Odorant-day

My pig-latin kind of sucks, I acknowledge, but I want to discuss, for just a moment, the new deodorant “flavors.” While at the gym today I saw a commercial for a new line of Secret deodorants with peach and grape scents/flavors. Is it just me who finds this disturbing? I understand not wanting to be stinky, but I don’t really get why you’d want your armpits to smell like peaches and cream. Even when I’m really close with someone I never feel the need to perfume my pits beyond the ordinary. Any deodorant that smells like clean is good for me. I draw the line at passion fruit shaving lotion.

Twirling

Another thing I witnessed at the gym today, and which I’ve been privy to before, is baton twirling practice. There are at least two girls who whoop it up at the gym with their batons. I think the two are sisters, and a mom or coach sits on the sidelines and points at seemingly random points in the air while the girls nod and catch their breath. It’s the kind of thing you feel comfortable mocking until you see it being rehearsed. Wow. The batons go incredibly high. While running on the elevated track a full two stories above the gym floor I saw the baton go way over my head several time. And they almost always caught it. I was definitely staring, but then, so was everybody else.

Spontaneous Generation

The refrigerator at my place of work is perhaps the only place known to man where spontaneous generation occurs unquestionably. You open the doors and anything from a colony of mold to a creepy Iowan will jump out. Sometimes produce just wanders in, and cottage cheese appears magically. This would all be wonderful if it wasn’t incredibly disgusting. None of the generations generated spontaneously are anything other than rancid. Blech.

Accordions Do It For Me

Tonight J and I went to the Mill to watch a reading and listen to some music. We’d never heard of the guys playing, and honestly I still don’t remember what they were called, but I do remember that there were two of them, one guitar player and one accordion player. Now, everyone knows that accordions are the apex of dweeb. I cannot think of a less sexy instrument. Even the kazoo seems to have more allure than the accordion. Something about way it’s usually associated with polka and old men makes me feel the same way about the accordion as I do about JC Penny. I’m sure it was cool at some time, but no longer.

All that changed tonight. The accordion player single handedly (well, actually, he used both hands to play, but you know what I mean) restored my interest in his instrument of choice. He made it less squeally and old, replacing polka with soft gentle chords and precise harmonies. The guitar player was good, too, but good in the way that most things are. He was a guy playing guitar in an Iowa City bar. Mr. Accordion Man was different. Sexy in the ‘I-play-this-big-foldy-thing-way-better-than-you-ever-could’ kind of way, and also well dressed and nervous in an attractive and self-deprecating way. Oh, Mr. Accordion Man, please find me and sweep me off my feet with your well coordinated hands.

Mo’ Politics

I usually don’t do this, but because I know so many of my hypothetical readers are pol-savy I thought I’d point you to an interesting response to Dean’s speech on Monday night. Palochi is a Dean supporter, and even he was creeped out by the overblown enthusiasm.

More Fun Than A Root Canal

Tonight, while trying to think of reasons not to read my environmental science textbook I tried making a list of all the things that’d be less fun than the reading to see if I was willing. The first thing on my list was s root canal. Then I got out the book. Why am I so afraid of dentists?

Down, Boy

Whoa. That Iowa Caucus has put ants in the pants of all my dear hypothetical readers. It seems all y’all can’t believe I was counted in a corner with Kerry and not Howie “the doctor is him” Dean. After all, Dean had orange hats and a blog.

It’s true. I hear lots of good things about Dean, and he certainly has gotten young people energized and involved. But I’ve got three main problems with him:
1. Start telling me what you’re for and stop telling me what you’re against. I get it, you oppose the war. Join the club. What I need to know is how you’re going to get out of Iraq and then what the hell else you’ll be doing in office. Also, your lack of experience in foreign policy makes me nervous.
2. Get out of my house. I am glad to see so many of my peers excited about politics. But there’s exciting and there’s annoying and the Dean supporters have crossed the line miles ago, especially in Iowa. The minute I feel threatened by campaign workers is the same minute I decide to vote for someone else. Stop coming to my dorm room (and FYI, that’s illegal as well as irritating as hell), don’t call me at 8:30 in the morning, and don’t claim to be all about saving the environment when you waste ridiculous amounts of paper on daily mailings the week before the caucus. Publicity is fine, but the Dean campaign has become an ugly and annoying cliché.
3. It’s the veterans, stupid. I know it’s weird that I’m obsessed with veterans considering I’m not yet twenty and it doesn’t look like I’ll be serving any time in the near or distant future. Still, there are over a million American men and women in the armed forces right now and at least 26.4 million veterans. Kerry is the only candidate I’ve seen who’s consistently and enthusiastically worked to help out veterans and the future of today’s soldiers. I surfed Dean’s website for almost a half hour without finding a single mention of veterans except a group of Dean Vets. Great, but why?

So, at least for now, I’m running with Kerry. I’m pretty confident, especially since Mathnerd chose him as well. And she’s way smarter than me. On the other hand, Betsy is also smarter than me and she’s a Deaniac. So, it’s a crapshoot. Now get off my back, yo. I’m trying to think.

Kerry Carries Me Away

The Iowa Caucus is a lot like picking teams for basketball games in third grade gym. There are a lot of people in one room, and if you live in a college town, in a dorm, your district is likely all students. Everyone is cranky and obnoxious. People change their minds a lot and the teacher keeps having to count you. There’s shuffling and bribery and “I’ll be your best friend if you come over to my side!” People might cry or get embarrassed and everyone is trying to prove they’re tougher than everyone else.

Yeah. The caucus was strange, but actually a lot of fun. I kept saying, “This is so cool! It’s democracy in action!” Then T would laugh at me for being such a dork, but in the end even she had to admit it was pretty amusing. We both stood in the Kerry corner, and while they counted and recounted we played MASH to make the whole third grade experience that much more genuine. At the end I kept expecting a whistle and an order to get into a single file line so the teacher could take us to spelling.

Say What

It’s been brought to my attention that some hypothetical readers are seeing this page with all sorts of weird symbols and letters instead of punctuation. If this is happening to you please e-mail me or leave me a comment and let me know what kind of computer and browser you’re using. I’ll see what I can do.

Thirty Three Minutes to Make Up My Mind

I have thirty three minutes to finish putting together my schedule. At midnight I have to just go with what I’ve got and use add/drop slips to make any changes. This means meeting professors and speaking with them before deciding to love or hate them (as you may have noticed, hypothetical reader, I pretty much love and hate and nothing in between). It’s a toughie, but I’m thinking I’m going to stick it out in the Queer Theory class for now. If the prof is weird then I’ll drop him like trou at a urologists office, but the other option is pretty annoying as well, so I’m going to have to weigh my options wisely. Hm. Thirty minutes now. I’m a slow writer.

Undecided. It’s A Way of Life.

I generally pride myself in my decisive nature. I refuse to be the girl who is always saying “I dunno. What do you want to do?” Nuh-uh. I make choices all day long. Obviously I choose wrong a good ninety percent of the time, but at least I’m going somewhere. Unfortunately, one of the few things I can’t make up my mind about is the election. The Iowa Caucus is in less than twelve hours and I’m not sure which corner I’m going to stand in. Here are my possibilities:
Dean-NO. No. I said no.

Kerry-Maybe. He seems smart, but something about him makes me suspicious.

Kucinich-I know, I know, he's a loser. But I actually agree with him on almost all the issues. But I don’t think I can vote for him because it really is throwing away my vote.

Clark-I like the things he says, but A makes a good point when she says he hasn’t demonstrated any real capacity to lead the country in that he’s never been elected to anything. Also, and most importantly to me, I’m annoyed that he wrote off Iowa. I want my candidate to campaign a little in my state and at least pretend that we matter to him. Clark jumped that ship.

Gephardt-Who?

Edwards-Huh?

It’s too early to think about politics. Maybe when I’ve had myself a bran muffin I’ll be able to assess the situation better.

Mr. Right Now

My sheets smell like J again. So does the downstairs couch. And the car. Was that too much information?

He said, “I can’t believe you don’t know the difference between Wayne Newton and John Wayne,” right before he fell asleep.

I am moving back to Iowa in just over 24 hours. J will remain in Chicago selling drugs and working for the buster of Block. I get the feeling this was one of those things that’s very specific to the time and place, and I know that in the end I’d rather be his friend than his anything else. The truth is that I can’t see myself with J anytime in the future. I can’t even really see myself with him now. J is Mr. Right Now. Earlier this evening I saw Big Fish with old friend A. A is Mr. In 10 Years. But what do I do with J now that right now is over, and how do I act with A for the next nine and three quarters years?

For the Love of God!

For the love of God, if you haven’t already ordered your subscription to Rated Rookie then you’re a loser. I’m just saying, there are few certainties in life and this is one of them. Order your subscription now, or buy your copy at Prairie Lights, or Quimby’s. Go. Now.