Name changing

"When I think of my name, I don't think of the lineage of men who've come before me down my father's side. My birthname is my name, regardless of where it came from. Were I to get married, the weight of taking on another man's name wouldn't be alleviated by the idea that mine was never really mine to begin with. The idea of transitional identity actively stands in opposition to the idea of women as whole, rounded creatures who exist in their own separate right."

-- Clementine Ford

Current favorite songs

So catchy I can't stop listening to it:

Danny'll hate me for this one:







So poignant:







The band's name is highly accurate:







I hated it because it was so depressing, but ended up loving it, anyway:







I always love me a good revenge song:







A good one to listen to at work if you're interested in desiring to throw expensive office equipment through skyscraper windows:







Fucking hilarious lyrics:







I love Andy Partridge's voice:





Within the next several hours, expect an impassioned and urgent-sounding post about #OccupyWallStreet.  
Leave your current and/or all-time favorite songs in the comments!

At what point is it acceptable to un-friend a person for embodying everything you hate about everything?

Because, really, it's getting a bit too much. I hesitate to unfriend people who I actually know in person, because I just feel guilty about everything for no real good reason. But my brief rekindling of "friendship" with this guy over the past couple months has proven to be nothing but a virtual -- and sometimes literal -- headache. Some recent examples:

Linking to this article from The Blaze, of all places: "obama ur a loser. get out of the OO"

Then, in response to this clip:

he wrote: "I kinda agree with him. sorry but thats just like car insurance. u dont get in an accident for 20 yrs so u dont bother with insurance but then the minute u have an accident u call up an insurance company to get it b/c u got in a wreck. sorry not how it works."

I have a lot of Facebook friends who are capitalists, Republicans, extremely religious people, and others with whom I vehemently disagree on a number of issues, but no one infuriates me quite like this guy, and I think I've figured it out: he's not only ignorant, but enthusiastically so.  And enthusiastically ignorant people make me madder than anything, because they fall for it.  All of it.  This kid watches Sean Hannity because he agrees with him and reads THE FUCKING BLAZE without irony.  What makes this even more irritating on a place like Facebook is that, because I have generally smart friends, others will intelligently and -- god only knows how they manage -- patiently respond to his punctuation-less, clueless text-speak with facts and figures and reasoned arguments, and he doesn't bother responding in kind.  Obviously, this is because he doesn't know how, because he's an intentionally ignorant fucking dumbass, but the point remains: I loathe and detest his presence on my Facebook news feed, and the things that come out of his mouth/keyboard/brain make me want to cry for humanity.

He's also the guy who, many years ago when we met through the local music scene, passionately defended his never-ending love for Creed.

I rest my case.

Rules, and breaking them

Many people who know me would agree that one of my favorite things to do is complain about people who don't follow rules in the way I deem appropriate, and I had the pleasure of encountering so many of these transgressors over the past few days.  A summary of some recent (and not-so-recent, but still memorable) events:

• Jesse and I were driving into South Minneapolis to visit some friends around 10:30 Saturday night.  There weren't many cars on the road, which appeared to make people think they could just use the street as a substitute sidewalk.  Just ahead of us walked two women, directly down the middle of the street, with no apparent intention of making it to the sidewalk a mere couple feet away.  I panicked, pointing them out to Jesse, who was driving, in case he didn't see them.  He slowed down, aimed the car directly at them, and came to a near stop.  They yelled, "bitch!"
• This afternoon, I decided to go to Target on my lunch break.  I was walking up 2nd Ave downtown, and was waiting at a light with several other pedestrians.  The light was green, but the Don't Walk signal was also on.  All but one of us obeyed the traffic signal and waited our turn.  One man, however, believed himself to be above such arbitrary laws, and began crossing.  When the car that was about to turn right into him inevitably honked, the man -- dressed professionally in a suit, loafers, and well-styled grey hair -- turned around, pounded his palms on the hood, and ran up to the driver's side window, where he proceeded to keep pounding on the car for a few seconds, until he must have realized that he looked like a complete bafoon who was clearly in the wrong, and sulked off.
• A year or so ago, I used to ride my bike to work fairly frequently.  I took Nicollet Mall for much of the downtown ride, because it's an easy place to bike.  No cars are allowed, save for taxis, busses, and emergency vehicles, so it is a relatively stress-free way to get around via bike.  The pedestrians, though, believe that Nicollet Mall is set up in this way so that they may neglect any and all traffic laws and common courtesy practices and wander back and forth across the road without a care in the world.  One day, I had had enough.  A woman sauntered across the street in the middle of the block, directly in my path.  I could have done like I usually did, which was huff as I swerved around the oblivious doofus, but this time, I had had enough.  I saw as she looked up and saw me racing toward her, and then looked away as if me speeding into her wasn't a concern at all.  I stared hard at her and rode directly at her, until coming just before her, where I screeched to a halt.  She looked up, surprised, and stopped, as if to let me pass.  Oh, no.  I wasn't going to go.  I was going to let her entitled, oblivious dumb ass finish crossing the street, since she felt she should be able to do so at any point and under any circumstances.  I continued my Death Glare until she continued crossing.  I hope she doesn't do that anymore.  Unfortunately, there are about 2,000,001 more pedestrians who need that same lesson, and my brake pads aren't terribly strong.
• Another bike story, from Jesse: riding though the shadier parts of North Minneapolis is a challenge, to say the least.  If you're a female, you'd best be flanked by dudes if you don't want to be threatened with disgusting sex acts every other block, and even then, you're not necessarily safe.  You see, people in that part of Minneapolis don't understand that bikes belong on the road, and that pedestrians belong on the sidewalk, and they react in a very confrontational manner when you do these things, or object in any way to them not doing those things.  Jesse, for example, after a driver nearly ran him and his bike over, was confronted by a little girl in the seat next to her mother, who was driving.  "Bitch!" she yelled.    I'm not stranger to this type of behavior, either -- as I left the neighborhood on my way to work one morning, a car intentionally swerved just to cut me off in the process of turning.  My heart raced for the next mile.  

Get a clue, people!

Cold

Unintentionally incredulous

Sometime late in high school, a coworker at ProEx told me a few months after we started working together that she always thought I was really stuck up-- but that she didn't anymore!  She just had to get to know me!  I thought that was very strange, and laughed, not really thinking too much of it.  I was always pretty shy when first meeting people, but after getting to know anyone a little, I opened up pretty much right away and became a friendly chatterbox.  

Then, over the next several years, many, many more people started telling me the same thing.  I really couldn't figure it out.  I still can't, really, although there are a few things I've started to pick up on that might be part of the reason why I give off this impression to people, like facial expressions that I don't realize I'm making.  My "neutral" face is apparently very stern- and disapproving-looking.  Not my fault!  It's not intentional, I swear!  Who walks around smiling to themselves all the time, anyway?

Places I've wanted to live

My favorite place to live, when it all comes down to it, is Minneapolis.  But.

I change my mind often about where I want to escape someday.  When I was 10 or 12 or so, for some reason I got it in my head that not only would I live in New York City someday when I was older (I wanted to be an actress then), but we could probably make it happen now.  I brought my plan to my mom, who kindly explained, laughing a little, that that just was not going to happen.  I bawled.  She called my uncle, her brother, who escaped to Manhattan years prior, and told him about my little sobfest.

Then I got over it and wanted to move to Arizona.  I became obsessed with Arizona.

My love for Arizona was a mixture of a natural inclination toward heat and a sheer hatred for Minnesota winters.  I always thought the desert was beautiful after a few road trips through the West as a kid, and I really loved Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, who constantly sing about Arizona.  I know it sounds silly, but the idea of Arizona was always so romantic-sounding to me as a kid.  I still think so in a lot of ways, even if Arizona itself is forever tainted in my mind from their recent politics.  There's always New Mexico.

In high school, it was the South.  I was on a family trip to North Carolina and Alabama, where we went to visit my friend and our cousins, respectively, and I thought I had found myself in the most beautiful place on earth.  It was pretty down there... they had red dirt... people talked with classy drawls.

Basically, I fall in love with the last place I just came back from, not including places I went to regularly as a kid (Minnesota, Missouri, or Michigan, including all of the states between all of them).  I also get ideas about where else I want to live from TV shows.  I want to live in Miami every time we watch Dexter, of course, and sometimes even considered that maybe LA wasn't so bad after all when we went on Six Feet Under binges.  

Now we've been having Ally McBeal marathons, so I obviously want to live in Boston.

I don't really know anything about Boston.  I've also, when not busy obsessing over Arizona, had a little fascinationg with the East coast.  I didn't care so much about the West coast, but the fishing culture and all the docks and everything else that happens out on the eastern seaboard was always very intiguing.  There was just something so charming-sounding about a seaside community in the Northeast. Oh yeah, Cape Cod was another one.  When I left Madison after going to the rally this past March, I even wanted to move there, temporarily forgetting that college towns aren't any fun unless you go to the college, in that town.

Ten or so years ago, I just decided that, instead of moving somewhere else, I actually really loved Minneapolis, where I lived.  I loved it more as I became more integrated in the city where I grew up-- when I finally not only lived there, but also worked there, and used public transportation there.  I still love it, and I miss it, being out here in the 'burbs for the time being.  But I want to go somewhere.  I'm 28 and feeling like I haven't done a damn thing so far.  And that's because it's true.  I just want to get out of here for a while!  Someplace totally different.  I'm tired of the whacky seasons and the same accents and the familiar political representatives and license plates.  I want a driver's license from a new state!  Just for fun!  Maybe before I turn 40, I can try and get a passport, while I'm at it!  Jesus, why don't I have a passport?  I wanted to travel so much as a kid and teenager, and always planned to far more often than I have.  I never manage to get around to it.  

In other news, I'm listening to a newish song called Pumped Up Kicks, by Fostering the People.  Pretty catchy song.

*click on the photos above for credit information.

When I Was a Boy

Awesome photo

My mom took this.  The girl in the green coat is my niece, Adara.  The girl behind her is Kennedy, her "sister" (also known as the neighbor's daughter, or BFF).

Wow, I love this picture so much... especially the abandoned umbrella.

I hate salespeople.

Especially when they pretend to be "Quit Coaches" from Blue Cross Blue Shield's Stop Smoking "support" line.

This BCBS stop smoking "support" thing is feeling more and more like another way for Big Pharma to find new ways to shill their products to more people as sneakily and indiscriminately as possible.  One of the first things my "quit coach," Jeff, told me was that he was going to get some basic information about my smoking history and habits before we decided what medication I could use.  Like it was a given that I would choose medication.  And the speed in which he was ready for my Visa number when I mentioned an interest in nicotine gum!  "That'll be $59.99."  I told him I had to think about it first.  Then the call I got at work at 3:59 this afternoon from Diane from BCBS, asking me for that credit card number again.  REALLY?  FUCKING REALLY?  I think I will quit on my own from now on.  Fuck this pretend bullshit.  More sales, disguised as something else.  This is the kind of thing that makes me loathe salespeople.  This is the kind of thing that makes me want to throw my purchases across the store when I am repeatedly asked to sign up for a store credit card, where the minimum-wage cashiers are forced to ask the most ridiculous kinds of bullshit lead-in questions designed to lure people in, like, "would you like to save 15% today?" instead of something true, like "would you like to apply for this credit card?"  This is the shit that makes me fucking hate the shit out of everything about this goddamn system we live in.  Fuck your pretending to give a shit about whether or not I quit smoking.  Your job is to sell me your employer's fucking product, while building rapport with me, the customer.  I get it.  I've done it.  I hate you.  Fuckers.

Another Night / The Real McCoy

I used to tape this song from the radio every time it came on from this giant, silver-colored dual tape deck/stereo/record player I had in my bedroom.  I loved it so much.

A few of my favorite pictures from the McLaughlin family reunion in Michigan.

Uncle Bob, Uncle John, Uncle Frank, Aunt Pat, Uncle Ben, Abby, Joey
Aunt Nee Nee, Mom, Adara, Aunt Leslie
Ashlee, me, Jesse, Aunt Sue (mom's siblings, their kids and spouses)

My cousin Jordan, Jesse, and me
on the dock at the cottage
on Harsen's Island, MI

Me, Jesse, Mom, Ashlee, and Adara

Ray, Jesse, and me enjoying the pool

Jesse and me

Clockwise from left: Ray, Mick, Kat, and Christine

Me, Uncle Ben, and Aunt Leslie

My cousin Abby, me, and my niece Adara

Amarillo By Morning

Country Nostalgia

Hello.

This will probably be random thoughts and memories, maybe some observations and pictures.  Nothing too serious, nothing too terribly vain.


I write knowing people can read it, but expecting them not to bother.