an even better one if you use her high school nickname (Weiner + Kellogg = Weinllog). 

Jealous. 

Our names, Brian and Kathleen, don't mix in a particularly fun or hilarious way. Neither do Mitchell and Morrison. 

Mitchellson? That just sounds like a different last name. 
Brileen? That sounds like a name some horrible parents would give their kid because they are trying to "brand" her in a unique way. 
Kathian? That's... dumb.

What do I do?!? This is serious, y'all. How will anyone know what to refer to our nuptials as?!?

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

WTF, world - Airport Security is Not Rape

The other day I read an op-ed piece by a woman in Alaska absolutely railing against airport security. She described her experience with TSA as being "gate-raped." She said she sobbed as a security woman felt her stomach and under her bra band, calling it sexual assault. She compared the new full-body scanners ("Nudie Scanners," she said) to legalized porn.

The first time I read the article, I was taken aback by the (absurd, I immediately thought) claims she was making. Then I read it a second time and thought some more... I don't want to say that I think this woman is ridiculous, because she also wrote that earlier in her life she was a victim of rape and I believe that is one of the most harrowing, horrible offenses a person can go through. I fully realize I have no clue what damage her rapist did to her psyche. Rape terrifies me. It is probably my biggest fear, and I know so many women who would say the same thing.

Which is why I don't get it. I don’t understand why this woman would undermine her shattering experience by equating it to airport security procedures. Airport security procedures are not rape.

I did some digging because I’ve heard all the rumors about the new full-body scanners, but I didn’t actually know what image the operator sees when you go into one. By “digging,” of course, I mean I googled it. And actually, the images are more graphic than I thought – or at least some of them are. They range from pretty detailed (with nipples, buttcracks and genitals fairly clearly outlined) to very fuzzy/abstract with really no private parts visible. It seemed like generally though, the faces were all fuzzy; I don’t think the scanner really goes over the face. So it’s hard to know what those machines are actually capturing.

The last time I flew, I was told to go through one. I went in, raised my arms, waited a minute and then stepped out when I got a nod from the uniformed woman supervising. I honestly didn’t feel violated in any way. A much bigger deal – and not even really a big deal then – was the time I got stopped because two rings in my purse (they were double-finger rings lying next to each other) apparently looked like brass knuckles when they were scanned.

But okay, I can understand someone not wanting to feel like an unknown person in another part of the airport can see his or her body outlined. That’s fine.

No, what angers me is the extreme vernacular of the extended rape metaphor and the sense of appall/entitlement the author seems to feel. As if the security guards had no right to subject her to... the same security measures that pretty much everyone goes through. Measures that are designed to keep us safe, no less.

I can’t tell if the author exaggerated, either in her own memories or in her writing, the treatment she got. To me, the officers seem like they are just doing their job. They took her to another room out of the main security area when she got hysterical and they told her exactly what they were doing ("I'm going to touch your stomach now") rather than just patting her down, willy-nilly. Yet she uses the word “molested” in reference to what they did. Huh?

When Brian and some friends flew from back to the U.S. from the Middle East after spending five weeks volunteering there one summer, the Israeli airport security didn’t just scan their bags, they opened every single one and looked through the items in it. The patting-down process was much more intense than anything in American airports. It took them two full hours to get through security.

Intense? Sure. But the Israeli national airline has never had a plane hijacked.

I also looked into the author’s other articles on the Anchorage Daily News’ website. I didn't want to stereotype this Alaskan woman, just because another Alaskan woman with a penchant for extreme language has been popping up everywhere for the past three years. But then I found another article written by her that began with the words: "I miss Sarah Palin. Not the post-nomination, self-serving, political opportunist who has become an embarrassment to many Alaskans. Rather, I miss the governor who had 85 percent approval ratings. I miss the 'Wally Hickel' glint in the eye of a governor who stood in the sanctity of 'Owner-State.'”* So okay, she is clearly Republican and, although she at least has the sense to see what Palin has become in the media-soaked last few years, she still expresses an affinity for her ideals.

Bleh.

The most ridiculous part was that the author wrapped her tirade up with, “It's been almost 10 years since 9/11. I was 'gate raped' by my government, and Osama Bin Laden is still at large.”

What?! Bin Laden organized the most successful terrorist attack VIA PLANE in American history. TSA is intense because Bin Laden killed thousands VIA PLANE. As in what you are about to board, that kind of plane. If these scanners – “nudie” or not – keep a terrorist off the next plane I or my loved ones board, then I will gladly be scanned or patted down or have my bag searched for brass knuckles.


* The rest of the article was behind a paywall and I definitely wasn’t about to fork over money to read it, so I don’t know what sentiments were expressed past the opening paragraph.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Happy 100! And also 23!

My blog is 100 posts old today! And I am 23! (Years, not posts). Both of these things are very exciting. And I didn't plan it this way. I actually tried to blog several times this week but had intense writer's block (see yesterday's post).

Anyway, twenty-three is one of my lucky numbers, so I feel like this upcoming year is going to be awesome. In honor of these momentous occasions, I present: A Very Special (and Awkward) Birthday Retrospective.


1st birthday: The year I didn't understand how cupcakes worked and I tried to eat the paper lining. 


3rd birthday: I'm pretty sure this is where I peaked in cuteness. It was all downhill after this. Also, that is one sweet windsuit. 


4th birthday: The beginning of a life of not knowing what to do with my hands.



5th birthday: Blowing candles is intense work, y'all. (Please keep the jokes I know are forming to yourself and remember this is a five year old here!)


6th birthday: The good thing about this picture is, had I been arrested at age 6, I would have already had a mug shot ready to go. 


11th birthday: Cat cake. Princess Leia hair.


12th birthday: This is the one picture I seriously debated putting up. Twelve was clearly the fugliest year of my existence. Y'all please hurry on to the next one. 


16th birthday: This is my "Okay, I'm posing with my cupcake. Happy now, Mom?" face 


18th birthday: My "surprise" (the girl in charge of keeping me busy and getting me there was really bad at hiding the secret) party in a randomly empty house. Ahh high school.


19th birthday: Kyle (wearing the sailor hat) handed me that wet floor sign and told me it was my birthday present. The other picture is just for Walt's singing face. 


21st birthday: "I'm 21 now so I'm going to take a picture with all this alcohol paraphernalia!!" (Don't worry, those cups are courtesy of the whole table, not just me. I didn't die that night.)


22nd birthday: My birthday fell during the post-comprehensive exams, pre-graduation period of senior year, which was one of the best times of college. Hence the good hair day. 


EDIT: 
I wish I had videoed Brian reading this so I could share his reaction. Basically he just laughed harder and harder with each one until the 12 year old picture, where he died laughing and took the time to point out each terrible part, particularly "What is that hair?!!?" 

He also wanted me to add this:
And he inquired why my mother chose to "take one of those things [doilies] that people put on side tables under lamps and cut a hole in in and put it over your head." A question, indeed. 

Thursday, April 14, 2011

blog blockage

I don't know what to blog about. And I hate when I don't know what to blog about.

I could write about the five to-do lists I made yesterday, with items to be completed before the first week of May aka the last week of class. One each for home, school, work, wedding and (ha, as if I might possibly have a minute of truly free time) art. But I fully realize no one cares about my neurotic listmaking.

I could write about the latest great thing Penny did. But I'm already way too close to the verge of becoming a crazy cat blogger.

I could write about how I've started setting my alarms like THIS in order to get out of my comfy, comfy bed in the mornings...
But there's really nothing more to say about that.

I could tell you my recent assignments. But that's just depressing.

I could talk about how it's been raining way too much lately, or taxes, or... But that's even more depressing.

So I'm just going to throw up my best selection of iphone pictures and call it a post. Deal? Deal.

rainbow city
sushi clock and sushi cat, NOLA
I want to live on this street.
Tait, this is my favorite of your faces.
This dog was my BFF one day at Millsaps.
ancient nautilus, Museum of Natural Science, NYC
helpful posters at a gym in Montreal, Canada
(ohhh so THAT's what I'm supposed to look like!)
I had to cash this check... in person. Thanks Mollz.
my dad and a moose, New Hampshire
Only $1.99?! WHAT A STEAL!!
awesome pendulum clock, Museum of Science, Boston
sea dragon – my favorite sea creature, New England Aquarium
someone get me this dog

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

sealed with a... pee

Of all the things I remain bitter about regarding my undergraduate experience (and there are really only two, or perhaps two and a half, but I make up for the low number with the fervor of my unending bitterness), the worst offense is that I graduated in a megachurch.

See, Millsaps seniors traditionally graduate in a big green grassy area known as the Bowl (named for its gently sloping sides, not for what is sometimes smoked there by students... and occasionally teachers). It is a treasure to behold.
I don't remember whose Twitter I saved this from, but I hope its okay that I use your photo skillz...
And in the center is The Seal of Millsaps College. What is neat about The Seal (and the Bowl in general) is that on the night freshmen are formally inducted into the college, they process through the Bowl and across The Seal before taking their seats. And then, four years later, they make the same procession in front of god and everybody to receive their diploma.

Like most colleges, there is an urban myth that if you step on The Seal as an undergrad, you won't graduate. But ours is clearly superior because of our matriculation/graduation tradition.

A lot of people didn't really care about such silly myths, but a good portion of the campus avoided stepping on The Seal. I, being a sucker for tradition, meticulously circumvented it even in my stumbliest trips back to the dorm. For four years, I didn't put a single toe on The Seal so that on graduation morning, I would be ready to feel its full glory.

Unfortunately, it came to be that around 3:00 a.m. on graduation morning the skies opened up and let loose torrents of water, and I awoke to lightening and an email saying graduation had moved to the rain location.

Which was a megachurch.*

There was a lot of 6:00 a.m. bitching with my roommate Tait and continued bitterness throughout the morning, particularly after it stopped raining and turned into basically the most perfect Bowl weather imaginable about an hour before commencement (too late to switch the location back).

There was only one tiny ray of light in the change: that I got to hear what remains one of my favorite quotes from college. As we were getting dressed and bitching and doing our hair and bitching, Tait finally just burst out, "I want to graduate where we peed!"

See, a couple weeks earlier, after passing comprehensive exams and therefore finishing essentially all the hard work required of a second-semester senior, Tait and I packed a backpack full of PBR and went out to the Bowl late one night to sit by The Seal, drink and reminisce. It was a great night. But you know what happens with beer, and eventually we needed to take care of some pressing needs. However, it being some obscure hour of the wee morn (wee, ha!), all the buildings were locked. So we did the classy thing and took turns going off behind a giant tree to the side of the Bowl. And then we laughed and drank some more.

And come graduation day, Tait's outburst pretty much perfectly, succinctly summed up why the Bowl represents so much of the Millsaps experience.

But we didn't graduate where we peed. We graduated in a megachurch.

And since I moved out and away the day of graduation, I never got to go back to visit the Bowl or to step on The Seal to make it official.
This is not me. This is Brian. Of course HE got to graduate in the Bowl.  Jerk.
All this is on my mind because I realized today that I went ALL the way back to Millsaps for Founder's Day weekend and FORGOT TO GO STEP ON THE SEAL. Y'all. I still have not stepped on that thing. At this rate I'm going to have to go stand on it in my wedding dress or something.

Which only makes me want to say, "I want to get married where we peed!"


* I don't mean to offend churches or religion here. Just megachurches, which are an eyesore and whose largeness makes it impossible to form true community and generally makes me itch. 

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

adventures with kittens: more to love?

Brian and I were reading Nat Geo the other day (okay, in the spirit of full disclosure, we were taking a quiz on cats on Nat Geo the other day) when we came across a picture of a Maine Coon. I've always had a sneaking suspicion lil Penny was at least part Maine Coon, a feeling that was bolstered by this quiz, so we decided to do a some digging. And we found some... big news.

source
That is a Maine Coon, y'all. And that is not a photoshopped picture (as far as I know).

Maine Coons apparently can grow to be ginormous cats. Here are some more of Penny's humongous brethren:
source
source
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I am seriously worried that we are going to end up with a cat the size of a greyhound. I mean, obviously she would still be the cutest cat in the entire universe, but she might get a bit cramped in our little apartment if she becomes as long as the width of the kitchen. Fingers crossed that she's not full bred and since she's a lady she'll stay a bit smaller. 

Some other, less distressing facts about Maine Coons that actually explain a lot of Penny's quirks – discovered on Wikipedia – include:
  • the first cat to ever win a cat show was a Maine Coon (duh, Penny is gorgeous)
  • Maine Coons are known to have above-average intelligence (duh, Penny is a genius)
  • since they are native to the cold Northeast, Maine Coons have several adaptations to survive in snow, including long tufts of fur coming out from between their toes (Penny has this)
  • Maine Coons love water (explains why Penny always tries to get in the shower with me)
  • the Guinness Book World Record for "longest cat" is held by a Maine Coon that was 48.5 inches from the tip of the nose to the tip of the tail
  • Maine Coons are also known for their weird vocalizations like chirping, chattering, yowling and "talking" (Penny does this)
  • a common feature of Maine Coons is to be polydactyl, or have more toes than normal (Penny doesn't suffer from this, she is perfect)
Maine Coons are also exceedingly fluffy, friendly and love to lie on their backs inviting people to rub their their mass of stomach fur. Like so:
source
Except Penny does it better.

So don't worry, Pen. You'll always be my lil girl, even when/if you are a giant freak of nature cat.

Friday, April 1, 2011

two against one

My city and my immune system have teamed up against me to ensure that instead of being out doing any of the 5893020343290 things I need to be doing to finish the several major projects I have due next week, I am in the apartment hiding out from the cold and wintry mix coming down, sneezing violently/ blowing my nose every five minutes and trying madly to get all the laundry and cleaning done before the future in-laws arrive.

Oh, and calling everyone I can think of to get interviews for said impending assignments. PLEASE JUST CALL ME BACK STATE REPRESENTATIVES I ONLY NEED TEN MINUTES.

So as I wait for the towels to finish washing, a Massachusetts Department of Transportation employee to call me back and the next bout of sneezing to attack me, I thought I’d blog.

I feel like everyone I know is on the verge of a mental breakdown, myself very much included. Mental and possibly sinus-al, in my case. The semester is five weeks from finished and I really thought for some reason that the work would start to dwindle down so we could concentrate on the longer and more important final projects. Not so. Instead there are all these smaller-but-still-important projects that keep me so busy I can't even begin to think about final stories. We're all running around like chickens with our heads cut off trying to slap together something, anything that resembles quality reporting and writing. But then Boston and Mother Nature decides April 1st would be a good day for some snow and my body decides this week is the perfect time for a raging sinus infection and I just want some SLEEP, y'all.

Plus, if that wasn’t enough, this is what my workspace looks like:

I’ll never get anything done.

P.s. Happy April Fools Day, y'all. This weather is a cruel prank, I'm pretty sure.

P.p.s. I hope Penny saved this post from dying in its own self pity.