Please take a moment to visit the Innocence Project. The Innocence Project is a non-profit legal and criminal justice resource center, whose mission is to exonerate wrongfully convicted prisoners through DNA evidence. Since the organization was founded in 1992, 193 innocent inmates have been released from prison. Too many of these clients were on death row, awaiting execution, before they were exonerated through biological evidence.
Our criminal justice system has failed us, over and over again. Innocent men and women are incarcerated all over this country and the world, serving out long sentences for someone else's crime, and in the worst cases, dying for the violence exacted by another. With the disproportionate number of minorities in our prison system and on death row, it is crucial that we begin to look at own-race bias in the wrongful conviction of inmates, as well as advocate for the abolition of capital punishment, particularly in cases where DNA evidence is unavailable.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
...more like creepy incest convention...
Purity Balls!
I really don't know how to feel about this. I read an article yesterday about the trend of young girls pledging their sexual purity to their fathers. While I'm all for father-daughter bonding, and even more for the open discussion of sexuality within the family, I can't help but shake the feeling that this concept is just...well...icky.
Feministing.com offers some further insight into this "rite of passage," a practice upheld by Jessica Simpson and her father, Joe Simpson.
I mean, what 14-year old girl can look her father in the eye and lovingly pledge to not spread her legs before her wedding night? What father feels normal about giving his daughter a diamond ring as a symbolic representation of this pact, when the ring-giving tradition has for centuries been practiced by people who love each other in the biblical sense?
Also, what about all the girls who want to pledge their purity but don't have fathers? Do you have your uncle stand in? Is there an older brother who will vow to protect his sister's chastity? It's a little Flowers in the Attic if you ask me, but hey, associating sex with one of my male relatives is enough to make me want to push the notion of sex far, far into the future.
These girls' future husbands are in for a lifetime of sexual repression.
I really don't know how to feel about this. I read an article yesterday about the trend of young girls pledging their sexual purity to their fathers. While I'm all for father-daughter bonding, and even more for the open discussion of sexuality within the family, I can't help but shake the feeling that this concept is just...well...icky.
Feministing.com offers some further insight into this "rite of passage," a practice upheld by Jessica Simpson and her father, Joe Simpson.
I mean, what 14-year old girl can look her father in the eye and lovingly pledge to not spread her legs before her wedding night? What father feels normal about giving his daughter a diamond ring as a symbolic representation of this pact, when the ring-giving tradition has for centuries been practiced by people who love each other in the biblical sense?
Also, what about all the girls who want to pledge their purity but don't have fathers? Do you have your uncle stand in? Is there an older brother who will vow to protect his sister's chastity? It's a little Flowers in the Attic if you ask me, but hey, associating sex with one of my male relatives is enough to make me want to push the notion of sex far, far into the future.
These girls' future husbands are in for a lifetime of sexual repression.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Ew.
You know how you have to register lethal weapons? Handguns, rifles, Arnold Schwartzenegger's biceps? I think it's time to register my cat's ass.
Never have I smelled a more foul odor than that which emanates from my smaller cat's rear end. We've spoken to the vet about it, who drains her anal glands and gives her a Witch Hazel ass-douche. We also veer away from any wet cat food that lists "meat by-products" as the first ingredient, and generally try to keep her on an exclusively poultry diet.
Yet, try as we might, the smell is pervasive and nauseating. For those who don't know us, we have a unique apartment in that the hallway from our front door leading to the main apartment is roughly a half mile long. OK, perhaps not a half mile. But at 5'6 3/4", you could probably lay between 7 and 10 of me head to toe from one end of the narrow hallway to the other.
We keep both litter boxes (I feel bad making Sophie shit in the same box as her younger sister) at the end of this septic hallway to keep the smell at bay and to ward of evil spirits...and pretty much all other visitors. And for any of you who have seen the movie Seven - think "air freshener scene." We've got an extensive collection of sprays, fresheners and candles at the end of the hallway in a weak attempt at masking the smell.
Of course, I exaggerate. The smell is quite literally as bad as I make it out to be, but the frequency is embellished. I write this after an exceptionally offensive explosion from the little one's shitter, and I can tell you that I am suffering. You know how in high school you'd stuff some dryer sheets into an empty toilet paper roll and blow pot smoke into it to cover the smell? Do you think it's conceivable that within the next few years, one of these little stoners, in a blaze of creative inspiration, will fashion a similar device for the feline anus? It doesn't even have to be a stoner, although having the prototype right there might help. All I'm saying is that someone with more ingenuity than I have should really get on top of this.
Never have I smelled a more foul odor than that which emanates from my smaller cat's rear end. We've spoken to the vet about it, who drains her anal glands and gives her a Witch Hazel ass-douche. We also veer away from any wet cat food that lists "meat by-products" as the first ingredient, and generally try to keep her on an exclusively poultry diet.
Yet, try as we might, the smell is pervasive and nauseating. For those who don't know us, we have a unique apartment in that the hallway from our front door leading to the main apartment is roughly a half mile long. OK, perhaps not a half mile. But at 5'6 3/4", you could probably lay between 7 and 10 of me head to toe from one end of the narrow hallway to the other.
We keep both litter boxes (I feel bad making Sophie shit in the same box as her younger sister) at the end of this septic hallway to keep the smell at bay and to ward of evil spirits...and pretty much all other visitors. And for any of you who have seen the movie Seven - think "air freshener scene." We've got an extensive collection of sprays, fresheners and candles at the end of the hallway in a weak attempt at masking the smell.
Of course, I exaggerate. The smell is quite literally as bad as I make it out to be, but the frequency is embellished. I write this after an exceptionally offensive explosion from the little one's shitter, and I can tell you that I am suffering. You know how in high school you'd stuff some dryer sheets into an empty toilet paper roll and blow pot smoke into it to cover the smell? Do you think it's conceivable that within the next few years, one of these little stoners, in a blaze of creative inspiration, will fashion a similar device for the feline anus? It doesn't even have to be a stoner, although having the prototype right there might help. All I'm saying is that someone with more ingenuity than I have should really get on top of this.
iPod update
Curly-haired Lauren has just brought it to my attention that the new generation video iPod does not, I repeat does not, have a flash drive. Thus, I will likely be pussy-footing (thank you Teddy Roosevelt) around for the next six months (until my pod inevitably bites the dust) so as not to disturb the precious, tender and fragile Almighty Hard Drive.
I'm being very tongue-in-cheek, but I do appreciate Lauren's advice, and her comment.
And by the way, I bring up Teddy Roosevelt because he's the person who coined the term "pussy-foot." I know this because I am a loser, and have the best loser job since the person who researched and developed the Star Trek Scene It interactive trivia game. I wrote the following clip for my research and trivia job:
I'm being very tongue-in-cheek, but I do appreciate Lauren's advice, and her comment.
And by the way, I bring up Teddy Roosevelt because he's the person who coined the term "pussy-foot." I know this because I am a loser, and have the best loser job since the person who researched and developed the Star Trek Scene It interactive trivia game. I wrote the following clip for my research and trivia job:
Teddy Roosevelt seems to have either coined or popularized "pussyfoot" in about 1905. Meaning crafty, cunning or moving in a cautious manner, it refers to the way cats can walk stealthily by drawing in their claws and walking on the pads of their feet.
Yeah, you're welcome.
Why iPod makes me hate myself
I just purchased my 4th - FOURTH - iPod, and I'm having some guilt and capitalism issues right now. About three years ago, my parents bought me the 40 gig iPod for Christmas, which at the time set them back $400. When that iPod passed away after six months, I thought I'd give the Mini a shot. Six months later, same deal. Like the sucker I was, and apparently continue to be, I bought another Mini because, hey, I was working and I could afford it. It is this Mini that I have in my possession right now. It's problems include: 20 minute battery life (on a good day), random pausing and freezing, and instantaneous battery drainage if I try to skip past more than three songs at a time. But, on the bright side, this one has lasted, with all it's faults and frustrations, for a year. Way to go Apple! What a quality product!
Now, normally I will fight an Apple lover to the death. (What can I say, I have a soft spot for Bill Gates.) But, because I don't have the time or patience to figure out a Sandisk or a Zen, I decided to purchase yet another iPod. And this time since I can't afford it at all, but have gotten used to the very American impulse to whip out the plastic, I bought a Generation 5.5 Video iPod in black, because I was informed by an Apple lover (why do I continue to trust these people?) that the new iPod has a flash drive instead of a hard drive, and thus will last longer despite my innate wrecklessness. Plus, it's pretty sexy.
So, in sum, I kind of hate myself right now. First, because I just bought something I can't afford. Second, I supported a company that I hate, and which has screwed my affairs very badly in the past (in addition to the 4 iPods, there has also been a crapbag iBook). And third, because I just can't learn a damn lesson.
However, I do feel that I deserve to buy myself a gift. Being grad school poor, I've been wearing the same two pairs of jeans that I've had since my junior year of college, and barely go shopping for anything besides food and textbooks anymore. Plus, my mom just told me that I've got a decent sum of money heading my way, because during the 6 months that I lived at home and paid rent to my parents, my mom was secretly investing the money for an occassion of dire straits, much like this one. And third, if I must live a life of excessive transportation in a city where I'm lucky to hear my own thoughts, I also deserve to be able to escape into my own brain with some Damien Jurado or a nice NPR podcast. Right? Right.
I welcome any comments on my inner struggle over my awesome new toy.
Now, normally I will fight an Apple lover to the death. (What can I say, I have a soft spot for Bill Gates.) But, because I don't have the time or patience to figure out a Sandisk or a Zen, I decided to purchase yet another iPod. And this time since I can't afford it at all, but have gotten used to the very American impulse to whip out the plastic, I bought a Generation 5.5 Video iPod in black, because I was informed by an Apple lover (why do I continue to trust these people?) that the new iPod has a flash drive instead of a hard drive, and thus will last longer despite my innate wrecklessness. Plus, it's pretty sexy.
So, in sum, I kind of hate myself right now. First, because I just bought something I can't afford. Second, I supported a company that I hate, and which has screwed my affairs very badly in the past (in addition to the 4 iPods, there has also been a crapbag iBook). And third, because I just can't learn a damn lesson.
However, I do feel that I deserve to buy myself a gift. Being grad school poor, I've been wearing the same two pairs of jeans that I've had since my junior year of college, and barely go shopping for anything besides food and textbooks anymore. Plus, my mom just told me that I've got a decent sum of money heading my way, because during the 6 months that I lived at home and paid rent to my parents, my mom was secretly investing the money for an occassion of dire straits, much like this one. And third, if I must live a life of excessive transportation in a city where I'm lucky to hear my own thoughts, I also deserve to be able to escape into my own brain with some Damien Jurado or a nice NPR podcast. Right? Right.
I welcome any comments on my inner struggle over my awesome new toy.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Boston!
Well, ladies and gents, I'm making my first-ever appearance in Boston this weekend to visit the beautiful and gracious Lizzie in her newest home. I don't know what the next 72 hours will hold, but I can guarantee two things: 1) I will be drunk and; 2) It will be fun.
Thank you, Ronald Reagan, for giving the American people two very important gifts:
Martin Luther King Jr. Day as a federal holiday (And thanks to the big dreamer, Dr. King himself!)
A new synonym for taking a shit. As in "I'm going to go drop a Reagan."
Here's to an always interesting Greyhound bus ride...
Thank you, Ronald Reagan, for giving the American people two very important gifts:
Martin Luther King Jr. Day as a federal holiday (And thanks to the big dreamer, Dr. King himself!)
A new synonym for taking a shit. As in "I'm going to go drop a Reagan."
Here's to an always interesting Greyhound bus ride...
Monday, January 08, 2007
R.E.M. Inducted into Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
Not that this is a surprise, but my uber-talented boyfriend and his band have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the ceremony for which will take place on March 12 in NYC. R.E.M. has been inducted for 2007 along with Van Halen (not Van Hagar), Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, Patti Smith, and the Ronettes.And here's a picture of my boyfriend, in all his glistening sexiness.
Holey Ozone!!
Did anyone besides myself hold out for the Apocalypse this weekend, with temperatures reaching 70 degrees in January? According to a 10-year-old girl in the bodega Saturday morning, this is the first December in NYC without snow since 1888. I wore a sweater and jeans to the park and worked up a sweat.
Goddamn stick!
Well folks, I usually don't do the weekend update thing, so here goes...
Friday night was fantastic in that I started out with the intention of having a relaxed night in, and ended up with a surprise visit from everyone's favorite Indian! The wife and I were all prepared to spend the night eating, smoking and being in our pajamas, and then I get a call saying someone is on FDR drive and wants to stop in for a visit! Needless to say, I had my two favorite imbibers with me all night and got to sleep in the following morning. God love winter break!
Saturday night was designated date night this week, and the wife and I went out on the town. Prior to this, though, I made a really shitty stir fry (Does anyone have a good recipe for frozen stir-fry veggies? If it's not fresh, I always fuck it up.) and then walked right into an open cabinet door while serving said frozen trash. It's Monday morning, and I still have a bump on my forehead at the hairline.
Saturday afternoon the wife and I decided to go for a walk in Central Park. It has come to my attention that I've been doing myself a disservice by not strolling through there more often. I mean, we live a block from Harlem Meer; I have no excuse not to visit frequently. We did a loop around the Meer, stopping at look-out points and at the rose garden, which I didn't even know existed. We tried to find the exact location at which Adam Sandler trips the rollerblader with the stick in Big Daddy, and we did. It's practically right across the street from us, which we realized last time the movie was on TV. I also picked out the spot where I will get married, if I ever find a husband. (For the curious: it's the fountain by the rose garden in Central Park at 5th and 105th.)
That's all for now. I don't think anyone ever reads this thing anyway. Boo.
Friday night was fantastic in that I started out with the intention of having a relaxed night in, and ended up with a surprise visit from everyone's favorite Indian! The wife and I were all prepared to spend the night eating, smoking and being in our pajamas, and then I get a call saying someone is on FDR drive and wants to stop in for a visit! Needless to say, I had my two favorite imbibers with me all night and got to sleep in the following morning. God love winter break!
Saturday night was designated date night this week, and the wife and I went out on the town. Prior to this, though, I made a really shitty stir fry (Does anyone have a good recipe for frozen stir-fry veggies? If it's not fresh, I always fuck it up.) and then walked right into an open cabinet door while serving said frozen trash. It's Monday morning, and I still have a bump on my forehead at the hairline.
Saturday afternoon the wife and I decided to go for a walk in Central Park. It has come to my attention that I've been doing myself a disservice by not strolling through there more often. I mean, we live a block from Harlem Meer; I have no excuse not to visit frequently. We did a loop around the Meer, stopping at look-out points and at the rose garden, which I didn't even know existed. We tried to find the exact location at which Adam Sandler trips the rollerblader with the stick in Big Daddy, and we did. It's practically right across the street from us, which we realized last time the movie was on TV. I also picked out the spot where I will get married, if I ever find a husband. (For the curious: it's the fountain by the rose garden in Central Park at 5th and 105th.)
That's all for now. I don't think anyone ever reads this thing anyway. Boo.
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