Mouse question

For the experienced rodent caretakers out there: if Squeaky is very determined to improve her nest by pushing the corncob bedding into it (given that I've read that corncob bedding is a poor nesting material for newborns, as it tends to dehydrate them), does it mean (1) she's pregnant; (2) that we should be giving her more proper nesting material? Right now we're giving her torn-up coffee filters, which we replace daily b/c they seem to have decided that the nest is the preferred litterbox. Should we give her a lot more coffee filters? Something else to nest with entirely? And what about this peeing in the nest thing, especially given that they haul their food in there and it gets all soggy and dissolves with pee? Should I keep cleaning the nest and dumping out the dissolved pee-soaked food and bedding? Or should I just decide that "mice will be mice" and that Squeaky knows what she's doing?

That's all you'll get today, I'm afraid. I'm in transit.

That stupid meme

Erudite Redneck and Chris Clarke made me do it. Blame them.

The "Seven" Meme

A. Seven things to do before I die
1. Travel around the perimeter of the Pacific Ocean without using an airplane.
2. Quit smoking.
3. Read A la recherche du temps perdu.
4. Celebrate my 50th wedding anniversary.
5. Visit Spain with my boyfriend, all summer long.
6. Publish a goddamn book.
7. Overcome my freakish anxiety.

B. Seven things I cannot do
1. Stop being an anxious freak.
2. Fly.
3. Sing in public.
4. Relax around my mother.
5. Suspend my disbelief.
6. Ignore my surroundings.
7. Achieve perfection.

C. Seven things that attract me to ...
1. My husband: his good humor.
2. My boyfriend: his wit.
3. Pseudonymous Kid: everything.
4. Daisy the cat: her feistiness.
5. The mice: cute!
6. Men: repartee.
7. Women: directness.

D. Seven things I say most often
1. Does eyeball-rolling count?
2. What-ever.
3. Hey, you.
4. Is there coffee?
5. Fuck off. (Mr. B.: "You say fuck off a lot." Me: "Do I really?" Mr. B.: "What do you mean, do you really?")
6. Gimme a break.
7. I love you, PK.


E. Seven books (or series or genres or topics) that I love
1. Watership Down.
2. Brief Interviews With Hideous Men.
3. Mrs. Dalloway.
4. The Velveteen Rabbit.
5. Bleak House.
6. Fern Hill.
7. A Suitable Boy.

F. Seven movies I watch over and over again (or would if I had time)
1. The In-Laws
2. Flirting With Disaster.
3. Pirates of the Caribbean.
4. The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie.
5. Indiscreet.
6. The Philadelphia Story.
7. Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

G. Seven people I want to join in, too.
Seeing PZ Myers' response to this question put me right off answering it.

Educational television = evil

Scene: Pseudonymous Kid is standing at the top of the stairs when I emerge from the bathroom after cleaning the mice's cage. He has a laundry basket, and he's dragged his pillows off his bed and thrown them down the stairs, along with a blanket and the laundry that was in the basket.

Me: PK, what are you doing? I'm too tired for this. Put those things back, please.
Pseudonymous Kid: No, Mama, it's a project!
Me: Not tonight, please. Put it back.
Pseudonymous Kid: Mama, listen!
Me (sighing): Okay. What?
Pseudonymous Kid: I'm trying to make a little car so I can ride down the stairs in it. Like they did with the egg the other day on that science show.

Mouse story

So, the mice. Having stayed up until 2 am on Christmas Eve--we open family presents then, and Santa comes the next day, so there is much excitement and watching of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets late into the night--Pseudonymous Kid, bless his night-owl tendencies, slept until 11 am on Christmas morning. In fact, I had to wake him up because I couldn't wait to see his response to the mice.

Heading downstairs, he noticed the cat's food dish, which I'd moved into the bedroom where I locked her overnight. "Why is Daisy's food dish in the bedroom? Santa must have left it there for her, so she could have a snack!" he reasoned. Whew, I thought, at least I don't have to try to come up with some plausible explanation of why I locked the cat in the bedroom to protect the mice that I didn't know were downstairs.

We get downstairs, and the mouse setup is on the floor under his stocking. And HE DOESN'T RECOGNIZE IT. Having never seen mice in a cage before, and being kinda sleepy, I guess the glass aquarium filled with colorful plastic tubing doesn't exactly scream "mouse." So he goes over to the couch and says, "I'm tired, I'm going to lay on the couch for a while." Incredulously, Mr. B. and I say, "What? Don't you want to see what Santa brought? Come see what Santa brought!" Mr. B. fakes "discovering" a note from Santa on the dining room table. "Look, PK, here's a note from Santa!" (I was up writing at 1:30 am to explain why, even though PK had deliberately *not* asked Santa for a mouse--in fact, when I finally convinced him to go see Santa on Christmas Eve day at the mall, all previous attempts having been thwarted by his despair at not wanting to *think* about Santa since he couldn't ask Santa for the one thing he really wanted, he asked Santa for a new bike helmet (?!?)--mice had arrived in lieu of a bike helmet. Santa's explanation was that he had heard that PK loved mice, and his own pet mice had recently had babies, and these two babies needed a new home, and he hadn't had room for all the mouse-related paraphenalia *and* a bike helmet in his sleigh, so he trusted that PK's mama and papa would buy him a new bike helmet in the spring.)

The note got PK's attention, and he wandered back towards the fireplace, which is in the dining "room" (i.e., the other half of the living room from where the couch is). "I wonder what the note is about?" I say. "Maybe it's about what Santa brought you. Let's see what it is!" Finally, PK leans down to peer into the aquarium. "It's something furry in there," he says. On my hands and knees, also peering, I say, "where?" "In there," he says, pointing into the Habitrail tubing where the mice are sleeping. "It looks like maybe it's a mouse." "A mouse?!" I say. "Wow!" "But how would Santa know I wanted a mouse?" PK wonders. "I have no idea," I respond cleverly. "Maybe he explains in the note."

So we read the note, and PK says, "two mice?" and looks again. Yes, there are two mice in there. I'm somewhat taken aback by his so-far-pretty-restrained response to the mice, and I say, "PK, do you want to take the mice out and look at them?" "No," he replies. "I think it's best if we just let them do what they're going to do. I don't want to disturb them if they are taking a rest. We can play with them later, when they wake up on their own." Amazed, I respond in all sincerity, "Wow. Santa sure picked the right kid to take care of these mice. How is it that you're such a responsible mouse owner?" Matter-of-factly, PK says simply, "It's because I'm so fond of them."

Of course, all this talking and then moving the mice to the top of the dining room table so that PK could sit on a chair and watch them did wake them up, so he took them out, *very carefully,* holding them over the aquarium in case they jumped, as many of you saw in the picture I posted a couple of days ago. It took about 45 minutes before he moved his attention to his stocking. Amazingly, Daisy didn't discover the mice all day long; PK is not her favorite person, so she pretty much avoided him and his new toys altogether. It wasn't until dinner was almost ready, and PK and I were settled on the couch watching a movie, that she finally started to realize that there was something very interesting on the table. PK and I kept her away from it for a while before finally deciding that it was time to move the mice up to the bathroom where they'd be safe, and get the table cleared for dinner anyway.

So now the mice live on the bathroom counter. In fact, this seems to be a very workable solution: Daisy has objected once or twice to the door being closed, on general cat principles, but she doesn't seem to suspect that there's any particular reason to be interested in that room; I haven't noticed her hanging out or trying to sneak in. The mice are really interesting to watch when you're in there bathing or sitting on the toilet, and hand-washing is easily accessible. PK, it turns out, is *obsessive* about washing his hands before and after the mice; we explained about germs to him fairly early on, when he was 2 or so, and for a long time the white blood cells and the germs served as an admirable substitute for the more common little boy interest in good guys and bad guys and fighting games; in any case, PK is generally a fairly tidy kid. He doesn't want his mice to catch his germs, and he doesn't like it when they poop on him; in fact, the first time we played with them and they pooped, he stripped off his pajama top. Later, when one peed on his pajama bottoms, I only succeeded in keeping them on by promising him that he could take a bath when we were done playing with them (bonus mouse benefit: less fighting over baths!). He's gotten past that, thank god, but we did have a crying jag on the second day because just after going to bed he started to worry that maybe he hadn't washed his hands after playing with the mice. "I'm covered in mouse poop germs!" he wailed. So eventually Mr. B. took him to the bathroom to wash his hands, where he proceeded to strip, climb in the sink, and insist on giving himself a sponge bath. Later, though, when he went back to bed and was calmer, I talked to him a little bit about how yes, washing hands is a good idea and is important, but you know, if you forget once, it really isn't that bad, and he said, hilariously, "yeah, I was kind of being a freak about it earlier, I'm sorry."

The mice are named, in typical little-kid fashion, "Micky" and "Squeaky." Micky is mostly white with brown spots on her head and face. She is spelled without the "E" because I cannot abide the more famous mouse after whom she is, admittedly, named (oddly, given that PK is not a particular fan). She's the friendlier, calmer, and smaller of the two: a bit more active and amenable to handling. Squeaky is a solid dove gray color, a little bigger, and a little jumpier, although I'm making a principle out of their being handled for about an hour every day and she is getting better about it. For some reason, PK prefers Squeaky; probably because she prefers to be handled by me, since I'm less grabby, or maybe because her color is so pretty. (Perhaps the interest in hard-to-get pretty girls starts early.) Squeaky is also the one who I fear *might* be pregnant. According to the pet shop (I wasn't able to get ahold of overstock lab mice, alas), they're about six or seven weeks old, and they were housed in a co-ed mouse dormitory. Gah. We'll know in a couple of weeks, I guess.

PK was right: the mice are very, very cute. He's amazingly careful about them, grabbiness notwithstanding; when they escape our laps, as they inevitably do, he is quite cautious about moving to find them lest he accidentally step on one or shift his weight onto a mouse who has decided to hide under his butt. The bathroom is a fairly ideal mouse play area; no furniture to hide under. We do have to put some screen over the heating vent, but for now the cage top of the aquarium set up blocks it nicely. Today I have to teach Mr. B. how to handle the mice (adorably, he is a little afraid of how tiny they are!) because I'm off to visit the boyfriend tomorrow.

When I asked him the other day if he was happy with his mice, PK said, "I am happier than I could ever be."

Really sums it all up

7:49 Bitchphd: Oh my god, Mr. B. took PK upstairs for a bath
7:49 Bitchphd: BLESSED SILENCE
7:50 Someone Else: Nice
7:51 Bitchphd: Okay, well, that was nice. Now Daisy's walked in and is yowling at me
7:51 Bitchphd: One whole minute without someone wanting something from me!!!!
7:51 Someone Else: Buah
7:51 Bitchphd: Shit, man.

Holiday love

Scott Kaufman over at Acephalous has a nice meme-thing going: a good opportunity to send a li'l love the way of one's bloggy influences. (Scott's also got a nice post up about King Kong at the top of his page--check it out.)

My bloggy foremothers--the women whose examples led me to start one of these things--are flea, Cleis of Sappho's Breathing (who seems to have abandoned her blog, alas), Wolfangel, and Echidne. So much of what Bitch is comes from these four--feminism, mama stories, academia and its discontents, trying to figure out one's life by writing about it.

Before them, there was a li'l LJ community of like-minded mama friends: Viggie, Mean Regression, La Cangreja, Culludgal, Malinchita, RedHeadDread, TraciJean, Tara's Right Foot, and Margot (some of them have non-LJ blogs as well). They were the refugees from the discussion boards at Hipmama, which imploded; those boards and these mamas were the women who were most responsible in shifting my feminism from that of a single ambitious middle-class woman without kids to a more class-conscious awareness of the centrality of motherhood to the feminist project. I think I am more generous, thoughtful, balanced, and aware because of them--a better feminist and a better teacher.

There is also, of course, the crew at Unfogged, which is probably the only place on the web where pointing out the illogic in someone's argument actually nips what would be flamewars elsewhere in the bud--as well as a great model of friendly academic bullshitting. If conferences were more like Unfogged comment threads, we'd all be far less neurotic. (In passing, I have to note a great couple of recent posts by Fontana Labs here and here, which just go to show that the wisdom and trials of parenting and feminism aren't limited to moms.)

Blogs that regularly teach me stuff or make me think: Michael Bérubé, Erudite Redneck, Mimbreno (even though he's a woefully infrequent blogger), Dr. Crazy, New Kid, Dean Dad, Twisty, In Favor of Thinking, Half-Changed World, Hungry Blues, and of course Lawyers, Guns and Money.

I won't even get into "consistently fun reads" or "bloggers who I am personally very fond of," because the list would end up way too long. I will say, though--and this sounds so conventional, but I truly mean it--that a good blogroll and good commenters, both of which ideally get some regular new blood, are the things that make the difference between a good blog and a great one. And if Bitch has any pretensions to the latter, it's because of the folks in the blogroll and the ones who add their insights in the comment threads. Thanks to all of you.

Now, everyone: group hug!

P.S. Group hugs are nice and warm, but not quite warm enough for Chicago in winter without a water heater. Flea's went out. Her paypal tip jar helped her buy a new one, but she's "saving up" to have a plumber install it. However long it takes to save up for hot water when you've got two kids in midwinter is too damn long--so if any of you have a li'l extra Christmas cash, I know flea would really appreciate any donations. I myself am thinking that my semi-annual haircut can probably wait another couple of weeks, so I'll be hitting her tip jar as soon as I get paid again on Friday.

Not a creature was stirring, except the mice downstairs waiting for Christmas morning...

Above, tree with candles. Below, detail view with Puss in Boots ornament.

Love your neighbor

Here's a modern-day Christmas story I found via Broadsheet, in three parts. Part 1, part 2, part 3.

Summary: Laurel Hester was a New Jersey cop for 24 years. She is dying of lung cancer. Although New Jersey state law allows counties to offer domestic partner benefits, Ocean County--the county she works for--does not do so. Despite Hester's appeal to the representatives of Ocean County to allow her partner of seven years, Stacie Andree, to inherit her pension, Ocean County has repeatedly refused to do so. Instead, they say, Hester can leave her life insurance--"about $450,000"--to Andree.

But there's a catch. Hester is too sick to work, so the only reason she is still employed by Orange County is because her coworkers donated a year's worth of sick leave to keep her on the payroll. Her sick leave runs out at the end of this year, and unless she dies before then, she will receive no life insurance from Ocean County.

One county representative says he "is praying for her." Praying for her death, so that her partner can keep their house? Or praying for her life, to save the county money? He doesn't say. John Tomicki of the League of American Families says that the county representatives are "obviously reflecting the values of their community." Community values that apparently include screwing over people who have spent a lifetime serving the community.

Since it's Christmas, let me lay a little Jesus-talk on you.

Now, Jesus and the twelve went to another town, and as they entered it they said, Peace be to all; good will to all. A multitude of people followed and the master said to them, Behold, for you are followers for selfish gain. . . . Be not deceived; stay, men, and count the cost. . . . Count well the cost before you start to follow me; it means the giving up of life, and all you have. If you love father, mother, wife, or child, more than love the Christ, you cannot follow me. If you follow wealth or honour more than you love the Christ, you cannot follow me. . . . Now, there were present, scribes and Pharisees of wealth who loved their money, and their bonds and lands, and they laughed loud to scorn what Jesus said. Then Jesus spoke to them and said, You are the men who justify yourselves in sight of men; God knows your wickedness of heart.

Slow news day

So of course we have a couple of bombshells. First, be sure and read Hilzoy's latest.

We are illegally detaining innocent people, and there is nothing that a federal court can do about it.

Mr. B.'s comment on this is that "Congress needs to grow a pair, and give U.S. federal courts jurisdiction over U.S. employees and detainees worldwide." I heartily second his assessment, noting that it would solve the problem of the Executive doing an end run around U.S. and international law by detaining people in Cuba, sending them off to Syria to be tortured, and the like; it would also solve the problem of denying reproductive health services to women in the U.S. armed forces. A lawyer acquaintance of mine suggests writing to your Congressional representatives to ask that they do everything they can to get Qassim and al-Hakim released from Guantanamo. I think for my part, I'll add the suggestion that U.S. courts be given jurisdiction over American employees and prisoners abroad, where consistent with international law.

Second, Supreme Court nominee Samuel Alito not only defended the government's right to order domestic wiretaps, he also said that the right to abortion should be overturned. It's vitally important to realize that the link between these two things is his specific recommmendation that "for tactical reasons" the government proceed incrementally, not through a "frontal assault." He will say, in his hearings, that he recognizes Roe v. Wade as precedent. What he will not say--or will try very hard not to say--is that he believes that "Roe's legitimacy . . . [is a] live and open" question, and that the best strategy for destroying it is not to challenge it directly, but to dismantle it piece by piece. The man is 55 years old. If he is confirmed, he will have at least twenty, probably thirty years to dismantle Roe. That's plenty of time. He will also have plenty of time to chip away at Constitutional safeguards and civil rights for all of us.

I have been meaning for ages to collect all the evidence that Alito is a dangerous nominee, but there's so much of it the task is nearly overwhelming. I still hope to do it, but in the meantime, do check out the excellent Alito posts over at Lawyers, Guns and Money--they've kindly collected the lot of 'em on a single page (and unlike me, Scott's both remarkably qualified to parse the importance of the various documents as they've come out, and has responsibly stayed on top of the story).

'Tis the season for family and feasting and not watching so much news--but 'tis also the season for thinking about peace, charity, and justice. Christmas is a national holiday as well as a religious one--let's not forget the perilous state of the nation over the next couple of weeks.

Hey Ladies

1. Carnival of Feminists V is now up over at Scribbling Woman--check it out.

Next Carnival is at Reappropriate.

2. The super-fantastic folks who write Our Bodies, Ourselves are looking for pregnancy or childbirth stories for the next edition. While you're over there, check out their website--they do some great advocacy stuff and have a page that serves as a supplement to the latest edition.

Now that the semester is (almost) over...

Hopefully most of you, like me, are done with everything but entering and turning in grades. Or you're one of the lucky bastards who is actually done. Or you're one of the unlucky sods who is still finishing up the grading, in which case you have all my sympathy.

Once you're done, though, and sitting back with a nice mug of something hot, there are some excellent things to read over at The Carnival of Education, hosted over at Couturnix's blog. It's a nice diverse group of posts on everything from home schooling to learning from your kids to teaching and blogging, to writing thank-you cards: education-related, but enjoyable even though it's the beginning of break. So go have fun.

As for me, I have to finish the grades this afternoon. First, though, I have to go to PK's school war-on-Christmas assembly, for which his class has rewritten "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to be "The Twelve Days of December," and he got to write the first line, which is now "a gray mouse in a Christmas tree." Despite his school's attempt to secularize him, he is resisting their nefarious anti-American agenda: sign my kid up for the Heritage Foundation Jr. Scholar's Program. In addition to dealing with my son's early rejection of all the commie America-hating values I hold dear, I am out of cigarettes and I started my period this morning.

Tomorrow, however, the grades will be in, and all will be right with the world.

Update: Grades are TURNED IN! Hallelujah!! And thanks to those who told me about Google's mouse image today--it kept PK amused while I ran to the registrar's to turn in my grade forms.

Pseudonymous Kid isn't so sure about eating poop

A long time ago, a reader calling herself "Effective Nancy" sent me this label to put on a package of chocolate sprinkles for PK. This is a great idea, as PK loves chocolate sprinkles. I never got around to it, though, but tonight he was having chocolate sprinkle bread with his dinner (don't ask), and we were joking about poop at the dinner table again...

Mr. B.: PK, did you tell mama that you touched her retainer [actually a night guard b/c I grind my teeth] after you pooped but before you washed your hands?
Pseudonymous Kid: No, I forgot.
Me (mock horror): WHAT?!? You got POOP GERMS on that? Now I'll get poop germs in my mouth!
Pseudonymous Kid: Hehehehe!
Me: Oh well. I've probably already eaten poop germs in my life.
Pseudonymous Kid: What? How did you eat poop germs?!?
Me: Well, the cat sleeps on my head, right? And she licks me with the SAME TONGUE SHE LICKS HER BUTT WITH.
Pseudonymous Kid: Does she ever do that to me?
Me: Has she ever licked you?
Pseudonymous Kid: Yes...
Me: Well then you probably have cat poop germs too. That's okay, it's good for your immune system.
Pseudonymous Kid: What's my immune system?
Me: You know, it's how your white blood cells fight germs. They learn to recognize some germs, and then the next time they see them, they can kill them before you get sick.
Pseudonymous Kid: Good, then I don't have poop germs.
Me: You know, those sprinkles look like mouse poop.
Pseudonymous Kid: What??
Mr. B.: No they do not. Mouse poop is bigger.
Me: Well, a friend of mine says they look like mouse poop. She sent me a label to put on the package that says "mouse poop." If you want, PK, we can make a new package for your sprinkles and we can label it "mouse poop."
Pseudonymous Kid: No way!
Me: But I thought you liked mice!
Pseudonymous Kid: No fucking way I am eating mouse poop. No fucking way.

The anticlimactic results of the horsie-naming contest

I'm thrilled with the result of the horsie naming contest, because it will demonstrate to all my readers exactly why my little sis is such a total pain in the ass. With all those fantastic suggestions, she chose to go with--"Doc."

Well, specifically, the family agreed on "Hickory Dickory Doc," with "Doc" for everyday use. Which means oldguy, who asked, "why not "doc"?" is the winner. Oldguy, if you'll contact me with your email address, I'll send you a $15 Amazon gift certificate for knowing that my dorky sister was gonna waste everyone's time.

If oldguy doesn't come forward, bill, who pointed out that ""Doc" works," will get the gift certificate.

My sis says

After the auction a woman came up to us in tears saying that she is the one who called the inspectors about him. She told us a bit about his situation (and suffering) and then told us his birth name which was Doc's Dun Hickory. Which made me think Hickory Dickory Dock. Thank you so much for doing the name contest. The winner should either be the person who suggested we stay with Doc. Or the person who suggested Chicory which is close to Hickory. Or no one, you decide...I also like the fact that the rhyme has a mouse!!

So really, the name is a nice one, but that's no excuse not to give my sister a hard time.

The real war on Christmas

Me (whispering to Mr. B.): I was just reading this story on Google news. Apparently polar bears are drowning because of global warming. The ice shelf is melting and they're having to swim too far to try to find food. Isn't that sad?
Mr. B. (whispering back): That is sad.
Pseudonymous Kid (following me into the kitchen): Mama, what was Papa saying was sad?
Me: Oh. Do you really want to hear this? It's sad news.
Pseudonymous Kid: Yes, tell me.
Me: Well, remember how I told you about how pollution is making the air warmer all around the world? Global warming? And how if that makes the ice in the Arctic and Antarctic to melt, it will be very bad for the animals there that like the cold?
Pseudonymous Kid: Yes, I remember.
Me: Well, apparently polar bears are starting to drown, because the ice is melting and they have to swim too far to try to find food.
Pseudonymous Kid: Oh, that is sad. No more pollution!
Me: Yes, I hope so.
Pseudonymous Kid: What will happen to Santa's house? And the reindeer?
Me: The news didn't say anything about that. But I don't think it will be good for the reindeer.


(Update and contest winner results in the name-the-horsie contest soon. Be patient, people.)

That's my boy

Pseudonymous Kid: Ouch!
Me: What happened? (I look over, he's rubbing his mouth, I realize it's some kind of self-inflicted wound, my tone changes to teasing.) Did you bite yourself or something?
Pseudonymous Kid: No, I poked myself here (points to gum) with the straw on my juice bottle.
Me: Oh. Well, be careful, silly head.
Pseudonymous Kid: I'm not silly. I'm super damn smart.

Gingerbread

I claim no special baking expertise, mind: this is a combination of the two gingerbread recipes in the The Joy of Cooking. Plus a substition, b/c I didn't have molasses in the house. But it really did turn out well. No pepper, but I'll definitely add that next time--presumably about 1-2 tsp?

3 c. flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tbsp ground fresh ginger (a fairly big chunk--if you store yours in the freezer, as you should, break off a chunk while you get the ingredients out, and by the time you get to the ginger it'll be thawed enough to peel. Then just toss it in your coffee grinder, but don't forget to clean the grinder afterwards)
2 tsp ground cinnamon (ground stick cinnamon is much yummier than pre-ground)
1/4 tsp ground cloves
zest of one lemon
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp salt
maybe 1 tsp black pepper?

Toss all the dry stuff into a bowl, and mix it up. That's so the baking powder has time to rise a little while you're beating the wet ingredients.

3/4 stick (6 tbsp) butter, room temperature
3/4 cup dark brown sugar

Beat that until it's what the cookbooks call "fluffy," then add

1 egg
1 cup maple syrup (or molasses)

Once that's all combined, add half the dry mix and stir it in well. Stir the rest in, and knead into a ball. If it's too dry and crumbly, add about a tbsp of water until it's softer and manageable. If it's too soft, add a little flour, but ime it's more often dry than soft.

Toss the ball of dough into tupperware or wrap it in plastic and let it sit for a couple of hours while you do something else, like eat dinner. Or put it in the fridge overnight and come back to it the next day (but let it warm up to room temperature or it'll be too stiff to roll).

Roll it out to about 1/4 inch thick. I find that on with a wood countertop and rollingpin I don't need to dust the counter or dough, but better safe than sorry. Cut out the cookies, put 'em on baking sheets, decorate with little candies or raisins or something.

Bake at 350° for 10 minutes. Makes a couple dozen cookies. Double the recipe if you're making a house.

If you want to frost them, make frosting out of half a stick of butter and 2 cups powdered sugar (sift the sugar! Yes, it's a pain, but lumpy frosting sucks.) Color with food coloring if you like.

A small moment of parental heroism

Yesterday, despite being exhausted, I made gingerbread cookies with PK because I had promised him I would do so.

This morning, I stumble downstairs in the zombielike pre-coffee state, wander aimlessly around the kitchen trying to remember why the cat is yowling at me and what I should do about it (oh yeah, food. Where's the cat food again?), put on some water for coffee, open the fridge, peer in blindly, think 'what am I looking for?' realize the coffee is not kept in the fridge, get the coffee, look around for the grinder, and realize...

oh crap, we used the grinder to grind up cloves and ginger last night, and I didn't clean it before I went to bed.

The end-of-semester crunch

Is pretty much over: grading for my seminar is finished, and I have a final to give on Monday (which my T.A. will grade!) and I have to enter the semester's worth of grades into the database, assuming I haven't lost the various pieces of paper I recorded them on in a hurry five minutes before handing things back in class. But the sun is definitely over the horizon.

My brain is tired, though, so until it gets back in gear, there are a lot of end-of-semester procrastination reads over at Fourth Teaching Carnival IV, hosted by New Kid. And it's productive procrastination, even. You can easily rationalize it by telling yourself it's work-related.

domesticity

We all heart Tina Fey, of course, but this little piece about her so nicely sums up why I didn't post anything yesterday that, well, it's what I'm going to post today--though hopefully I'll also manage to knock out the follow-up Hirshman piece I promised to write for Ezra. Sorry, but sole parent + no car + twisted ankle + papers to grade + final exams to give + goddamn, PK's school is still in session and I have to walk him back and forth every day = not a lot of time to think. Here's the Fey quote that applies to my life right now:

Fey began her acceptance speech by telling the audience that, as the mother of a three-month-old, "it's an honor to be anywhere, actually, and a deep, deep privilege to be wearing a bra and shoes."

Fey talked more about the rigors of new motherhood, including how every event -- like running out of cereal, for instance -- can feel like a disaster. "We're out of cereal?" she whispered with weary panic. "What are we going to do?

In point of fact, I actually did take PK out to dinner yesterday (we had to go grocery shopping after I picked him up from school, because we were out of milk!!, and after two hours walking in the snow, neither one of us had patience to go home and cook dinner)--I took him out to dinner, I say, wearing my pajamas. See, if I throw on my coat, all you can see is the stripy bottoms of the pj legs, which is fine for taking him to and from school. But I forgot about it w/r/t the dinner thing, so in the restaurant I ended up unzipping my coat halfway and pushing it off my shoulders, but leaving it on below the waist. So classy.

So that's what's up w/ me. Now I gotta go get PK up for school...

Pseudonymous Kid learns about racism

Pseudonymous Kid: Mama, what does the word "savage" mean?
Me: Oh, it means wild and dangerous. Why?
Pseudonymous Kid: Why does Michael call the Indians "savage" in Peter Pan?
Me: OH. Well, hm. It's bad. Are you ready to listen?
Pseudonymous Kid: Sure.
Me: Okay, well, it's because Michael is being racist.
Pseudonymous Kid: What's "racist"?
Me: Racism means thinking that a group of people are bad or stupid or something because of their skin color, or because they live in a different way than you do. Remember how I don't like the song, "What Makes the Red Man Red" in that movie?
Pseudonymous Kid: Yes?
Me: Well, it's because the song is racist. It says that because the Indians have a different color skin, that they are weird and strange. That's why Michael calls them savage. "Savage" is a word for animals, not people. You see, back when that movie was made, most people were very racist towards Indians, and they didn't think there was anything wrong with putting something like that in a movie.
Pseudonymous Kid: Are people still racist now?
Me: Unfortunately, yes; a lot of people still think racist things. But we're a little bit better about it now than we were then.
Pseudonymous Kid: Mama, I think I am a little bit racist.
Me: Oh yeah? How come?
Pseudonymous Kid: Well, I think I am better than everyone else.
Me: Why do you think that? Because of the color of your skin?
Pseudonymous Kid: No. Just because I always want to be the best at everything. I want to be the most important.
Me: Aha. Well, that's not being racist. That's being arrogant.

Why is there a porn ad on my site?

In case you hadn't noticed, there's a new ad over there that, apparently, has a rotating image. When I approved it, it was of a bride and groom with a "tear" between them, and the joke was, if memory serves, something about "breaking" news. Anyway, just FYI I approved the thing after looking at it (as I always do), and it seemed inoffensive to me--but then a few hours later I got an email from BlogAds saying that the image in this post was going to show up on Wednesday. Oh well, I figured, I'm not crazy about it, but I've already approved the ad, can't do much about it now, will explain when it comes up. Guess there's also the one that's up there now--the mud-flap girlie.

For the record, I'm not especially opposed to porn on principle, although I am opposed to a lot of what happens in the porn industry, as well as to porn's cultural role perpetuating misogyny. I am also opposed to the idea that advertisements of hetero porn, especially when the text reads "hey ladies, it's not just for men any more" necessarily has to depict a naked *woman*--since, of course, "woman" = "sex."

So, if any of you are ticked off by the thing, my apologies.

Pryor experience

When I was a kid, my mom would occasionally quote Richard Pryor just for the hell of it. One of her favorites was, "when you on fire and running down the street, people will get outta your way." No idea whether this spoke to her desire for attention and feeling of obscurity, or her not-so-latent resentment that her brilliance was unappreciated by the masses, or if she simply appreciated the juxtaposition of shocking imagery with dry exposition. Probably all of the above.

Growing up with a mom who quoted Pryor maybe explains a lot about me. I like the word "motherfucker"--though for different reasons than Pryor, probably: to me it succinctly describes so much bullshit that fucks mothers, and other women, over. And god knows I prefer honest vulgarity to polite denial of uncomfortable truths. One of the things that was so great about him was the way that he used comedy to tell these uncomfortable truths, while making it okay for us to face them because laughter made them go down easier. There's a lot to be said for laughter as a response to "what oft was thought / but ne'er so well expressed," and there's not a damn thing wrong with talking about blunt, offensive realities with blunt, offensive language. There may be "a thin line between to laugh with and to laugh at"--another Pryorism, and another favorite saying of my mom's--but the line is surely drawn right across our ability to recognize that we're the butt of the joke even while we identify with the joker.

Another good Pryor line is "I never met anybody who said when they were a kid, I wanna grow up and be a critic." And see? He's right. Analyzing how humor works is a lot less entertaining than being funny. Go put on Live on the Sunset Strip and laugh your ass off.

Evil! And yet. . . .

That bastard the Manolo has featured these shoes, which I desperately, desperately need. Not only b/c they are lovely in and of themselves--the rose is assymetrical, which makes them terrific, rather than foofy--but because, in fact, I have a rose-patterned jacket (local designer in Grad School City, hence one of a kind!) that they are perfect for. I also, believe it or not, have a rose-patterned skirt they'd be fun with, in a slightly sillier way. No, I would not wear the three pieces together, lest I look like a complete nutcase.

Sigh. I haven't even paid off the winter boots yet (next week). There's just no way. And yet. . . .

"F" is for: Frog in a pot of boiling water; Fascism; Feliz Navidad

Jesus, ninety-two GOP Representatives think we should stop making all children born in the U.S. American citizens.

What's even worse is that nearly half of Americans apparently think this is a fine idea:

opinion polls suggest that many Americans consider it a major problem. A November survey by independent pollster Scott Rasmussen found that 49% of those surveyed favored ending birthright citizenship, while 41% were opposed to any change.

What is this, pre-Nazi Germany? Suddenly native-born people aren't proper citizens because their parents are from elsewhere? Not enough Blut in that Boden?

It's also lovely that apparently one of the arguments presented *against* this idea is that it's only middle-class folks--not the poor--who generally petition to become permanent legal residents based on a child's citizenship.

Tamar Jacoby, a senior fellow at the Manhattan Institute, a conservative think tank [said,] "It's something that a few middle-class professional people do. I have never met a poor person who has his wife walk across the desert at eight months pregnant so they can wait 21 years to be sponsored by their child."

Well, as long as it's not *poor* people who have to *walk across the desert while pregnant* who are trying to become citizens, maybe we shouldn't be so hasty.

Feliz Navidad Merry Christmas, everybody.

The image, by the way, is via the Presidential Prayer Team for Kids. Don't forget: Christmas is a National Holiday. America is a Christian Nation. So if you're Jewish, brown, and poor, we've got no room at the inn, sorry.

More Bra Advice--from a Bra Wizard, no less

I got this email--and this really helpful link--b/c of the post below. The advice is a li'l different than mine, from a woman who does this for a living, and the shop she works for has bras in sizes that some of you said you couldn't find. So here's an alternate sizing rubric and a possible source for good bras.

Dr. B -

My husband sent me your link, since I'm the on line bra wizard for a bra shop, he thought I might like it.

There are couple of things I thought you might like to know about bra fitting, the add 5" thing, that does not usually give a good fit, we measure at the ribcage and add 2 and if necessary round to the nearest even number. (If you measure 32", you are 34 band). The band is the first issue, if the band is too loose it rides up in the back, the breast go south and all the weight is on the shoulders. A bra band should be snug and a little lower in the back than in the front so the band does the work of holding up the breasts and the weight is kept off the shoulders.

The thing is most places don't want to carry cup sizes bigger than a DDD, so they cheat a little bit by putting you in a band that is a little big. If you measure 34 at the ribcage and 43 at the bust, the way I fit you would be a 36G (one cup size up from a DDD) but with the add five method you would be a 40C.

Next trick about bra fitting, cup size is relative to band size, a 32C and a 40C are not the same cup size. A 40C is the same cup size as a 32DDD. Everytime you go down a band size you have to go up a cup to get the same fit.

Last thing, once you get past a D cup, every maker has a different sizing system. So the next size could be DD or E, all depending upon who makes the bra. DDD could also be E or F, and past that you could be DDDD, FF or H.. There are brands available now that go to J or K.

I hope you don't mind the input and that you have a great day.

And here's her site, where you can email her your specific fit questions, or browse for bras from a 30 band size to cup size JJ.

Girly stuff: the Ultimate Bra Post

I have been meaning to do a bra post for absolutely ages, and the recent email I recieved from the woman who runs a Knickers Blog has finally prompted me to do it. The occasion of her email was to promote a contest to win free pretty lingerie--you have to sign up for her mailing list, and the drawing is a week from today (Thursday).

What really impressed me about her site is her Christmas Gift Guide. It divides things into styles and sizes, and goddamn if it doesn't have a broad range of really nice stuff in *all* sizes, including my own (which remains on a need-to-know basis, so don't even bother asking). Not cheap stuff, but hey: if you're going to be buying someone lingerie as a gift, the best way to avoid the "this isn't a gift for me, it's a gift for you" problem is buy buying genuinely nice stuff, and making sure it's in a style she likes. And if you're buying it for yourself, then all the better: it's your tits, spend the money.

But if you are going to spend a ton of money on lingerie--and in a minute I will explain why you should not cheap out on bras--then MAKE SURE YOU KNOW YOUR SIZE.

So listen up. The *vast* majority of women are wearing bras where the band size is too big, and the cup size is too small. Presumably this is because, having been, say, a "C" at 18, a woman decides she "is" a C cup, and when she puts on weight she just goes from a 34C to a 36C. WRONG. When you put on weight it changes the size of your breasts, not your ribcage; in most cases even a fairly substantial weight gain (or loss) won't change your band size more than one step. So, for instance, while pregnant I went from a 32 to a 34, even though I gained 35 lbs. Fifteen years ago, when I weighed about 40 lbs more than I do now, I was still a 32, because normal (non-pregnancy) weight gain is more evenly distributed and tends not to be heaviest around the middle.

Ideally, you want to be fitted by someone who KNOWS WHAT THEY ARE DOING. In the U.S., this means going to Nordstrom's (or, if you're lucky, to a good independent lingerie shop). Do NOT go to Victoria's Secret. In fact, never go there for anything. If you aren't lucky enough to have access to Nordy's lingerie department, you will need a tape measure, your torso, and the ability to add.

Measure around your ribcage, *just* under your breasts. Do not hold the tape measure loosely: you want the band to fit snugly. If the measurement is 33" or less, add five inches: this is your band size. If it is over 33", add three inches. Don't ask me why this weird arbitrariness; I didn't invent the system. If your band size is an odd number, you're supposed to round up, although I'd be inclined to try on both the smaller band and the larger one and see which fits best.

Okay, now measure around the breasts, at the widest point (usually the nipple). Make sure that the measuring tape is higher in the back than it was for the band size--that is, you want it horizontal to the floor. Also, here you don't want to pull the tape so tight. Tight enough not to fall down, not tight enough to cut into your skin.

Now subtract the band *size* (the number after you've added 3 or 5) from the bust measurement. The cup size is the difference: 1/2" = AA, 1" = A, 2" = B, 3" = C, 4"=D, 5" =DD (or E, in European sizing), 6" = DDD (F), and so on. That's your size.

A well-fitted bra holds up the weight of your breasts with the BAND, not with the shoulder straps. There are five ways to check your bra for fit. (1) First, after adjusting the straps, does the cup fit smoothly? Obviously if it wrinkles over the nipple it's too big (or else this particular cut is not for you). If the top of the cup cuts into your breast tissue--the worst instance of this is when you have the dreaded four-boob effect--then the cup is too small (or again, cut badly for you). (2) Once that's sorted, slide the straps off your shoulder and hop or jiggle up and down a couple times. If the bra doesn't stay pretty much in place, the band size may be too big. Ideally, you want the band to fit on the *tightest* setting, so there's a bit of leeway if you put on a li'l weight. (3) If the band of your bra rides up in the back, IT IS TOO BIG. (4) If the center of the bra, between the cups, does not fit flat against your chest wall, the cups are too small. This is a particular problem with soft-cup bras for larger women, and with maternity bras, all of which (imho) are pieces of useless crap. (5) If the underwire (and unless you are very small-busted, I vote underwires) is uncomfortable, either the fit or the cut of the bra isn't good. If you know the size is right, then don't buy that bra again (cough::VS::cough).

Ok, so now you've got the size down, and you know what to look for in a fit. What do you buy?

A few recommendations.

First, you cannot go wrong, ever, with Wacoal. Their bras are very well made; they last if you wash them with reasonable care (cold water, lingerie bag, hang to dry or, if you must, dry for ten or fifteen minutes). Unlike the vast majority of underwire bras, Wacoal realizes that breast tissue goes into the armpit--so their wires are wide enough to support *all* the breast, and not to cut into the side, which means they are comfortable all day. This is one of my favorites; it comes in nice colors (not, alas, through this link, which provides only your basic white/nude/black--I have one, though, in a nice medium blue and I know they also come in purple), creates very pretty cleavage, and yet it's practical and supportive. This is often a first Wacoal bra: again, it comes in a lot of colors, it looks nice (if not incredibly sexy), it's super supportive. They do, however, make sexy bras too: this one, which I want (but have not yet allowed myself to buy) creates a very nice décolletage. Finally, although I have not worn this one, I have heard from others that for smaller-breasted women, their iBra (forgive the name) is fantastic--it creates an underwire effect and fit without actual underwires, being made of some crazy new space-age material. IMHO, most of the bras you own should be Wacoals.

A little more expensive, but also much sexier, is Chantelle. So, for instance, this bra, which fits way better than you'd imagine something so pretty would--that is, it fits very well. With expensive or fine bras, if you're really worried about longevity, the best bet is to wash them by hand (five minutes at the end of the day, with Woolite, in the bathroom sink--hang to dry overnight), although I usually do mine in the washing machine on cold, as described above. Although I normally despise molded-cup bras, I admit that under some of today's tighter t-shirt styles, a lace bra creates the not-so-attractive "cottage cheese" look. I don't mind nipplage, but some do; and molded cups have the advantage, too, of being warm in the winter months. I think that this is a very fine t-shirt bra. I own it, and it's one of my favorites. The molding is cut so that it does *not* accidentally create the quad-boob effect (which a lot of molded cups do, b/c they're cut too low and you overflow them a bit). This bra also has two places in the back where you can adjust the shoulder straps to fit closer in, or farther apart, depending on the neckline / armholes of your shirt. Also, it's extremely comfortable.

Finally, for inexpensive but sexy (in a slightly less sophisticated, more fun kind of way) bras, try Felina. They're usually a little more about the demi-cup, come in lots of colors, and do not shy away from the just slightly slutty. That first link is on sale at posting time, by the way. Plus, along with the usual matching panties for each bra, Felina also has comfortable, cottonish boy leg shorts that come in more colors than is listed here--again, if you find a Nordy's, they should have them, and the colors match Felina's bras.

A bit about maternity and nursing bras: as I said above, in my experience, they are useless pieces of ill-fitting crap. And believe me, I tried EVERY brand and style I could find. Now, when I was pregnant, Wacoal wasn't yet making its nursing bra, so I certainly think you should try that if you are in the market for a nursing bra. Here is what I did, but first, a caveat: I know that all the books say, "don't wear underwires lest you plug your milk ducts." I, personally, think this is crap: if you buy an underwire bra that *fits well*, it shouldn't plug anything (b/c it shouldn't be pressing on the breast tissue) and it should, obviously, give you much better support than a non-underwire bra. However, if you are prone to mastitis, proceed carefully with this advice, although I nursed for 2 1/2 years this way and had no problems.

I say, for both maternity and nursing, wear regular underwire bras in the closest size to what you should be wearing that you can find. Now, the problem with maternity bras is that you can't really find cup sizes over an H or so. *Very* rarely you'll get a J cup, but beyond that, they don't exist. And yet--and no, it does not look freaky--there are women who get that big when they're pregnant, especially if they're small women to begin with. Remember cup size is not absolute: it merely expresses the difference between bust and ribcage. In my experience, the larger cup sizes in "maternity" (i.e., not underwire) bras gave *terrible* support, and you're better off with a regular bra. If the cup size is a problem, here's what you do: buy a bra in the proper *cup* size. I.e., if you're supposed to be a 34 J, get a 36 DDD/G--the bust measurement will be the same, even if the band measurement is wrong. Then, alter it: take in the band on both sides (making sure you do it at a point where the straps will still fit in the right place). Not great, but it'll do in a pinch. You can also, by the way, alter a bra which has a cup that's a bit too big, or that has stretched, by rolling the side of the material back over the underwire until it's a taut cup, then stitching it down to the band just behind the underwire.

For nursing, screw fiddling around with snaps and shit on nursing bras. What I did was simply wear lower-cut tops and camis with a regular underwire bra. When it's time to nurse, reach in the neck of your shirt, slip the shoulder strap of the bra down, and scoop the boob out the top of the bra and neckline of your shirt. Voila, baby access--and you're not exposing your belly, no one sees anything more than with a low-cut top, and the baby's face isn't buried under layers of clothing. If the weather is cold, wear a scarf to cover your neck and chest.

One last word, on expense. The brands I've linked here range from about $50-$60 (Wacoal) to $60-$80 (Chantelle) to $30 (Felina). In general, however, I say consider $30 a *cheap* bra, and $50 a reasonable price to spend. Bras, like shoes, are basic clothing items that can serve a fashion purpose, but are primarily functional. You want them to be comfortable; you want them to last; and you want them to support you. Don't cheap out. If money is an issue (believe me, I understand) a good way to go is, again, Nordstrom's: they always have a sale rack, and you can usually find one or two decent bras at a discount. Or try Felina. Or think of them as an investment, go buy 3-4 good bras, rotate them every day (don't wear them two days in a row), wash them once a week in cold water, hang them dry, and I swear: they will last for years. If you buy good ones.

(Good lord, it took me two hours to write that post. The things I do for you people.)

Help a sister out?

My sister, that is. She needs a name for a horse she plans on adopting. She never outgrew the horsey stage, and now she has a horsey daughter, so it's time, and she does some volunteer work with abused horses and has just fallen in love with this guy, who she intends to bid on at auction soon. But she can't think of what to call him, so she asked if I could use the blog to survey y'all for clever horsie names. The beast's current name is "Doc," which she doesn't like. I think she wouldn't mind something Spanishy, but I dunno what the hell she wants. She's rejected my suggestions -- "Horsie" and "Mr. Ed." Picky bitch.

Anyway, if you guys have any clever suggestions, leave 'em in the comments. My sister is too much of a cheap-ass to promise anything but her "gratitude," but I'll make this my birthday gift to her and offer a $15 Amazon gift certificate if anyone suggests a name she decides to use.

This month's reading list is up...

The Happy Feminist has this month's Carnival of the Feminists Up. I am amazed at how good these lists always are; we're an impressive group, no?

Next month's carnival is being hosted over at Scribbing Woman: send entries to jones AT unbsj DOT ca before December 18.

The one after that is at Reappropriate on January 4. Check out her really honest post about how she realized she was a feminist. It's in the carnival list this month, too--make sure you don't miss it.

Updated to correct dates and locations of future carnivals.

Busy, busy, busy!

Today I'm accompanying PK's kindergarten class to the Children's Theatre to see a production of Dick Whittington and his Cat. And then I have a meeting (for which I will be late), and another meeting (with a graduate student, which I'm afraid I might have mistakenly scheduled for yesterday but I meant today! Darn it, so I'll have to go see if she shows up, and if not, I'll have to apologize and reschedule).

So not much in the way of exciting blog postage from me, I'm afraid. Certainly nothing worthy of one of the Best Liberal Bloggers (tm)! Instead, I shall refer you to this interesting discusssion, Should Liberals Stop Defending Roe? over at the Legal Affairs Debate Club, and I'll draw upon what really makes this blog worth reading, which is the brilliance of the commenters (never afraid to suckup to my constituency, me). The article doesn't have any forum to discuss it, but I'm hoping we can do it here. Well, you can do it here, while I watch Dick Whittington rise to become Mayor of London.

Just FYI, Scott Lemieux has talked quite a bit about this issue: see especially these three posts.

And for the record, Alito still sucks and the Supreme Court better strike down the NH Parental Notification Law under discussion in Ayotte.

Also for the record, five points to anyone who "gets" the image posted here.

Who do you love?

Well, looky. We got us one o' them-there best liberal blog nominations. Getcher ass over there and vote so that we may continue our climb to fame and fortune, right?

Pray for us

Scene: last night, writing a letter to Santa.

Pseudonymous Kid: Mama, you write the beginning.
Me (writing): "Dear Santa. For Christmas, I would like:"
Pseudonymous Kid (writing): "M-O-U-S-E." (One of the few words he knows how to spell, along with his name.)
Pseudonymous Kid (pauses): I can't think of anything else I want. (Thinks for a minute. A sad look comes over his face.) Mama, will you erase "MOUSE"?
Me: What? Why?
Pseudonymous Kid: I don't want one.
Me: ???
Pseudonymous Kid (looking sadder and sadder): Well, I do want one still. But I don't want to ask Santa. Bepause if I had a mouse, it would only live for one or two years and then it would die. And if it didn't die, Daisy would eat it. So would you erase "MOUSE" please? (Starts to cry.)
Me: Oh, sweetie.
Pseudonymous Kid (crying hard): Mama, I don't want to think about Santa or writing letters any more. I don't want anything for Christmas.


The upshot? I've looked into mice. Found a college kid in Big City who has a pet he needs to get rid of before going off to college. Discussed with Mr. B. the possibility of putting a spring hinge on the bathroom door, putting weatherstripping along the bottom of it, putting mesh over the heating grate, getting an aquarium with a tight-fitting wire mesh top that is difficult to open and impossible to remove except by sliding it stiffly the length of the aquarium. We will set the rule that the mouse can only be taken out when the bathroom door is closed *and* the cat is closed into the bedroom or being supervised by a grownup.

So Santa is bringing PK a mouse, or possibly mice, for Christmas. Everyone please keep your fingers crossed that this doesn't all end in a horrible tragedy.

My readers are the best

As objectively judged by at least one other blogger. That is to say, StarFiend won Eric's Name My Book contest, but didn't leave her email address--so Eric asks that she please contact him so he can send her her $20 gift certificate :)

Gross

Via Kevin Hayden--who's known the victim all her life--this truly uplifting holiday story about a 17-year old girl who reported a gang rape by her 18-year old boyfriend and two of his friends, only to have the judge turn around and convinct her of filing a false report because there were "inconsistencies" in the stories that she and each of the three alleged rapists told. Note that "The three men testified Thursday that the acts were consensual"--that is, they don't deny that they all three fucked her--they just claim that she consented. To fucking. All three of them. Their stories didn't match up, and of course they also didn't match up to the story she told, which was that they raped her. Which obviously means she was lying, right? Because if she weren't, they'd all be telling the same story. That's always how criminal cases are resolved, isn't it? When the accused and the accuser tell different stories, the accuser is obviously making it up.

The woman, who is 19 now, could be sentenced to 30 days and a $1,250 fine.

This blog has jumped the kitty

From here on out it's all cute baby animals, all the time. Happy Holidays.

(Aren't baby animals supposed to be born in the spring? Why the recent proliferation? Is it a media plot to distract us from the war, Ayotte v. PP, or the upcoming Alito hearings?)

Apologies

1. To everyone who I just know was obsessively clicking on this blog every fifteen minutes yesterday because you just couldn't do anything else until I wrote my racism post. I'm sorry, I suck, my brain was running out my ears yesterday and I had nothing of consequence to say. When they overturn the fourteenth amendment it'll be all my fault. (I don't suppose anyone will believe that the panda post was a clever little joke on black/white relations? No? Well, I don't blame you really, but hey, I tried.)

2. To the three lovely yet unknown readers who, far back in the misty past, tried to send me copies of Whose Mouse Are You?, Promises I Can Keep: Why Poor Women Put Motherhood Before Marriage, and On Bullshit. After several months, I think it is clear that, for whatever reason, Amazon hasn't shipped them, or they've gotten misdelivered, or perhaps the orders were cancelled. If you bought me one of those books and you didn't cancel your order, and you've been wondering why you haven't heard from my ungrateful ass, well, that's why. I would hassle Amazon about it myself, but they won't let me since I didn't purchase the books. You might want to call them and tell them they owe you your money back.

3. Once again to those who have emailed me and had no response, nor seen their links posted. I think I need to recognize that, if I fall a day behind on email, I am screwed. Or perhaps I need to just allow myself to do more boring link roundup type posts. Or maybe I need a secretary.

4. For really falling down on Alito coverage. I truly hope you all are getting your Alito news from other sources. Short version: FILIBUSTER.

Everyone loves pandas

I really want to follow up on some more thoughts I have about the feminist manifesto post, but I have to grade twenty essays before noon. So, to soothe heightened emotions and / or provide a grading break and / or something cute to share with the kids, here are pictures of adorable baby pandas.