UPDATED.

Just one reason why Obama's recent comments on late-term abortions have raised so much concern in the pro-choice world. (ETA: I fixed the link; sorry for my ineptitude; the link was THE ENTIRE PURPOSE of my post.)

Also, I've been meaning to point this out, but I come across many notable or linkworthy posts in my net travels, and rather than say "hey read this" I've just been sharing them on my Google reader share site. Some of the blogs I read are password-protected and not shareable, and some of you jerks are still using diaryland and don't have RSS feeds. Aside from that, if you're interested in seeing the posts that stand out the most day-to-day, click on my little link at right. I've shared the story I linked above there as well.

Something truly lame.

On my part, I mean, and it's this: the word "whoa" is spelled W-H-O-A. Don't look at it for very long or it will start to look ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as caring about how it's spelled.

If any of youse out in readerland own pressure cookers, please weigh in on the model(s) you've personally used and the usefulness of the item. As a frequent bean-cook I think I'd probably use one, but maybe I should just sock the money away for the high-powered blender I want.

Why I let my subscription lapse.

There's an old issue of ReadyMade in the bathroom and this little snippet of hipster prose on how to paint "space-defying white floors" has been peeking out at me all day whenever I pee:

1. Put on a jumpsuit. 2. Attach a paint roller to a broomstick. 3. Pour some white matte porch paint into a tray. 4. Paint floors from one end of the apartment to the other. Keep plenty of rags on hand to pick up any dust or dirt as you go. For best results, work while listening to Led Zeppelin III and making progress through a 12-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Emphasis mine, obviously. Do you think that guy who writes Stuff White People Like just pages through ReadyMade for inspiration?

Damn! I punked out on yesterday's daily post. But I did post a recipe for this:

I was just looking around the innertubes for ideas about what to do with all this anise seed I happen to have. Probably I should toss it, because it's old, but it still smells good and that has to count for something, right? Anyway, the point is that the latin name really tickled me: it's Pimpinella anisum. If I were a drag queen, I might choose that for my name.

Also, "Celtic Thunder" is even more of an abomination than "Celtic Woman." Just saying. Can you tell I usually blog in front of PBS? It's true.

Saaaad.

I just went to put soymilk in my coffee, and I opened the fridge and grabbed the nearest carton and dumped before I realized it was orange-peach-mango juice.

Verdict: assy, not recommended. I had to toss it and start over.

Good morning.

First I'm going to give a little shout-out to the weather: Thank you, weather, for perfecting yourself today. The ride to work was decent, but the ride home was glorious. I rode an extra mile and a half winding between and around the lakes, just to soak it up. You should have seen the evening sun glittering through the weeping willow when I rode under the bridge next to the creek. Crazy goodness, I tell you. When I got home the Brit told me I looked euphoric. I think I picked up a tailwind on the way home, too. Or something. Whatever the case, all signs were pointing to Ride Your Bike, Fool.

So I'm going to do it again tomorrow, I think.

I really don't even have anything else to report. It's only 9:30 but I'm going to go get in bed and read Jeeves and Wooster, and then I'll probably wake up nice and early and have hours to dick around before I go to work, which means extra coffee, which means extra jitters!

My favorite scan of the day:

That's my grandparents and aunt in 1963.

How we roll.

Some sample bowling names from the weekend:

Where every seat is a nosebleed seat.

I got a nosebleed today, which probably hasn't happened in 20 years. I was playing the piano when it started, too, which made it extra-dramatic, though there was no blood on the keys or anything.

Hours later, I'm still sitting here with tissue stuffed up my nose because, as you may remember, I have a cold and I am still snotty and it is almost impossible not to blow my nose. And if I blow my nose the nosebleed will start over and I will have to go to the school nurse just like skinny little bleeders in elementary school.

Okay so what does it mean if the blacklights come on at the bowling alley and suddenly you can see a yellow blotch on your hand, but when you're in regular light your hand just looks like a hand? I'm thinking alien abduction/chip implantation but I welcome your theories.

The value of ideas.

If perfectionism and obsessing over finding the right idea or the right approach keeps you paralyzed indefinitely, but you have a mediocre idea you could implement right now and start enjoying the results, that’s basically a no-brainer, isn’t it?

I've got shoes, you've got shoes.

I keep forgetting to tell y'all about this article in New York Magazine that describes how shoes are ruining our feet, knees, ankles, back, and everything else. I'm talking ALL shoes, too, not just the usual suspects like high heels and pointy boots. It's a long article, but worth reading--even the comments are interesting, since lots of "barefooters" weigh in with their experiences. People who've been barefoot for like twenty years. Did you know it's not actually illegal to go into an establishment without shoes on? Nor is it illegal (or unsafe) to drive without them.

I tell you what, internets, if my reading keeps taking me in these directions I'm going to end up living barefoot on a farm off the grid and eating only raw foods. I'm only partly kidding.

I'm blogging every day this month, by the way. Happy May Day, bitches.

Signs and portents.

Another item for my midwestern magical realism novel: I was walking across the hazy, warm, windy campus yesterday to meet up with a long-lost friend for lunch, and I looked up and saw a crow with something in its mouth soar out from under the rooftop of a building and into a bare tree. Seconds later, something flapped and drifted through the air and down next to the path, and when it landed I saw that it was a bat, splayed out inside a bush. The crow was flying around with a bat in its mouth. Someone tell me what it means. It can't be anything bad; lunch was great. We could have chit-chit-chatted for the rest of the day.

Dear Twin Citians, stand warned: there is a new trivia team in town. It is called Bootie Queen. It is a brain trust. It will trounce the competition by a margin of 14 points, if Monday night is any indication of future trouncings. It knows such answers as Sark, Byzantium, and Pewterschmidt. It houses the literary round in under a minute. It wins $30 and a case of pint glasses.

Today Green Mill; tomorrow the world.

I'm cleaning up my hard drive, which I will allow you to read as procrastination, and I found this niblet that I wrote last summer, after a late-night run for analgesia, and then forgot to blog:

The Hiawatha Walgreen’s is a slice of life after midnight. The cashier was an older woman, bleached blond, with two pentacle necklaces and a nametag that said “Cougar.” The guy right in front of me bought a tub of Astroglide and a box of frozen White Castles, which is a recipe for a party of some kind.

True story.

Mos Def, gentrification, awareness, etc.

Here, dear friends, for those of you who were wanting me to send you a link:
Stuff White People Like.

This kind of satire is like shooting fish in a barrel, but it's still pretty damn funny. Especially if you went to a liberal arts school (or loathe people who did).

I'm the same boy I used to be.

I'm having that day at work where I'm primarily putting together mailings, and it is very soothing activity after a big weekend. Plus it has the possibility to make me inordinately happy, for I am using interdepartmental mail envelopes and I just came across one that's been circulating this institution for FOURTEEN YEARS. Once all the address lines were full, someone just printed out a sheet of them and glued it on. I believe that people are committed to this envelope, and that's enough to cheer me up even when I don't need cheering.

Another thing that cheered me was hearing that song "Valerie" in the car on the way to work today. Not the Steve Winwood one, though that probably would have been good for a laugh--I'm talking about Amy Winehouse's crazy ass. The girl has indisputably got pipes.