i got a recipe for a non-toxic bathtub cleanser from treehugger.com. it works so well! my kitchen sink is shiny, the bathtub is utterly clean, countertops... anything you might use Fantastik for. it rinses beautifully, it's slightly scrubby, and it smells lovely.
2 parts baking soda
1 part castile liquid soap
put baking soda in a bowl. add soap slowly. stir. you can keep it in an airtight jar or plastic container for a year.
no more Dow chemicals! hooray!
There's a new process that creates a fuel that comes from stuff we now throw out that can be used in a car with an internal combustion engine and existing fuel supply infrastructure. The process emits no carbon at all. We already have enough biomass on hand to supply all our fuel needs, if we use this process. Everything. Cars, trucks, trains and planes could get enough fuel from biomass we already have. It's call H2Car, and it was created at Purdue University. Researchers there are applying for a patent. If this isn't big news soon, i'm going to create some conspiracy theories.
Anyway, here's a tangent: Let's say that this process gets widely used. And then let's say that lots of open space is preserved for parks, farms, wildlife, pasture, etc. Will there be any arguments left against suburban living? If someone wants to spend hours stuck in traffic each day, who cares as long as he's not polluting or making us do business with Saudi Arabia? And if someone wants to live in a big house on a cul de sac with a Wal Mart close enough to walk to but no way to walk there, who care since open space is preserved? All we're left with are opinions - - your mall is nasty, your yard is selfish, your children are dysfunctional, blah blah blah ...
I can't believe this crap. A few students in Westchester wanted to perform a skit from The Vagina Monoglogues for their school open mic. They were told the couldn't say "vagina" because there would be children in the audience.
I came across an editorial that sums it up well: "women and girls exist in a sexually explicit and often violent world, the same world where a word unique to their sex can barely be uttered."
We just watched This Film is Not Yet Rated. It shows how motion picture raters have outlawed any depiction of women having fun in bed. Meanwhile, violence against women is allowed in movies from G on up. The raters wanted to give But I'm a Cheerleader an NC17 because of a scene with a girl masturbating; American Pie was no problem. They wanted to give Boys Don't Cry an NC17 because Brandon Teena wipes his mouth after going down on a woman; meanwhile, every other R rated movie has a woman going down on a man. Most of what the raters object to is simply a camera on an actress' face when she's having sex. Why can't we see that? It's such a nice thing. Wait, i know. Because it would make it harder to watch all the rape, torture and humiliation of women we see in the rest of the movies. Years of this crap coming out of Hollywood has apparently worked on at least one school principal in Westchester.
The MPAA can bite my vagina.
listen to Maria Bamford discuss communal living and try to define "eco pets" (cats that eat their own poo?), and this, where Maria does a calm breathy LA woman just perfectly:
Maria: You know, I make a pretty good living, I could take a year off and help people somewhere.
LA Friend: Maria, you already do so much. You make people laugh – that’s the greatest gift in the world.
Maria: But I only do that maybe an hour a night. In the off time I could sponge bathe the dying or just hose things off a little bit in general.
LA: Why don’t you just buy a pair of fair trade shoes made of recycled materials and do your part?
Maria: I already have 80 pairs of shoes! Don’t you think conscious neglect is the equivalent of perpetration?
LA: Ok, it sounds like somebody needs to take a bubble bath.
Living in New York City has it's moments of affirming just why one loves it here amoungst the filth and the starlite. The other night I found myself in the company of some performative hipsters. After all the singing and dancing, there was carrying on at an afterparty.
I love an afterparty, in fact I think I live for it.
While bathing in the afterglow of entertainers with some really nice and really expensive drinks,I took in the moment. I particularly liked the fact that my cognac was served in a rather thick, heavy, square shaped glass, and I had asked for cognac on the rocks, causing my hipster friends shriek and recoil in horror, but I don't care, I liked the way it's cold and the square glass made me feel like I was drinking out of a giant, hollowed out ice cube. I was too busy being delicous.
But I digress..
While previously on stage during the performace, one luminary had remarked that his pants were yellow, to which the host of the evening's entertainment replied that the color was now referred to as camel. Now, at the afterparty, my hipster enclave brought up the pants again-I guess everyone loves talking about pants as much as I do.
Soon, it became like playing the game telephone, except it was like playing telephone with Madonna, and you are both drunk. Out of a cloud of smoke appeared Kiki, love her, to call Mr. Yellow Pant out:
"Darling, you have a camel toe!"
His response was an embrace: "A camel toe, I wish!"
It was camel toe envy.
