Shaker Checarina emailed this photo along with the query: "D'you think these trash bags can protect us from a Romney/Ryan administration?"
HA HA I HOPE SO! Can they help protect us from GARBAGE NIGHTMARES as well as GARBAGE DISASTERS, or do we need some sort of extra-strength yard bag for that?
(Those look a lot like the special preservation receptacles in which I store Deeky's Garbage Treasures, btw.)
Lest there be any question about who really rules Shakes Manor, it is Olivia. Exhibit A:
Video Description: Zelda the Black-and-Tan Mutt eats breakfast out of her bowl. At the other bowl, Olivia the Cat is eating, while Dudley the Greyhound stands to one side, forlorn and helpless, looking at Iain and me plaintively. "Dudley, who's eatin' your food?" I ask him. He looks down at Olivia. "Is Olivia eatin' it?" I laugh. Zelda and Dudley look at us. "He's like, 'What the hell?'" I say. He towers over her, staring down at her eating away. "She rules them so hard," I say. "Look at 'em." Dudley stares, fecklessly. "Dudley," I say, and he looks at me. "Just tell her to get lost. Say: 'Don't eat my food!'" His ears twitch. "Say: 'Hey, kitty-cat! Don't eat my food!'" He looks back at her; hovers.
Iain says, "What worries me is I JUST FED HER." (We just had her at the vet; nothing's wrong with her. She's just a little piggy.) "Eh, she just likes their food better," I say, "especially now that we're feeding them the salmon." Iain corrects me: "It's turkey." I reply: "Oh, is it turkey?" Olivia starts to move away from the bowl, and I exclaim, "Oh, she's gone, Dudz! Hurry!" But she just swings around and starts eating it from the other direction. "Go get it!" I tell him. He flicks his ears, looks back at me as if to say, "Can't you SEE that she's STILL HERE?!"
Dudley turns back to the food and hangs his head pathetically. He leans toward Zelda and sniffs at her bowl. I laugh. "It's total confusion," Iain says. I say: "He's like, 'Zelda, can I have some of yours?'" Iain bursts out laughing. I laugh more. Olivia walks away from the bowl and into the kitchen. Dudley immediately sticks his head in the bowl and begins eating. "Oh, finally," I say. "Phew. He might've starved there."
"It's really funny that he did not bully her out of the way," Iain observes. "Nah," I say. "He's too sweet. He's a good boy." Dudley and Zelda eat their breakfast contentedly, side-by-side.
"We have really got to do something about this." "You do something." "No, YOU do it!"
And Exhibit B:
There used to be a beautiful white glass lamp there. Used to be. Then Olivia decided she wanted that space for herself. For a few weeks, we were chasing Livs off the table, and moving the lamp back into place, after she'd pushed it to the edge to make room for herself to sprawl. Eventually, the lamp ended up shattered on the floor. Now there is no lamp and a cat bed where the lamp used to be.
What—did you think James Franco wasn't going to undergo the "Abramovic Technique," in which performance artist Marina Abramovic covers his "naked body in gold leaves, transforming him into a living sculpture reminiscent of a deity" for the season opener of Iconoclasts? You're so weird.
That was always definitely going to happen, because the universe conspires to arrange itself in ways that give certain events the uncanny appearance of unavoidable destiny, and we are not meant to question these shimmering moments in the unfathomable experience that is human existence, but instead merely behold them with deserved awe as we breathe in the lessons of magnificent and terrible mortality with which they present us.
Because James fuckin' Franco, man.
(This episode will air tomorrow at 8pm ET on the Sundance Channel.)
Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez was re-elected Sunday to a new six-year term, overcoming an energetic challenge by a candidate backed by an opposition coalition.
Judy Garland's original costume from The Wizard of Oz could sell for half a million dollars when it hits the auction block next month.
Here is your topic: Top Five Favorite Love Stories. Go!
Note: "Love story" can mean romantic love, platonic love, familial love, the love between a mentor and protégé, the love between an animal and its human guardian, etc. True love stories, fictional love stories—whatever you want.
Please feel welcome to share stories about why your Top Five picks are what they are, though a straight-up list is fine, too. Please refrain from negatively auditing other people's lists, because judgment discourages participation.
So, since the debate last week, during which Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney lied his face off and "reinvented" himself by running away from virtually every position he'd been espousing for the last two years, I have seen a steady stream of headlines about how Romney positioned himself as "centrist," or a "moderate," or some variation thereof.
The middle of what road? Plutocrat Boulevard? At the intersection of Extremist Throughway?
This is a laughable narrative. Even Romney's so-called reinvention leaves him firmly right of center—a center that has been moved so far right already that a sitting Democratic president will no longer even mention reproductive rights in his convention speech or at the domestic policy debate; a center so far right that waging an extralegal war with drones is considered the reasonable foreign policy position; a center so far right that no one bats an eye when the right-of-center candidate asserts he doesn't believe people are entitled to food.
There is no functional leftwing in United States governance. That doesn't mean Mitt Romney is a centrist.
What—did you think James Franco wasn't going to take time off from doing every single other thing ever, all of them, ALL OF THE THINGS, to direct a short film (which is definitely a commercial, but fancier) for shoe designer Stuart Weitzman? You're so weird.
Actor James Franco has taken another twist in his unconventional career — directing a short film for shoe designer Stuart Weitzman.
Four vignettes, which will debut on the brand's Facebook page, follow model Petra Nemcova as she takes what the company describes as "a midnight fantasy stroll."
The inspiration came from the 1988 underground club-scene movie "Mondo New York," and Nemcova struts to an updated version of the Patsy Cline song, "Walking After Midnight."
The entire film won't be available until Oct. 26, but here is the first installment, because James Franco.
Video: Petra Nemcova, a tall, thin, white, young woman, walks down an urban sidewalk at night, wearing hot shoes. She walks into a gallery. She runs. Cuts of her feet, upper body, inside, outside, walking, running are spliced together. The end.
Genius. Give it all the CLIOs. Or at least let James Franco host the CLIOs with Anne Hathaway. That's the least we can do for James Franco AS A SOCIETY.
Surrounded by four of his five sons, Romney makes a surprise appearance at the Conservative Political Action Conference in Denver. [Melina Mara/The Washington Post]
This just totally sums up the Romney campaign for me—Mitt Romney with four doppelgangers standing around telling him how awesome he is. It's no wonder Mitt Romney thinks the whole world is exactly like him.
Today is Shakesville's eighth blogiversary. Eight years! In blog years, that's like A MILLION!
This morning, I read this interview with Mark Zuckerberg about Facebook having acquired a billion users, and he said something I found quite moving: "It feels like an honor. We get the honor of building things that a billion people use. I mean, there's no core need. It isn't a core human need to use Facebook. It's a core human need to stay connected with the people you care about. The need to open up and connect is such a deep part of what makes us human. Being in a position where we are the company—or one of the companies—that can play a role in delivering that service is just this … it's an honor."
I relate to that, on a comparatively miniscule scale. There are other places to get news, better places. There are other feminist blogs, other LGBTQI news blogs, other fat acceptance blogs, other places that cover elections. A lot of blogs have come and gone in the eight years I've been doing this now, and it's remarkable to me that I am still here, with so many people who have joined me along the way. I feel really happy, really grateful, that Shakesville, the blog and/or the community here, means something to so many people.
Meaning something is actually the hardest part of this thing for me, to be honest. Partly because it is hard to see Shakesville from a perspective other than my own; partly because I'm frightened that if I truly understood what this space means to people who love it, the pressure of it would crush me. At a dinner with a bunch of old friends last week, someone joked that they were the most hated person at the table, and someone else exclaimed, "No one is more hated than Melissa! There are like millions of people who hate her!" And everyone laughed, including me. It's easier to deal with being hated.
But not long ago, I got an email from a young woman who'd just graduated from college. She told me she'd been reading Shakesville every day since she'd found her way here at age 16, and thanked me for being an important part of her journey to adulthood. I can't even wrap my head around that, but I'm really trying. It's a part of sticking around that you don't envision, when you start out and hope to be around awhile.
I'm honored to mean something to you.
This is the hardest and best job I've ever done. I am a better person than I was when I started. I know more about myself, both the good things and the things that need changing. I've made great friends, the greatest, and had expansively generous teachers, from whom I've learned more in this space than I ever could have imagined. I am forever changed because of Shakesville, and the people who visit or come to stay.
Welcome to Shakesville, a progressive feminist blog about politics, culture, social justice, cute things, and all that is in between. Please note that the commenting policy and the Feminism 101 section, conveniently linked at the top of the page, are required reading before commenting.