Yesterday, Deeky and I were talking about what a wonderfully descriptive word "dolt" is. It's practically onomatopoeic, given what is certainly its proximate aural quality to that of a thudding brain. It's very underused. One of the best, I said. Deeky agreed it has a great feel to it.
But as splendid as "dolt" may be, it can't hold a candle to the Scots word "glaik."
Glaik (which rhymes with "lake," and is sometimes written as "glake") is just this perfect word that means someone who is not merely a dolt, but an awkward, klutzy, gormless douche as well. Like, when I absently run into the doorway as I'm walking through it, which happens fairly often as I'm a clumsy git, Mr. Shakes says, "What are ye like, ye fookin' glaik?"
Being extra glaiky will elicit the charge of being a glaikit. Like, when Matilda, who is the most unbelievably graceless cat in the history of the world, goes sprawling off the coffee table and kicks a glass of tea, sending it spraying everywhere, Mr. Shakes says, "Oy! Ye fookin' glaikit animal!"
It's difficult to describe the exact quality of glaik, which is what makes it such a perfect term. But there is a picture in existence which managed to capture the ultimate glaikit in a moment of unadulterated glaikery, a picture so masterful in its capacity to convey the spirit of glaik that even the glaikiest glaiks among us will be able to grok its meaning.
This, Shakers, is a glaik.
Glaik
ZOMG! Bush Hates Christmas!
During his end-of-year press conference this morning, President Bush joined with “secular progressives” in the right wing’s contrived War on Christmas, wishing reporters a “Happy Holidays.”OK, wait a minute. I'm still waiting for the popcorn to finish. Yea, just a few more seconds now. Done!
Popcorn? Check.
Comfy chair? Check.
Ottoman? Check.
Fireplace lit? Check.
Extreme glee while watching all of the self-righteous sanctimonious ass monkeys who think there's a war on teh Christmas and Christianity figure out a way to criticize their beloved putz of a leader?
Check.
Secretary of the Department of Hummers
Sometimes I really don't understand Obama at all. This is one of those times:
Barack Obama has often said he'd consider putting Repbulicans in his cabinet and even bandied about names like Sens. Dick Lugar and Chuck Hagel. He's a added a new name to the list of possible Republicans cabinet members - Arnold Schwarzenegger.First of all, the Republian Party hasn't done anything worth a sack of piss for at least a decade. They don't deserve to be included in a Democratic president's cabinet; they haven't earned it.
Secondly, Arnold Schwarzenegger? Jebus.
This is the dumbest shit Obama's said since "impeachment [should be reserved] for grave, grave breaches, and intentional breaches of the president's authority" as a reason for why he doesn't support impeaching Bush, the president whose use of signing statements alone is a grave, intentional breach of his authority—and is the mere tip of the massive, ship-of-state-wrecking iceberg that is this administration's profound contempt for the law.
It's like Obama and I don't live in the same country.
Question of the Day
We may have done this already, but if so, it's been a good long while. You've forgotten, haven't you? Of course you have.
What's the first thing you remember wanting to be when you grew up?
When I was about four years old, I wanted to be a train engineer. Man, did I want to drive trains. That would be so awesome. Then about a year later, I realized no one drove steam locomotives anymore. What's the point of being a train engineer if you don't get to drive a steam locomotive? Snort. Harrumph. By then, I had abandoned my dreams of shoveling coal and pulling the whistle (toot, toot!), and I had figured out what (or rather, who) I really wanted to be when I grew up:
Yes, Willy Wonka. And don't you dare laugh.
I've matured over the years, though. Now I know I want to be this guy:
...
...What?
Caption This Photo
"We'd better get two shitloads of fish for this."
"You're not kidding."
Santa Belugas : White Belugas, wearing Santa hats pose with a trainer during a new Christmas show at the Hakkeijima Sea Paradise aquarium in Yokohama, in Kanagawa prefecture. (AFP/Yoshikazu Tsuno)
Conservative "Humor"
Because I know you just can't get enough of this stuff.
Today's wacky right-wing email comes to you courtesy of The War on Christmas! Yes, the War on Christmas: Keeping Xenophobic Wingnuts Smug from Thanksgiving to The New Year!
An acquaintance passed this along to me. This was an email sent to the entire company from her boss. Keep that in mind. Oh, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the text was all in red and green, oversized, and in a font that probably half of the recipients actually have on their computers. I swear, spam email lovers that send this crap along to their entire address book suddenly realize they can change the color and size of text and just go apeshit.To All My Democrat Friends: (you know who you are)...
Inevitably, the email subject line was "Season's Greetings!" with a winking emoticon, because you're not supposed to take this seriously, of course! "Sorry, I just couldn't resist sending this!" chirps the sender at the end of the email, smugly believing that with this cutsey sendoff, only a humorless Democrat could possibly get offended by this harmless email! It was just so cute, I couldn't resist! Like twenty five baby pictures or "You know you're a soccer mom if" jokes that no one wants, it's irresistible!
Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2008, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere . Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.
To My Republican Friends:
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
And if you're thinking that maybe this email isn't appropriate for work, perhaps you should start considering just how much you like your job here, buster. You know who you are.
More Hobbit News
I've heard a rumor from my top secret contacts in the Shire that Sam Raimi may be directing the Peter Jackson-produced film version of The Hobbit. All I can is:
Malcolm Middleton wishes you a Merry Christmas
My wife told me something yesterday that I hadn't realized: there really is a traditional Christmas-time contest in the UK for the number-one music single, just like in Love Actually (but without Bill Nighy, sadly). Cor blimey!
M was amused to see that the current top contender is a bleaty little tune from wholly fictional, cloven-hoofed Shaun the Sheep of Aardman (that's Wallace and Gromit to you, Yank) fame. We'll have to wait and see if that entry can hold out against the slightly more dour offering from Malcolm Middleton - "We're All Going to Die":
Key lyric: "You're gonna die, you're gonna die, you're gonna die alone. All alone."
Er...cheers, mate!
(Cross-posted.)
Surgeon in Trouble for Snapping and Passing Pix of Patient's Genital Tattoo
And not just any surgeon—the chief resident of general surgery at the Mayo Clinic Arizona!
Mayo Clinic Hospital administrators said Dr. Adam Hansen, chief resident of general surgery, admitted taking the photo with his cell phone on Dec. 11. The tattoo on strip club owner Sean Dubowik's penis reads: "Hot Rod."How considerate. I believe that is, in fact, part of the Hippocratic Oath. "I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. But if I fail to respect my patients' privacy, I'll make sure to call them first before they read about it in the papers."
…"I got a strange call after my surgery from a doctor who said there was a problem. He said Hansen was on the phone and would explain," he said. Dubowik, 27, said Hansen told him he took the picture while inserting a catheter into his penis [during a gallbladder operation]. A member of the surgical staff made an anonymous call about the photo to The Arizona Republic on Monday.
"He told me he didn't want me to read about it in the newspaper first," Dubowik said.
Hansen has been placed on administrative leave while the clinic investigates his egregious breach of patient privacy. It sounds to me like they could do with an investigation into their own responsiveness to complaints about staff, given the whistleblower's decision to call the paper, either before informing administration or after informing them and being ignored.
I Am Nothing if Not a Fashion Guru
Looking like a huge douchehound with the worst case of blue balls evah is the hot new look for spring, Shakers. Pair it with Manolo's new blue suede open-toed slingbacks for men, and you'll be fighting off gay smurfs like nobody's business.
You heard it here first.
[H/T Petulant and Angelos, for shoes and Blue Man Douche, respectively.]
Gorilla Marketing
I was in Ft. Smith recently and saw something really odd. No, I'm not talking about the gallows or the 30 foot tall Budweiser can. It was all these boxes scattered about street corners downtown.
They implored me to "Google Ron Paul" and join the "Ron Paul REVOLUTION." Get it? That's love spelled backwards. I'm not an expert on Paul's platform, but I never got the idea love was a big part of his big message. (Taking money from white supremacists sort of belies that.) Unless it's "I'd love to destroy everything you hold dear."
It actually made me think of some loony bin preacher like Tony Alamo. But, whatever.
It just seemed a seriously goofy way to get his message out. Part of me secretly hoped the boxes were filled with Ron Paul Dollars, but I never bothered to get out of the car to check. I didn't bother to Google Ron Paul either.
Is that what millions of dollars in fundraising buys? Or is this supposed to be a "grass roots" thing? Who knows?
Duh of the Day
A study done by scientists with the American Cancer Society has found that cancer patients with health insurance do better than uninsured cancer patients.
Wow. What a shocker.
News from Shakes Manor [Redux]
This was originally posted April 26, 2007, but I'm reposting it in honor and by request of Shaker Abby and her Paraguayan husband, who is soon to get his green card. Also because I hear romance is in the air around here, and I endeavor to do whatever I can to encourage the thing called love.
Last night, Mr. Shakes opened the mail, and a part of our life ended.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.
Six years, one month, and eleven days ago, Mr. Shakes and I met online, in a forum not so very different from this one, all because of an Oscar Wilde quote an affinity for which we happened to share. In a matter of days—three, to be exact—Mr. Shakes fatefully asked, "Fancy a game of Fahrenheit 451? Which book would you memorize for posterity, and which would you throw onto the pyre?" I was, of course, hooked, and—quite easily, perhaps inevitably, and eventually inexorably—we fell for each other in a series of 1s and 0s.
We read books at the same time, like a private little nerdy book club, starting with Schopenhauer's The World as Will and Representation, so we'd always have something to discuss, though running out of things about which to speak was never a problem. Finding the time across days separated by a six-hour time difference was. Mr. Shakes would later tell me he'd walk the streets of Edinburgh in the six hours of day he had before I, music plugged firmly into each ear, composing his next email. I had gazed out the windows of my express bus down Lake Shore Drive, looking at Lake Michigan, and done the same in quiet rides home for the evening.
Naturally there were phone calls—long, expensive phone calls—and packages. The day I emailed to Mr. Shakes an Omar Khayyám quatrain, he told me to keep my eyes on my mailbox. The next day, a package arrived from Britain that Mr. Shakes had sent nearly a week before, containing The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, with one dog-earned page. On that page was the exact same quatrain I had emailed.
It was becoming fairly evident we were eager to spend some time together. And eventually, we met face to face at long last. Ten days we had, and then it was the gut-wrenching return home for me on a lonely airplane filled with people to a lonely airport bustling with travelers to a lonely city of millions. Back and forth we went for months, and then he flew across the pond for Christmas with a diamond ring he promptly lost somewhere in the Windy City, a token never to be recovered. I said yes all the same.
And so we filed paperwork.
It was still called the INS back then—Immigration and Naturalization Services, much friendlier than Department of Homeland Security, but equally as bureaucratic either way. Everything seemed to take ages; it was hard to know what was going on or when things might happen. We heard horror stories of applications being rejected for minor mistakes; we would alternatingly panic and pant with excitement when we spoke about how soon it might be that we'd be together, not for a week or 10 days, but forever…
In May 2002, we went to London, and Mr. Shakes got his fiancée visa. A month later, we were married in Illinois.
We're soon to celebrate our fifth anniversary; they've been pretty good years at Shakes Manor. Padding sock-footed across hardwood floors for cups of tea before settling in with books at opposite ends of the sofa is of what we dreamed, and it is what we have, every bit as good as we'd hoped. And it's easy not to take it for granted, when you're still filling out paperwork to ensure you aren't parted.
The last few months, we've been waiting to get word from the DHS on the latest round of paperwork—the package we submitted months ago to lift the conditions from Mr. Shakes' permanent residency. Every time, there's a fear—a fear about which we don't really talk, because its source is too hard to contemplate. It's a fear that any moment, we could be whisked to different parts of the globe, back to falling asleep in separate beds, composing emails instead of lazily drifting fingers over warm skin and looking into familiar eyes. This time, the fear was magnified—I was national news for political reasons; we could do nothing but hope our fate did not lay in the hands of a dues-paying member of the Catholic League or a Factor fan. The wait was excruciating.
But last night, Mr. Shakes opened the mail, and a part of our life ended. And another one began.
Out of a crisp white envelope from Lincoln, Nebraska tumbled his green card and a brochure exclaiming "Welcome to America!" We looked at each other for a moment in utter disbelief, and then we began to laugh wildly. The relief was almighty. I threw my arms around his neck, and it felt as good, and so much the same, as the first time, all those years ago, on a train platform at Kings Cross Station—because I was thinking, as I did then, "This is it."
This is it.
——————–
Mr. Shakes will now embark on the citizenship process. He's "tootally gooing to becoome a citizen in time to voote in 2008!" That's my guy.
Jamie Leigh Jones Congressional Testimony
Jamie Leigh Jones, the Halliburton/KBR employee who reported being gang-raped by her co-workers, only to then be held hostage by her employer, and has been denied anything even resembling justice ever since, testified before Congress this week about the incident. Here's video via Brave New Films, for which I've provided a transcript below. It is truly awful to listen to—and important to listen to as well, not only because it speaks to how profoundly fucked every bit of the Iraq operation is, but also because it provides a rare glimpse into how rape victims who report an assault are often treated, even by the people who are ostensibly meant to help them.
Transcript: And Brianna Morgan [ph], my mother. I went to support Operation Iraqi Freedom in the Green Zone in Baghdad, Iraq on July 25, 2005. Upon arrival at Camp Hope, I was assigned to an all-male barrack. I complained about the living conditions, but Halliburton did nothing to help. I was subject to repeated catcalls, and men who were partially dressed in their underwear, while I was working, walking, to the restroom on a separate floor from me. The EEOC reviewed Halliburton's comments, found them unbelievable, and credited my testimony about what happened. The committee has this finding as an exhibit.
On the fourth day in-country, I stepped outside my barracks to take a call. Afterwards, some co-workers called me over and invited me to join them for a drink. The men identified only as "Halliburton/KBR firefighters" told me that one of them made really good drinks, so I accepted the drink from them. He handed me the drink and said, "Don't worry—I saved all my rufies for Dubai" or words very similar to that. I thought he was joking and felt safe with my co-workers. I believed we were all on the same team. I took two sips from the drink and don't remember anything after that.
The next morning, I was extremely sore between my legs and in my chest. I was groggy and confused. I went to the restroom and realized I had bruises between my legs and on my wrist and was bleeding betw…and was bleeding between my legs. When I returned to my room, a man was laying in the bottom bunk of my bed. It wasn't the same man who gave me the drink. I asked him if he had had sex with me, and he said that he did. I asked if it had been protected, and he said no. I was still feeling the effects of the drug from the drink. I was now very upset at the confirmation of my rape. My heart sank that day.
I reported this incident to a KBR worker, who took me to the KBR clinic. The clinic called KBR security, who took me to the Army CASH. Dr. Dodi Schultz [ph] performed a rape kit analysis, including photographs and a form that indicated all the bruises. She also took swabs, vaginal combings, and scrapings from under my fingernails, as well as my panties and bra, and put the entire kit together in a small, white box. I watched her give this box to the KBR security personnel as I was again turned over to these men.
During the exam, Dr. Schultz confirmed that I had been penetrated both vaginally and anally, and that, quote, I was quite torn up down there. She indicated that, based upon the physical damages to my genitalia, that it was apparent that I had been raped. …Sorry.
The KBR security then took me to a trailer, and then locked me in a room with two armed guards outside my door. I was imprisoned in the trailer for approximately a day. One of the guards finally had mercy and let me use a phone. I called my dad, who contacted Congressman Ted Poe, who took actions to get me out of the country. I believe he saved my life.
I was later interviewed by Halliburton/KBR supervisors, and it was made clear to me that I had essentially two choices: 1. Stay and get over it; or 2. Go home with no guarantee of a job, either in Iraq or in Houston. Because of the severity of my injuries, I elected to go home, despite the obvious threat of being fired. Once I returned home, I sought medical attention, both psychiatric and physical. I was originally sent to a psychiatrist of Halliburton's choosing; the first question asked was, "Are you going to sue Halliburton?" So my mother and I walked out.
Sometime around May 2007, a State Department agent called and said that she was not aware of a rape kit or any pictures of my injuries. I insisted that the rape kit existed and forwarded a copy of KBR's own EEOC response to prove that the Army doctor handed it over to KBR employee at the hospital the night of the rape. It was a few days later that I received a call from the agent stating she had found the rape kit, but the pictures were missing and so were the doctor's notes [skip in tape] top of the rape kit.
I have had reconstructive surgery on my breasts and pectoral muscles do to the disfigurement caused by the brutal attack. I am still waiting for a follow-up surgery, because I am still not back to normal. I have to sleep with a sports bra because of the pain. I still continue to go to counseling three times per week.
It seems that nothing happens in my criminal case unless there is media attention. Right after I was interviewed with 20/20, I was flown to Florida to meet with the Assistant United States Attorney. I asked the AUSA, "Where should I refer victims who contact me through the Jamie Leigh Foundation?" and she responded, quote, "Don't refer them to my office, but you may want to refer them to the Office of Victims of Crime."
This problem goes way beyond just me. Through the Jamie Leigh Foundation, numerous other women have contacted me, who were assaulted and raped and were then retaliated against for reporting those attacks. There are at least eleven others that my attorneys are aware of, not including those filed by [skip in tape] and those who have come to me through my foundation. As indicated by the sworn affidavit, an HR representative from Halliburton, it is clear that sexual harassment was an overwhelming problem in Iraq, and this was known to Halliburton and KBR, but they hide it from unsuspecting victims like myself.
There has been no prosecution after two and a half years. My attorney, Stephanie Morris [ph], wrote a letter to the ombudsman of the Office of Victims of Crime. Also enclosed with the letter: "Hopefully the next victim will not have to wait so long."
The arbitration laws are so abusive that Halliburton is trying to force this into a secret proceeding, which will do nothing to prevent continued abuse of the [?]. What is there to stop these companies from victimizing women in the future? The United States government has to provide people with their day in court when they have been raped and assaulted by other American citizens. Otherwise, we are not only deprived of our justice in the criminal courts, but in the civil courts as well. [?] the laws have left us nowhere to turn.
Thank you, Chairman, and members of the committee, for inviting me to be here today.
Tancredo Out
Well, dang; Tom Tancredo, the one-note ("I hate immigrants!") GOP candidate, is dropping out of the race.
The five-term Colorado congressman planned to make the announcement at a news conference in Des Moines, Iowa, on Thursday, the person said, speaking on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to speak for Tancredo or his campaign.He was always fun to watch; kind of like the whacky neighbor on a sitcom who's always good for comic relief when the plot bogs down. I guess that means that Alan Keyes gets to have the lunatic fringe all to himself.
Tancredo's campaign would only say he planned a "major announcement" Thursday.
Tancredo has consistently polled at the back of the nine-person GOP field. He has based his campaign on opposition to illegal immigration, a top issue in many areas of the country. He has run television ads that link lax border security to terrorist attacks, rape and other crimes.
It's not like he ever had a chance, but losing Mr. Tancredo throws off the balance in the GOP field; he is so outrageous in his fear-mongering and racism that he made the rest of the field look moderate by comparison.
Cross-posted from Bark Bark Woof Woof.
Important Announcement
We now return to you to your regularly scheduled wev.
Question of the Day
What's the best horror movie ever made?
Feel free to construe the genre in the broadest way possible, to include everything from slasher films to psychological terror flicks.
I'm gonna go with The Silence of the Lambs. That has a pretty admirable capacity to terrify.
