Gay Blood

This week, the the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services is meeting to decide whether gay men should be allowed to donate blood. (See article.) Since the 1980s, they have been banned from blood drives because it would endanger the public.

This could not make more sense. For one thing, gay men drink blood, and though many of them live on the West Coast and are therefore vegetarians, they have notoriously poor will power and are known to binge on hemophiliac children in the middle of the night. (See below)


For another, allowing gay blood to enter the general public's bloodstream would quickly lead to an epidemic of sexual disorientation. Before you know it, people would be cracking snarky jokes, collecting Broadway trivia, and paying far too much for hair products.

Mercifully, the Dept. of Health and Human Services has promised not to thrust us into gay men's clutches altogether. Men who wish to donate blood may not have been intimate with another man within the last 5 years. This ensures that we need only worry about unattractive gay men, of whom there are few.

White is the New White

Dear Bill Cunningham,

Enough! Day after day, I have created outlandish outfits and wandered the streets, looking what can only be described as terrifyingly whimsical. I have alarmed dogs, fascinated babies, and provoked complete strangers to ask me if I am "Lady Gaga or something." Yet somehow, I always seem to escape your notice.

The week that I sewed an eighteenth century redingote out of handspun recycled Coke bottles, for example, you decided that cardigans were chic. I wear organic fair-trade linen, and it's fur. I wear fur, and it's aluminum foil. Last fall, you specifically told me to "let myself go" and have fun with color. "Release the security blanket" of black and embrace the colors of nature through your clothes, you said. I obeyed.

I had never felt more exhilirated or childishly free.

But now, Bill Cunningham, you have gone too far. White? On Memorial Day weekend?! It's insulting. Particularly when I had a perfectly good eggshell sundress picked out but thought it would strike you as too obvious.



Bill Cunningham, we're through.

I give up.

Henceforth, I will just dress like this.



Sincerely,

The Jaded Heifer

P.S. Leggings are not "stems," and shirts are not "flowers."

P.P.S. Buy a car.

People Are Racist... Because of Science

According to a recent CNN.com article (poached from health.com), people are racist... because of science. Let me explain.

Science has long taught us that people are not very smart because we cannot tell the difference between ourselves and others. When we see someone else get a paper cut, for example, we think that we are in pain ourselves and do all kinds of wussy things like clench our muscles, increase our heart rate, sweat, demand antibiotics, and start screaming and begging to trade information about illegal Canadian immigrants for just a few seconds of relief.

For years, this "empathy factor" has wreaked havoc on society by causing people to spend perfectly good beer and gun money on charities and government programs. Yuppie parents have aggravated this problem by actively encouraging their children to "imagine what it's like to be [insert name of kid whose bodily functions made 3rd grade math class unbearable]."

Now, science has made the startling discovery that people are most likely to confuse themselves with others of the same race. Apparently, the more you look like the person you're watching, the more you hurt when she hurts. This is why I couldn't get out of bed for a week when Anglina Jolie had that cold and why white women love Oprah so much.

So, according to science, racism exists because of empathy. Of course, nobody told science that, as a social construct, race doesn't actually exist.

America's Secret Weapon

According to a recent Fox News poll, America's best weapon is luck. "While 33 percent of voters think the United States has been effective in preventing terrorist attacks, more — 49 percent — think it's been pure luck."

As these so-called "voters" point out, luck is an extremely effective weapon. It is virtually undetectable to x-ray machines, most German Shepherds, and all Midwesterners. Furthermore, it has had a 99.infinity% track record of helping me to avoid many potentially disastrous disasters. This morning, for example, by making use of the luck weapon, I did not encounter any flu-ridden puppy-knapping serial killers, sprain my head in any wrangling accidents, or get my scarf caught in any jogging strollers.

Some "voters" claim that placing too much faith in the luck weapon would be a grave mistake because it would show hubris, which, as everyone knows, angers the vampires and the aliens. There is a growing movement in these voter circles to add more weapons to our Department of Super Secret Weapons. Trusted inside sources say that, to preempt alien attacks, the Department has already invested millions in anti-alien weaponry such as Jedi mind trick technology, painted signs, and voodoo. It is currently looking into plans to build a big fence around the perimeter of the United States that would be visible from space and would be way too high for aliens to climb.

Babies (The Movie): Abridged

These four babies are... babies, yet this French film brilliantly shows both the beauty of bodily functions and the subtle nuances that distinguish one culture from another: hippie-yuppie parents make their babies do yoga, urban Japanese parents make their babies wear leg warmers, Namibian parents let their babies chew on bones from the ground, and Mongolian parents let their babies crawl around under goats. No matter what their nationality, babies really like hipster music. (See Babies: The Movie)

Is Your [Insert Pampered Pet Breed Here] Normal?

I recently discovered WebMD Pets! My life is now perfect. Instead of simply diagnosing my own medical conditions online and using them to vex my doctor(like that time I tried to convince her I had prostate cancer), I can spend hours each day on WebMD Pets, keeping a watchful eye on the health of my cat, Lindsay Lohan.

Lindsay Lohan has been behaving oddly lately. She acts in a manner that can only be described as lethargic. She glares at me for no apparent reason and seems to have stopped caring about life. I think she might be schizophrenic or something. We'll be sitting there, having a perfectly normal conversation, and then she'll say something totally illogical and uninformed like "I thought Sarah Palin led the Tea Party. What's all this about Sam Adams?"

Luckily, WebMD Pets has many valuable insights into pet psychology. First of all, it's important to understand what is a behavioral problem and what is just "being a cat." According to the groundbreaking article "Is My Cat Normal?" normal cats exhibit the following behaviors: face rubbing, serial killing/dismembering, toilet drinking, eating plants, using substances recreationally, eating wool, lethargy, finger licking, and glowing in the dark. Reading this both reassured me that Lindsay Lohan is indeed a cat and that my roommate may be as well.

Yet I still have lurking suspicions. This list of behaviors seems to me to be stereotypically feline normative. Who is WebMD Pets to dictate which of Lindsay Lohan's behaviors are "abnormal" and which are simply charmingly whimsical? If she wants to have an imaginary friend who is a giant white rabbit, who am I to judge her?

Should Lindsay Lohan's behavior become more concerning, it's good to know that I have options. (See Behavioral Medications for Cats.) Thank you, WebMD Pets!

The Sordid Side of Bunnies

The other day, a friend called my attention to a matter of great social import: a teacher in Germany is suing her 14-year-old student for drawing a bunny on the board. (See article.) The image so frightened the teacher that she had heart palpitations and many other vague yet serious health problems. Germans leapt to her aid. All across the country, people begain to raise money, a response that has a strong track record of alleviating vague yet serious health problems. The teacher feels confident that, after the judge forces the student to pay her millions of dollars (or at least lunch money for the rest of the year), her illness will resolve quickly.

However, some people do not recognize the far-reaching implications of this case. Perhaps they are overlooking the fact that "bunnies" are actually rabbits in disguise. As everyone knows, rabbits have long posed a threat to society by using their finely-tuned arsenal of weapons (sitting very still, listening, flaring their nostrils, and staring) to lull us into a state of complacency and false security.

In addition to our money, this teacher deserves our thanks. Not since Mr. MacGregor has a hero of this stature emerged to defend us against the rabbit threat. Without her, we could have easily remained ignorant of the perils that lurk in our backyards each day. Rabbits carry the highly contagious bumblefoot infection, which has already spread to two keychains in New Jersey. They prey upon our supply of crudites, which could, over time, force us to replace carrots with french fries. Perhaps most alarming, they undermine the fabric of society by reproducing like -- well you know, which upsets both Republicans and feminists. When Republicans are bloated and pouty, noone is happy.

To my great relief, I discovered that we are not completely defenseless against the rabbit menace. Historically, rabbits have shown themselves to be vulnerable to a number of weapons, including gassing, fences, shooting, snaring, ferreting, merciless mockery and biological warfare(myxomatosis and calcivirus). Rabbits cannot vomit, so if all else fails, there's always the option of making them ride roller coasters while watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians. (I'm still not entirely sure who Kim Kardashian is.)

Heifersoapbox: Babies on the Supreme Court

In a recent NYT Sunday Magazine piece, a Yale Professor proposed that babies can make moral judgments about people's actions and mete out punishment accordingly. Apparently, we are born with a built-in sense of right and wrong, which is then sullied by liberal arts education and postmodernism.

This is an incredible breakthrough, both for political science and for actual science. We will soon be able to harness babies' innate purity and exploit -- I mean use it for our own devices by appointing them as judges and magistrates in our courts. No need to spend thousands of dollars on higher education when we can simply dispose of the judges (make them "analysts") once they've started wearing big boy pants and have lost all sense of right and wrong.

This plan would win the support of helicopter parents everywhere. No longer do young mothers have to launch cutthroat campaigns to get their toddlers accepted to elite preschools; they can now do it to get them elected to the Supreme Court, saving time, energy, and lives. Using babies would also reduce the Supreme Court's carbon footprint because babies use considerably less energy than the current justices do.

Several studies support this plan by demonstrating babies' moral fiber. In the lab, 2/3 of babies looked longer at evil people than they did at good people. According to a survey, 2 out of 5 of babies say they would throw a Barbie under an oncoming Tonka train without discernable cause (a trend that becomes much more prevalent in toddlers).

Heifervoyeur: New York Times Headline Writers Go a Bridge Too Far

"Shanghai Is Trying to Untangle the Mangled English of Chinglish."

Really, New York Times?

I still love you, but sometimes you get tangled in the mangled minds of your copy editors and their overinflated sense of their own cleverness. Get Katie Couric to say that one five times fast... or just one time at regular speed.

Heifering About: The Subway Anthropologist or How to Make People Slightly Less Comfortable Than is Comfortable

In an effort to go green, I have been taking public transportation a lot lately. As it turns out, the subway is not just a convenient means of travel, but it is also a social experiment in the making. After some spotty and poorly-documented field research, I believe I have accurately sketched the boundaries of acceptable social interactions among urban humans. To wit, people will become slightly uncomfortable if one does any of the following:

1. In a mostly empty row of seats, sit immediately next to the only other passenger.
2. As the train turns, lean against the other passenger in the opposite direction from that dictated by physics.
3. Make sassy expressions at one's own reflection in the window.
4. Make direct eye contact with anyone for longer than 3 seconds.
5. Wear a large hat.
6. Eat a burrito.
7. Ask to borrow a piece of toilet paper.
8. Ask to pet someone's baby.
9. Ask to pet someone's ipad.
10. Breathe conspicuously.

Heifervoyeur: PowerPoint Derails Military

Everyone knows that military commanders go nuts for pretty pictures. During the French and Indian War, Washington famously spent twice his monthly ration budget on illuminated maps of Ohio and Maryland. In his memoirs, he wrote, "I thought the inlets were cute."

Now, in an attempt to reduce their carbon footprint and be more "with it," the U.S. Army has gone digital, moving from watercolor cartography to PowerPoint. According to an Army publicist, the shift will give the Army "street cred" and will limit the number of inadvertent orphanage bombings that result from using maps whose ink has bled.

However, the digital shift has caused some unanticipated side effects. High ranking officers have started working late into the night, adding sound effects and animation to their PowerPoint presentations in an effort to outdo one another at Monday morning meetings. While many officers describe the atmosphere on the base as "good-natured competition," many of these strategy sessions have dissolved into street rumbles between two newly-formed gangs: the Comic Sans Kings and the Helevectias. Perhaps most worrying is the CIA's new policy of using Wingdings to encrypt sensitive messages.

The impact of basing troop placement on PowerPoint is yet to be determined, yet some of our soldiers are noticing disturbing trends. Private Idaho, stationed in Iraq, remarked that his troupe's maneuver's have become increasingly "like the lilt of a cartoon word across a screen." The U.S. Army press office was unavailable for comment.

Heifervoyeur: Boy Scouts Molest Man

FOXNews.com - Boy Scouts ordered to pay $18.5M in sex abuse case

Posted using ShareThis

Do not be deceived by their cherubic faces and wrinkle resistant fabric. According to Fox News, these seemingly innocent Boy Scouts are ordered by the court to pay $18.5 million in damages to an Oregon man for abuse perpetrated in the early 1980s.

Many Oregonians are using the case as impetus to air their grievances against the Scouts. Allison Splinter, a female lumberjack, claims that Boy Scouts have frequently poached leaf samples from the national forest where she works. Several residents reportedly have seen Boy Scouts lining up and walking around in an intimidating manner. One architect who lives on a houseboat claims to have seen Scouts lining up on the shore, making obscene hand gestures (see above image).

When pressed for comment, 6th grader Timmy Smith insisted, "I wasn't involved. I was born in 1998," to which ADA Portland replied, "A likely story." Fourth grader Emmett Apple simply broke down in tears, repeating over and over, "I just want to sell the pop-corn." As our reporters left the scene, most of the Scouts remained stone faced, whittling spears out of sticks.

Heifervoyeur: Those Decadent Canadians

My friend Muffin constantly finds herself with extended periods of free time and a vast supply of disposable income. Suffering from ennui after yet another weekend at the Paris Ritz, she came to me in search of fresh, new vacation ideas. I was happy to oblige and came up with a winning option:

Canadian Style Camping.



Everyone knows that Canadians are decadent, always flaunting such things as 100% pure maple syrup, fur, and universal health care. But now, the Canadians have reached a new level of audacity with the development of glamping (glamour + camping).

Gone are the days when Canadians had to leave their mansions behind to enjoy the great outdoors. At Clayquot Wilderness Resort, for a modest fee, one can rent fully furnished tents with room enough for one's chef, valet, and badminton instructor.

For an additional fee, they will resurrect Clark Gable and have him lounge saucily on your setee.

Heifering About: As the Buddhist Rabbi Says...

A few weeks ago, I went on a 3 day silent Jewish meditation retreat. I know what you're thinking... Well, actually I don't. It wasn't a silent psychic meditation retreat.

In 3 silent days, though I did not learn telepathy, I picked up some helpful lessons:

1. People can tell you're not Jewish if you hold the Hebrew chant sheet upside down. Nevertheless, they will be gracious and will help you learn.

2. Breathing is more interesting than you'd think.

3. There actually are little bugs living in your eyebrows and on your skin. If you sit still for long enough, you will feel them.

4. If you want to inspire murderous thoughts in those around you, you should: fall asleep and snore during the rabbi's teaching, arrive late and huffingly to each meditation session, and chew loudly.

5. Oscar Wilde was right. The only possible society is oneself.

6. If you pay attention, you notice stuff.

For more about God, Judaism, and meditation, see Rabbi Jeff's excellent wesite: www.awakenedheartproject.org

Heifervoyeur: Pardon Me Sir, But A Cat Pooped In Your Coffee

The most expensive coffee in the world is made of cat poop. Well, to be more precise, it's made from the dung of an Asian Palm Civet, a cousin to the mongoose that is native to Southeast Asia and Indonesia. Civets like to eat berries, and (being evolutionarily elegant) they choose the fat, juicy ones. Apparently, we humans have a more difficult time distinguishing the fat, juicy, ripe berries from dried up, rotting ones, and we must rely on civets to do this for us.

After the civets have defecated, Indonesian farmers sort through their poop, wash it off, roast it, brew it, call it "Kopi Luwak," and sell it to to captains of industry for upwards of $600/lb. Well, they probably sell it to a coffee company for a lot less than it's worth, but who's counting?

A captain of industry friend who has sampled Kopi Luwak tells me that it's mild and aromatic at the same time; well worth the $30/cup price tag. He assures me that the washing process is thorough and that it hardly looks like cat poop at all.

Further shoddy online research suggests that the aroma may be derived from the anal glands of the civet, which excrete a musky pheromone meant to attract civets of the opposite sex. It is not yet possible to buy coffee made from the feces of gay civets. I checked.

While Kopi Luwak has been popular with yuppies since the early 1990s, it reached national attention through a scene in the 2007 masterpiece The Bucket List. And now, through a feature article, the New York Times is calling attention to the economic and environmental impact of farming palm civets for their poop. If this concerns you, you may consider joining the boycott.

If it doesn't, before you go rushing off to demand that your local Starbucks stock Kopi Luwak, be warned that there are a number of copycat varietals out there. People will stoop to anything to make their coffee taste like cat poop, including but not limited to gluing poop to the beans themselves. One woman in Pittsburgh trained her cat to defecate directly into her coffee pot. The cat felt used.

Heifertorial: The Rich Could Take Over The World!

A recent article in the Bible - I mean The New York Times - revealed the shocking fact that many recent immigrants to the United States are educated and wealthy. Now, I don't know a lot about "educated wealthy" people, but I'm inclined to be suspicious of this group. On many occasions, I have personally observed them shopping, traveling, using pronouns correctly, buying netbooks, and various other sordid activities. Furthermore, they pay far too much for recycled stationery, which, any fool knows, is just old stationery and cuts down on our national use of vellum. Add to these, the fact that educated wealthy people are good at stuff, and you see how much of a drain they are on our economy.

Some might argue that educated wealthy people are an asset to our country because they bring perspective, insight, culture, skill, money, and taste, but I submit that our country has gotten along well enough for hundreds of years without any of the above. Furthermore, they they could pose a threat to our treasured customary laziness. If we let them in, we could easily find ourselves in a situation where not only do 5% of the population have 90% of the wealth, but the 5% with the money will spend it on things like smartcars and universities instead of on satellite dishes and unnecessary plastic objects. Even worse, we could soon discover that educated, wealthy people will snap up all of the power. They'll give jobs only to other educated wealthy people, and they'll use their money and learning to make more money and learning. We would wind up like Switzerland! We must sit up and take note! We must defend our reality-show legacy from the threat of educated wealthy people! Aux armes!

The Big Sleep: Abridged

Every woman that Bogie encounters throws herself at him, from sexy bookstore clerks to sexy cabbies. There must be something to that whole chain-smoking-talking-out-of-the-side-of-your-mouth-thing.

Heifering About: An Aspiring Vagrant

If frolicking in mud puddles and heckling passers-by while drinking margaritas is wrong, then I don't want to be right. Must tweak lifestyle strategic plan.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/31/us/31keywest.html

Heiferlifestyle: The Occasional Vegetarian

I have a friend who is a vegetarian. It's insufferable. We'll be at a dinner party, having a perfectly good time, and then she'll conspicuously ask the waiter if gumbo can be made as a vegetarian dish, which immediately focuses the conversation on the intricacies of her gastronomy and the men at the table spend the rest of the evening trying to convince her to reconsider steak, and this invariably culminates in at least two invitations to Zagat rated restaurants where they will cure her. They see her as a challenge; kind of how they see lesbians.

After months of reasoning with her and calling her a communist in public, I decided that I had no option but to try it. It kind of made sense. As a vegetarian, I would be healthier. My teeth would be whiter. My skin would be more luminous. Yuppies would respect me without my having to read Ayn Rand. So I tried it, and I've learned a lot along the way.

First, you must be prepared. People will demand an explanation, and when they do, you have 4 options:

1. It's for your health. This makes you sound like a sorority girl or will lead to a discussion of your medical history, neither of which is desirable.

2. You like animals. This leaves you vulnerable to the "humans are animals and animals eat each other" argument, to which the only real rebuttal is, "then cannibalism is OK?" which makes you seem... well... creepy.

3. You are Hindu. Unless you look Indian, most people will not believe you.

4. You care about the environment. If you're willing to do a little homework, you'll be able to tailor this conversation to fit your audience. You can describe the sordid underbelly of chicken-raising, or you can brainstorm alternative ways to use the land required for cattle-ranching like a wind farm or a really big slip-n-slide.

Finally, you don't have to be a vegetarian to reap most of its benefits; you just have to act like one.

Heifervoyeur: Collyer Brother Makeover

Why is it that, in order for one to qualify for a house makeover show, one has to dress like a yeti or dumpster dive or live like a Collyer brother?*(see note) When will someone start a we-think-you're-fabulous-but-aren't-quite-reaching-your-potential-beacuse-you-chose-a-career-that's-noble-and-fulfilling-but-doesn't-allow-you-to-wear-chanel-so-we're-going-to-buy-you-presents show?


* The Collyer brothers were New York society recluses who lived in a Harlem brownstone, hoarding trash, newspapers, etc., which eventually piled so high that it fell on and killed Homer. They couldn't find Langley in all of the trash for almost a month. Eventually, his body was found 10 feet from his brother's. Just goes to show, bad things happen when people have too much money and their parents are cousins.

Heifervoyeur: On the Street

Overheard in Union Square Park: An Exchange Between Two Gentlemen

1: I am not homeless.
2: Oh yes you are.
1: I am not.
2: You don't got no home. You're homeless.
1: Nah, I got a place now.
2: You got a place? Where?
1: I got one.
2: Right.
1: **** you, man.

Heifering About in the Woods or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Tofudog

My friend wanted to go camping. On purpose. She wanted to strap on a heavy backpack, spray herself with a chemical designed to kill things, refrain from showering for days while it seeps into her pores, and walk straight into the known territory of bears, wolves, mosquitoes, moose, and rapists. Voluntarily. At first, I dismissed this as a mood, but I began to worry when she showed me the wool socks she planned to wear. Wool -- like, the itchy kind that leaves itchy pink rings around your ankles. It's like signing up for middle school.

What's worse, she wanted me to go too. I told her that I had no intention of being raped by a tribe of moose wearing wool socks and that I was allergic to pesticides and that there was a higher risk of contracting an STD in Appalachia than in Manhattan. The only way I would consider going camping is if she arranged for it to look something like this:

A week went by. Then, my friend told me that she had made for the two of us to stay overnight in an Appalachian Mountain Club hut. I didn't have vast experience with huts, but I had read enough Joseph Conrad to know that they were to be avoided. When I voiced this concern, my friend said that we were unlikely to run into fictional psychotic tribal chiefs in New England. I said, "Have you never visited Yale?"

So, on a perfectly good Saturday in March, I found myself in soaking wet wool socks and polyester pants, schlepping a backpack full of water up a snow and mud trail. I had objected to carrying water, pointing out the piles of snow all around, but my friend mumbled something about microbes and walked away up the path.

A warning about hiking. Hiking is walking. Only it takes an hour and a half to walk a mile. If you think that the inch of snow on the ground will be manageable because, after all, it's almost spring, it won't be. As you go higher up the mountain, the snow gets deeper. It's like God is warning you to turn back while you still can. When the snow gets deep enough to reach your hip, you start to worry that you're going to break your ankle and then drag yourself off into the woods to live alone and unnoticed in a lean-to (which you'll have to figure out how to make) until you either contract fatal tuberculosis or a nice family from Idaho stumbles upon your annual mosquito-squeezing ritual and shields their children's eyes.

Against all odds, six hours later, we arrived at the hut in time for dinner. In the off season, there are no meals served, but a hippie oversees the kitchen while the hikers cook their own food. After debating what menu would be least likely to attract wolves or mosquitoes on the trail, we had settled on Annie's mac and cheese, mixed with sliced tofu dogs.

In a hut kitchen, one is expected to be as tidy as possible, while using as little water and power as possible, which is next to impossible. For one thing, they won't turn on any lights until the sun has set completely, so you can't see what you're cooking. For another, it's difficult to light a solar stove on a cloudy day. However, since we were being supervised by a bearded man with a notebook and tacitly by the other campers, we persevered and took turns scrubbing our utensils with natural, biodegradable, exfoliating soap and rinsed our dishes with water from a pitcher, pouring it like we were in a chemistry lab. The Beard snorted when we tucked our food wrappings into a ziploc bag and sniffed when we dumped our leftovers into the compost bin.

An hour later, as we sat in the main room listening to a group of tall women with short hair compare and contrast L.L.Bean and E.M.S. long underwear, the Beard came barreling out of the kitchen in a rage. He waved my tofudog over his head like a Somali drug lord waving a gun. "Who left THIS in the compost bin?!?!" The room stopped and watched each other.

Finally, one of the short hair ladies spoke. "Elspeth, you had tofurkey, didn't you? Could it be yours?"

"No tofurkey has more of a purple tone. That's definitely tofudog. Looks like the Whole Foods kind too. It's much fatter than the Trader Joe's one."

"Oh, yes. You're right."

The Beard circled the room, training the tofudog on each of us. I stood up. "Um... I think maybe that's mine." The Beard turned to me slowly.

"Yours?"

"Yes."

"And you put it in the compost bin?"

"Yes. I thought it was food so, you know, it was biodegradable."

In response, the Beard simply pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then, unexpectedly, one of the ladies came to my defense. "You know, if it's soy, it shouldn't have preservatives that can't be broken down. That doesn't sound healthy for one thing. For another, you'd think that Whole Foods would pay more attention to environmental concerns."

"Louise is right. Someone should do something about this."

"Let's start a letter-writing campaign."

"Oh, sure, Catherine. You know how well that worked for the Meerkat Protection Act last year. Let's picket!"

"Let's boycott!"

"Let's blog!"

"Let's make s'mores!" someone said.

And so, distracted for the moment by prospect of melted marshmallow,we all settled around the biofuel lantern and kept each other awake with stories about the horrors of poultry farming and dogfighting and the corn industry.

Ingredients:
water, isolated soy protein, vital wheat gluten, tofu (water, soybeans), natural flavors (contains autolyzed yeast, yeast extract), salt, wheat starch, evaporated cane juice powder, canola oil, spice, seasoning (spices, dehydrated onion), carrageenan, vitamins & minerals (thiamin hydrochloride, cyanocobalamin, calcium panthothenate, ferric orthophosphate, iron oxide, zinc oxide, dimagnesium phosphate, dipotassium phosphate), paprika and beet powder (for color), extractives of spices. CONTAINS: SOY and WHEAT. Manufactured in a facility that uses egg ingredients.

Strunk and White, Aristotle, and The Bachelor

I watched The Bachlor season finale last night, having never seen the show before. Normally, I avoid reality shows as doggedly as I avoid reality. Though I didn't expect to enjoy the episode, I was pleasantly surprised by the hours of self-satisfied gloating that it afforded me when I reflected upon the following statements:

"There isn't a doubt in my mind..."

The bachelor, his family, and both of the bachelorettes said this several times. While it may be more emphatic than a simple "I have no doubt," it is redundant. Where else does one keep doubts but in one's mind? This obscenely violates Strunk and White's Rule #13: "Omit needless words," and its redundancy was compounded by repetitive use throughout the show. Furthermore, it's annoying... like when people say "irregardless."

"I know my wife is here, but I still don't know which woman is right for me."

This presents an obvious logical fallacy:

Argument of Well-Balanced Person: I would like to be married to a woman. The right woman for me is here. Therefore, I will marry a woman who is here.

Argument of Mad Bachelor: I would like to be married to a woman. There are several women here. Therefore, I will marry a woman who is here.

Heifer's Solution: If you don't know which woman to marry, DON'T GET MARRIED!!! Same rule applies to other issues of import such as the selection of puppies and handbags.

Heifervoyeur: SOS to the World

I just discovered Craigslist Missed Connections, in which people can send messages into the internet abyss for someone they encountered but then lost. In the name of voyeurism, some samples:

"You walk by my stoop every afternoon. Yesterday, you were wearing a chartreuse chiffon poet's blouse with a fabulous pair of vintage eggplant Trina Turk cigarette pants (circa 1993) and cobalt snakeskin Chanel flats. Let me know if you are interested! To prove it's you, write back with the designer of the clutch you were carrying."

"I saw you on the F train at 4:23 pm on Friday. You were reading The Awakening, the Norton Critical Edition. You were on p. 79 and were averaging 3.68 minutes between page turns, which is 1.3 times the national average for Geneva 10 point typeface, which the Norton Critical Edition uses. Could you have been distracted by the dashing man in the goatee standing over you? I've always been a fan of Chopin, but didn't you think it was bizarre how she had to kill herself just because she was a woman? Would love to reconnect."

Heifering About: Inserting Oneself Into Situations In Which Ones Does Not Belong

Here are some things NOT to do at a Quaker meeting:

1. Arrive late, wearing long, jangling, yet devastatingly hip jewelry.
2. Ask someone what you missed.
3. Take out and read a Left Behind novel.
4. Read sections of said novel aloud...
5. directing pointed looks at the lady in clogs across the way.
6. Try to bum any of the following: cigarette, investments in your new start-up, information about when the plane is supposed to board.
7. Slurp, snort, or sniff anything, including your neighbor.
8. Sigh conspicuously.
9. Kick the back of the seat in front of you.
10. Introduce yourself and explain how long you have been an alcoholic.

Take my word for it.

High Society: Abridged

Grace goes on a bender in musical comedy form and is a better Hepburn than Hepburn... either of them.

See it? Only every day, while you're planning your ascent to stardom and your cultural takeover of a minor principality. A+ INFINITY!

In the News: That Kid Who Sniffed Glue

From the New York Times Home and Garden section: "'I like gluing things to other things,' Mr. Hart said, by now stating the obvious."



Against my will, I'm enchanted by this family and their giant stiletto-shoe-fainting-couch. Momma's an evangelist/recording artist who "named her furs after her husband's girlfriends." Son, who dresses like a cowboy and apparently glue guns everything in sight, "showed a talent for ornamentation at a very early age. Stuck in the family’s trailer, he began decorating his mother’s shoes with pearls. In his early teens, he adorned shoes for Ginger Rogers, Debbie Reynolds and Dolly Parton." Sounds to me like we have all the makings of Grey Gardens: Vegas Nights (the sequel).

The best part is that you can rent out their house for weddings, dog shows, bar mitzvahs, what have you. What better contribution to make to the plans of your bridezilla roommate?

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/25/garden/25wedding.html

Up in the Air: Abridged

A young kid with a dream meets a prickly yet charming guy, and together, they drive as many people to suicide as possible, learning things about life, love, and empty symbols of social status along the way.

See it? Sure! It'll make you feel so morally superior to businesspeople that you will be able to feel a condescending sort of compassion for them and their perfectly-cut suits that just happen to subtly complement both their eyes and the upholstery around them. You'll be closer to enlightenment.
A-