"April is the cruelest month."

IMG_0580
Originally uploaded by toombsday.

In celebration of temperatures above zero degrees celsius, I rolled my windows down and blasted M.I.A.'s Arular yesterday. In the process, I may have busted my speakers (again). Oy, I think the last time I did that was in the Nissan "co"Stanza with Beastie Boys Ill Communication.

Speaking of M.I.A., Toombsday made an astute observation that Arular is an album that can only be listened to while blasting. Otherwise, it sounds likes School House Rock on crack with all that clapping and overzealous chanting.

Remember Y2K

I fantasized about bank alarms failed and student records lost. The world was going to turn into a riotous evening of Clockwork Orange and apocalyptic glory because some coders reasoned that surely the human race wouldn’t exist past the twentieth century and hence their technological toys might need four instead of two digits to mark our years.

In anticipation of molotov cocktails and nuclear warfare, I thought about what I would do on my last day on earth. So I got in my car, drove to New Mexico, climbed a mountain, watched the sunset, drove back to OKC and kissed a gorgeous Indian boy at midnight. I believe there might have been some vomiting as well. And some passing out in the back seat while someone drove my car home. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So in regard to daylight savings, I want to say to my fellow Hoosiers, “It’s going to be okay.” Take a hint from L. Lo’s wrist and just breathe. This is not the end of the world. I know you haven’t observed daylight savings since 1970. (And I really love you for that…in fact, I think it’s the only reason why I like you.) But it’s really simple, it goes kind of like this:

On Sunday morning when you wake up, change your clock forward one hour. This can be done either electronically or manually, depending on your clock. Probably the worst that will happen is re-establishing your computer settings to the Eastern Standard Time zone rather than Indiana Time Zone. (Remember to check the daylight savings box in your Settings!)

Also, for you blackberry assholes that practically sideswipe me on the road, screw you. I was going to send a link for PDA users whom might be affected. But I hope you rot in hell for your inconsiderate use of “convenience” that distracts you from ordering a double-shot decaf wet soy cap with a dash of cocoa.

Additional Tip: There is no need to wake up at 2 a.m. to reset your clocks. And though our state officials think that adhering to shifting daylight savings time zones will help the economy, I can tell you that people at bars will lose one hour of drinking on Saturday/Sunday night, which will really damper some spirits over the NCAA weekend.

As of this afternoon, I have received at least three memos from my company about all the catastrophic changes that may possibly occur. One even recommended sending maintenance a request with an account number so they can send people to help us change our clocks. Our website has a header that warns people of the change. Four staff members have consulted me because I grew up in another state and know where my ass is. Holy bejesus people, it’s one tiny little hour. Welcome to the twenty-first century.

UPDATE: Since posting on 3/30, the governor has passed a reprieve for bars so they can garner additional profit from the NCAA crowd during the daylight savings fiasco.

eye of the tiger

L.A. Marathon

Originally uploaded by Scarekroe

Can you smell it? No, not that. Pay attention to the odiferous undertones concealed under bus exhaust, the downtown sewer steam, and the bottomless sidewalk grate cum homeless urinal. That’s the smell of Spring, my darlings.

Although some may associate the season with transition and new beginnings, I associate it with marathons*. The smell of sweat, Gatorade and Icy Hot. And while some may be gearing up for the mental and physical challenge of completing a 13-mile run without losing control of their scatological functions, some are devising ways to veer you off course. For some reason, I think that this would be a very effective tool of diversion in the Midwest. Dare you resist the temptations of pastries and hamburgers finished with a beer and a lap dance? Dare you?!?

*I don’t run anymore as recommended by physicians, due to my additional spinal lumbar. I’m laboratory trained indoors on shock reducing equipment. Though strange, I sort of get nostalgic for the opportunity to twist my ankle on exposed tree roots and soak in Epsom salts for three days.

madness

Last week I posted a general poke in the eye entry about Oklahoma. Embedded in said entry was an aside about some of the reasons why Oklahoma is an ever-changing enigma to me. Included in said rant was a link to Byrneunit, a snarky Tulsa/OKC couple who I would probably hunt down and befriend if I still lived in Oklahoma. We would wax poetical about 90210 at the High Low. It would be wonderful.

Well, their link is now defunct and they mention this in passing in yesterday’s entry. Which brings me to another reason why I no longer live in Oklahoma -- the censorship of all things that authorities think is immoral or blasphemous to minds of the poor citizens who don’t have the ability to think for themselves. So, since byrneunit is not allowed or would rather not be pulled into the public arena about this topic, I am leaving a link authored by the Associated Press on a website that most likely won’t be yanked or threatened by the state or agents thereof. There are some other sources, here and here.

Now, since I’m on my soapbox, is a little writing restraint philosophy. This is a little bit of a winding road, so bear with me. These thoughts are derived from French critic and philosopher Michel Foucault and Palestinian American theorist Edward Said*. These paragraphs barely scratch the surface of what these critics dedicated their lives to.

Said laid down this theory called Orientalism and contributed to the term, “the Other.” This is a long tradition that started with Eurocentric ambitions in colonialism and imperialism. Orientalism is a form of western logic that eroticizes false concepts about eastern and middle eastern cultures. This, in turn, creates a gap and an us/them mentality. When a group then perceives itself dominant to other groups, they then have an opportunity to dehumanize the “inferior” and then act upon their beliefs, often in forms of sexual degradation, cultural genocide, etc.

Foucault talks about the physical separation that society creates when they don’t understand or refuse to understand another group. This theory is fleshed out in his essay, Madness and Civilization. He used a former French society as an example who did not like living with or working with the mentally ill. They are considered unfit to live with civilized society and then are placed in an asylum, generally tucked away from the rest of the world. A civil/mad paradigm (also referred to doctor/patient) is then created and group dominance can then be applied, then dehumanization, such as shock therapy or heavy medication. Essentially, there is a direct relation between power and knowledge.

I see this legislation playing out the same way in the libraries of Oklahoma. The Commission would like to see the books placed in a special adult section, which I later learned will also house books on child and drug abuse. This response may be a fear of a child wondering about his or her sexual preference. It also may be an attempt to “protect” children from alternative lifestyles. What they actually may be doing is widening this gap of understanding between two cultures based on sexuality, rather than bridging it with knowledge. In my eyes, this separation is a form of bigotry, especially within a public institution.

I mean, what would I have done if I could not have read Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. Or Everyone Poops. Because I know there is some confusion about this pooping business. And, really, it’s okay. Everyone poops, even if it mostly comes out of some legislators’ mouths.

*I once gave a presentation on Edward Said and Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Throughout, I kept referring to his last name as the way I read it: Said. After I ended the talk and opened up for Q&A, one of the members raised her hand and said, “You mean ‘Sa-yeed’.” Awkward moment.

Erin Go Bragh

So I got the low down from a Catholic colleague about the complexities of Lent and St. Patrick’s Day. Some churches argue that Lent is forty days while others concede that Lent is a six-week time period between Ash Wednesday and Easter. Forty, by the way, is a significant number in the Bible -- Jesus fasted for forty days, lost in the desert for forty days, yada yada.

Therefore, most Catholics figure that a difference of six days exists in this gap, so there are six free days of imbibing in prohibited Lenten items and all immoral substances, such as meat and alcohol. St. Patrick’s day (a holy day) can then be exchanged for another Lenten day in the week, like Tuesday instead of Friday. So it is religiously sound to partake in the Irish Catholic baptismal mediums of Guinness and corned beef today.

Just in case you were wondering. Most bishops have granted a special dispensation today, bit it doesn’t really matter. You’re all going to burn in hell anyway. Have fun!

What do you call two gay bobs?

Ned Flanders' alma mater
Originally uploaded by unsure shot.

Oral Roberts.

I was watching the Colbert Report over a delicious reheated dish of veggie enchiladas when it was reported that Oral Roberts University (of Tulsa, Oklahoma) was going to this national basketball tournament thingy. Not only that, but as a #16 seed against #1 Memphis. Colbert lovingly told Memphis that they were going to have to bring it against a 900 foot Jesus.

Yes, just another religious fanatical concept that reminds me why I left Oklahoma. Along with Southern Baptists, drought, poor educational reform and state representative Sally Kern and Senator Tom Coburn. It is good to know that the ORU Golden Eagles will be served as a sacrificial lamb to the basketball gods (who, I discovered, reside in Mount Olympus otherwise known as Indianapolis).

ORU are like the Hadist Jews of Oklahoma. We don’t know that much about them, so we’re scared of them. And that fear results in unconfirmed stories of embellishment. For example, I heard that female freshman have strict curfews. But their counterparts are allowed to paint Tulsa scandalous with scalawag activities cloaked by night. I was unable to confirm these activities and, hence, protect the journalistic integrity of my blog.

However, I was able to find their code of honor, which outlines their commitment to attend required chapel, develop their bodies in the “required aerobics program,” and avoid “unscriptual Sexual Acts” with anyone outside of ceremonial marriage. I like that they capitalized Sexual Acts. It just adds more flair to it, no? Plus their campus looks like the Jetsons reside on the 23rd floor in the skyscraper that Jesus built. And you can’t get more freaky than that, right?

Oklahoma, I kid because I love. Plus I have to live in this city a little while longer and I don’t want them to ride me out of town. Just yet.

P.S. I promise not to write about sports any longer because I was raised better than this. The only sports that were broadcast in my home were the Wimbledon and the Grand Prix if that tells you what pseudo-European my parents were about sports. I know nothing about American sports, and I would like to keep it that way. Except for the Colts. I will always love the Colts.
P.P.S. I take the original postscript back…Indy 500 is in May. Y’all have to know how absolutely ridiculous that month is in Indianapolis.

P.S. Kruderand, if you’re reading this, don’t think I didn’t notice that you committed MySpace suicide. Give me a shout out at anarchic1 at yahoo dot com if you have the chance. Please?

adjourned

Sigh…the week of administration hell is finally finished. Should I really be conflicted over whether the tables should be arranged in a hollow square or U-shape? Whether registration is down the hall next to the continental breakfast or next to the meeting location? Should the doors to the lunch discussion be opened with the possibility of outside distractions or closed to catalyze the melting of makeup and bad body odor? I was a cubicle diva last week. And for that, I apologize.

Most memorable quote from a board member: “Is there a Jenny Craig convention this week?” in reference to the Hoosier descent downtown for the Big 10 tournament. Classy.

Get R Done

My friend Michelle and I have this running game about which brother is most redneck. Yes, it’s cruel. But my brother knows that I love him even if I rage about his hunting deer and tipping cows. That established, the game sort of sounds like this (And I wish I was kidding about the following dialogue):

WR: My brother has a tattoo of a scarab around his belly button.

M: My brother has a tattoo of a confederate flag on his arm.

WR: My brother gave his wife a tattoo of a topless mermaid on her arm for Christmas.

M: My brother gave his wife new teeth for Christmas.

I can’t win, people. But I got a call from said brother last night. His wife is divorcing him after eight months of marriage. This may put him in the same redneck ranks of speedy marriages, such as Britney Spears and Lisa Presley. But I’m not certain if this qualifies, gaining from my brother’s misery and all. As sad as he is, he will benefit, being able to move out of his double-wide and back with our parents for the time being. Moving on up, EW. Moving on up.

That said, I just e-mailed my parents an article informing them that an emu is on the loose in our county. And, according to the owner, it’s fair game because the neighbors have “expressed concern for smaller animals.” The loss of the emu, however, will not be “in vain as ‘Emu meat is not only nutritious, but very delicious if cooked properly’.” Source

Side note: I used to work for a local paper and miss the highlights of my day, which include overhearing the local sheriff track my friends over the newsroom CB radio. Not to mention perks, such as covering stock car and speed boat racing. Those were the days.

Rough

Hi. My name is Toby and my mom asked me to write this because she is really busy with important meetings wherein a bunch of old, white men sit around a table and make organizational decisions and then do nothing about them. So she’s busy monkey dancing for them right now and doesn’t have time to pay attention to how cute I am or write to the Internet. She said it should be over in a week or so, but has temporarily delegated me as the author of this site.

So, that said, SAVE ME NOW! I mean, this is the life. I really like sleeping in a crate at night and only walking on a leash during designated times of the day and not being able to eat poop and sniff other dogs’ butts all day. I tried something new last week to get their attention, like using Guantanamo tactics of refusing to drink my water and only eating food out of uniquely designed plates in the living room on cushy rugs instead of my dog bowl in the kitchen. She called it an “episode” and did this to me.

Photos and design courtesy of Toombsday.

I am so demasculinized. I really enjoy smelling like earthworms and disposed diapers. Plus, it’s like 20 degrees outside. God help me, she even mentioned use of a “sweater.”

So, on behalf of writing restraint, I apologize for the erratic use of the Internet, but she promises to write again soon because she really loves you a lot and stuff. Just like she really loves me, and makes me dance for treats and then shaves my balls.