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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in The Empress of Ice Cream's LiveJournal:

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    Sunday, June 29th, 2008
    1:29 pm
    Blogsheep: "The Big Read" lists; or, I AM QUEEN DORK
    I have some qualms about this blog game that's going around--the lists seem poorly assembled and edited, for one thing. But just to prove that I AM QUEEN DORK, here we go:

    ( ALL HAIL QUEEN DORK! )
    Thursday, September 22nd, 2005
    4:36 pm
    The "embarrassing sandwich" game
    ...ganked from [info]hungrytiger.

    I don't usually eat sandwiches, so I am not really much of a competitor in this arena. I think my most embarrassing sandwich would have to be the fried baloney and processed cheese food on Sunbeam bread that I ate for lunch every day in the summer of 1979.

    My brother and I used to set ourselves, and each other, crazy/pointless endurance tests. One of them was the Summer Lunch--each summer, we'd resolve that we'd each have the same lunch every day. This meant that you had to choose the lunch carefully. I deeply regretted, for example, the summer that I chose "two boiled hot dogs with Gulden's mustard and three carrot sticks". My brother tended to play it safe, with at least two summers being devoted to "a can of Dinty Moore beef stew".

    The only way you could get out of eating The Lunch was to a) buy pizza for self and sibling, or b) be invited to someone else's house for lunch (having someone over at our house didn't count; we could offer them a choice, but we still had to have The Lunch). By the end of the summer, my brother and I were surprisingly available for lunch dates with even our most distant friends.



    The most embarrassing sandwich in my family would have to be my paternal grandmother's cold baked-bean sandwiches on white bread. I think butter may also have been involved, but the trauma has impaired my memory slightly.


    My favorite sandwiches: The steak bomb with cheese/mushroom/onions from Bob's Food Store in Medford; the French dip sandwich from Spago; any reasonably decent Monte Cristo sandwich or croque-Monsieur.
    Wednesday, July 27th, 2005
    1:04 pm
    In passing...
    To the guy on Route 2 the other day:

    Your bumper sticker does not change the fact that Che Guevara would never have driven a Mitsubishi Mirage. Also, he wouldn't have swerved madly from lane to lane.



    It's way too hot.
    Saturday, June 4th, 2005
    10:58 am
    Yesterday, I took a taxi driven by a very friendly man. We passed a driving-school car, and the man said, "I never learned how to drive--I taught myself." Of course I was intrigued. He went on to say that, from the time he was a little boy, he had always watched his father very closely while he drove, and had always asked him a lot of questions.

    By the time he was 14, he had enough confidence that he had figured out how this whole driving thing worked that he used to move the car from one side of the yard to the other at night, while the rest of the family was asleep. This always surprised his father a bit, but he worked long hours and figured he had just forgotten where he had chosen to park the car.

    Finally, the future taxi driver felt guilty about the deception and he told his father, "I've been moving your car sometimes." His father said, "How could you be doing that?" "I can drive," said the boy. The father said, "Well, show me how you can drive," and took him out in the car.

    After that first trip, his father said, "From now on, you can drive with me, but please don't drive the car by yourself any more. You know, what you did was wrong, but I'm glad you told me about it." The taxi driver said that from then on, his father used to take him driving often. (And yes, he was an excellent driver!)

    When he had finished telling this story, the driver said, "When I talk about my father, I miss him a lot." (He had said previously that his father had died four years ago.) All I could say in return was, "It sounds like you guys had a wonderful relationship."

    Sometimes I withdraw so far into myself that I forget the world is full of people with amazing stories. And sometimes I get reminded of that.
    Thursday, January 6th, 2005
    4:53 pm
    Reality Check
    What happens when we try to fly
         And find we have no wings?
    We bound along the ground. Oh, my!
         A bird flies. And it sings!
    Thursday, November 4th, 2004
    1:39 pm
    America Held Hostage, Day Two
    And another thing--being a member of the "Log Cabin Republicans" is like being a member of "Pigs for More Bacon".
    Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004
    3:42 pm
    IT'S MOURNING IN AMERICA!!!!!
    I made a CafePress store with some merch for those of us who might want to share the grief. I don't make a nickel from this--all of the items are offered at the CafePress cost.

    Hey, we have to laugh, or we'd never stop crying.
    12:53 pm
    {no words}
    In 1972, my parents bought a TV so they could watch the election returns. My brother and I were excited about finally having a TV in our house! I remember sitting in the den watching a fuzzy, black-and-white Walter Cronkhite announce the results--a landslide for Nixon. It was the first time I ever saw my father cry.

    In 1974, my mother insisted that my brother and I watch the final days of the Watergate hearings. I remember watching a fuzzy, black-and-white Sam Ervin outlining the charges against the President in his dry, folksy twang.

    Last night, I sat and watched crisp, bright images of what I can only see as an unfolding tragedy for our country. I can summon the perspective sometimes to think, "Well, all we know is that slightly more people in the US disagree with you about what is important than agree with you," but then I think about the hateful, discriminatory anti-gay legislation tht was passed in states all over the country, I think about the truly vile and idiotic Senators-elect like Coburn and Thune and DeMint, and it makes my heart sore.

    I want more than anything in the world for my mother to hold me and make it all right. But my mother died in 1976, on a day when my school was raising the Energy Flag and reading a unit about astronauts. I remember how hopeful we all were at my little school, talking about how, when we were grown up, our society would have advanced even farther in the war against poverty, crime, and ignorance. I remember singing along with my classmates to "Free to Be You and Me".

    I am still free to be me, and you are still free to be you, no matter what the ignorant fuckers say. After I finish crying, I will start doing everything I can to make sure they remember that.

    One of my favorite Zen sayings ever is this: "Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water." It works that way for tragedies, too. We shall overcome, some day.
    Thursday, September 2nd, 2004
    9:07 pm
    Some "Swift Boat" Signatures Forged; Veterans Angry
    This is outrageous--even more outrageous is that no other newspaper, radio program, or television show has picked this story up.

    Whether you're for Bush or for Kerry, you have to find this story appalling.


    Swift boat veteran Bob Anderson of Columbus [Montana] is ticked.

    It bothers him that Sen. John Kerry's swift boat history has become such a political hot potato. But he's even more irritated that his name was included - without his permission - on a letter used to discredit Kerry.

    "I'm pretty nonpolitical," the 56-year-old Anderson said Tuesday. So, when he found out last week that his name was one of about 300 signed on a letter questioning Kerry's service, he was "flabbergasted."

    "It's kind of like stealing my identity," said Anderson, who spent a year on a swift boat as an engine man and gunner.

    [....]

    [Bob] Wedge, 60, of Mesquite, Nev., said his name, too, was on the list - and he's mad.

    "This is the fourth or fifth time someone has called me or e-mailed me in regard to signing this damn letter," he wrote in an e-mail to Anderson. "I don't agree with it and want no part of it and especially don't want my name on it."

    Both men have tried to contact the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth to have their names removed from the list. Neither have had any success.

    "I can't seem to get a response when I reply to their e-mail," Wedge said.

    "They come back undeliverable."


    Pass this on to folks you know; write your local paper and ask them why they haven't covered it!
    Tuesday, August 17th, 2004
    2:28 pm
    Targeted Marketing?
    The other day, I received (as I often do) a catalog called "CampMor".

    Why?

    Now, if there were a catalog called "CampLes", I could understand why they had me on their list...
    Tuesday, July 13th, 2004
    1:31 pm
    The Sloganator Memorial
    The Bush/Cheney campaign had one of those "make your own poster" things on their website. Briefly.

    Here's a memorial to those glorious days. Enjoy!
    Friday, July 9th, 2004
    1:54 pm
    Some topical slash
    Running Mates

    John Kerry could still hear the crowds cheering as the limousine pulled away from the stadium. It was an incredible feeling--he had never inspired that level of passion before. And he owed it all to the man by his side.

    He looked at the boyish face, still glowing from excitement...at the tousled hair he longed to run his fingers through. Everything came so easily to this man, this golden boy. He was charm personified. Kerry felt like a moth drawn to a flame.

    "What are you thinking, John?" Edwards asked. Kerry was startled, and didn't know what to say. I was thinking about what your mouth tasted like, he realized. Oh, God. How could he have let this happen?

    "Let me show you what I was thinking," Edwards went on, and Kerry realized that his running mate had slid across the broad leather seat until his muscular thigh was pressing deliciously, deliriously against his.

    Kerry held his breath--what was happening?--as Edwards's strong arm encircled his neck. He felt the warmth, the incredible softness of this kiss, this incredible kiss, like a revelation. Like the fireworks above the Mall on the Fourth of July.

    As they broke apart, finally, for air, Kerry looked at the sculpted, perfect face so near to his own, this marvelous, magical man who was offering himself so tenderly.

    "Bring it on," Kerry said, in a husky whisper. "Bring it on."
    Wednesday, May 5th, 2004
    12:01 pm
    MOON CROWNED 'MESSIAH' IN SENATE OFFICE BUILDING
    I am not joking. Sun Myung Moon staged an elaborate ceremony, in which he was crowned the "Prince of Peace" and referred to as the "Messiah", in the Everett Dirksen Senate Office Building on March 23, 2004.

    Participants in the ceremony included US Representatives and leaders of prominent NGOs.

    Did you read about this in your local newspaper? No? Neither did I. If you're as angry as I am about this arrant pandering--with our tax dollars!--to special-interest groups, please a) pass this information on to anyone you think might be interested, and/or b) write your local paper and ask them why they didn't cover it.

    AAAAAUGGGGGGHHHH!
    Thursday, March 4th, 2004
    4:13 pm
    More Constitutional Amendments We Need!
    If the New Testament is to be the source of US public policy regarding marriage, then there is a Constitutional Amendment that is needed much more urgently than a ban on gay marriage!

    We need a Constitutional Amendment banning divorce RIGHT AWAY!

    Given that both Paul and Jesus--who never mentioned homosexuality at all--are very clear in their opposition to divorce, the need for this kind of Constitutional Amendment is clear.

    Then, once the pollution of heterosexual divorce is cleared from our society, the problem of homosexual marriage will take care of itself.

    Note: I am not actually opposed to divorce, but instead indulging in a flight of reductio ad absurdum.
    12:51 pm
    Constitutional Amendments: A Parable
    Once upon a time, there were some USericans who were very unhappy and/or angry about something that other USericans were doing. They felt that this particular behavior was immoral and generally detrimental to the fabric of society. Many of them were ardent believers in religions that specifically forbade this particular behavior, and in their zeal they were absolutely convinced that their fellow citizens would be better and happier people if they did not do this terrible, terrible thing.

    These people became so excited that they gathered together in associations devoted to stamping out this behavior. They passed local and state ordinances making the behavior illegal. They lobbied their Congresscritters and Senators to support an Amendment to the United States Constitution to make the behavior illegal in every state in the Union.

    Religious leaders preached from the pulpits about the urgency of outlawing this terrible, terrible behavior. In such a frenzied climate, politicians dared not suggest for a second that they thought it was up to each individual to decide whether or not to participate in this behavior, for that was the sure way to bring down the wrath of the organizations and the religious leaders, who would work hard to defeat the politicians who dared suggest that those who thought the behavior was wrong could simply choose not to participate in it themselves, rather than outlaw it for those who felt it was perfectly right and natural.

    After some years of concerted effort, a Constitutional Amendment was passed. And children, the rest is history.

    Thanks to the heroic men and women responsible for the passage of the 18th Amendment to the United States Constitution, today our great nation is free of the terrible scourge of alcohol from sea to shining sea.
    Friday, January 23rd, 2004
    9:15 pm
    How I Spent My Winter Vacation
    There is nothing like flying out of Logan Airport on a clear, cold 5-degree-Fahrenheit day and getting out of a plane five hours later in sunny, 65-degree Las Vegas. Oh, yes! That's what I'm talking about!

    I went to this meeting and it was truly great. More on that later. After it was over, my brother and I drove around in the Nevada desert interviewing people and causing trouble.

    Now I am home (briefly) and off to Washington, DC, to meet my brand-new nephew!
    Friday, January 9th, 2004
    3:15 pm
    Go*gle B*mbing
    Apparently, right-wing radio "personality" Glenn Beck is a plagiarizing bastard.

    And there was a typo in his plagiarism--it's George W. Bush who is a miserable failure.

    (If anyone reprints this, please splat the phrase "G*ogle B*mbing", just so there isn't a link between that phrase and plagiarizing bastard Glenn Beck.)
    Wednesday, December 31st, 2003
    1:33 pm
    Resolutions!
    I don't actually make New Year's resolutions. My hope is for a resolution to the chaos in Iraq and Afghanistan. A resolution to The Illness That Wouldn't Die would also be welcome (though I am continuing to feel better, despite the past couple of days' stomach bug).

    Of course, I wish for all the best for everyone I love. But you knew that already.
    Tuesday, December 23rd, 2003
    5:52 pm
    Io Saturnalia!
    Well, the assorted solstice holidays are upon us. Amazingly enough, I'm looking forward to them--since we wangled the live tree-in-a-pot upstairs (where it promptly peed all over the beautiful new floor), it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. And a bit like Hanukkah as well, as Mr. Empress lights the candles in our funky Jonah menorah.

    It's cold and dark outside, and all I want to do is eat rich food, look at lights of all kinds, and hug the people I love. What a good idea to make all of that into a holiday!
    Friday, December 12th, 2003
    2:40 pm
    I'm BAAAACK!
    I actually received a complaint about how I wasn't updating here, and so I bow to popular demand (you know who you are, MSS!) with a quick recap of what I've been doing.

    The Illness That Would Not Die appears to be dying. Finally. I am having acupuncture treatments and allergy injections and vitamins and Chinese herbs and antihistamines and vacuuming my bed (with a special vacuum purchased for bed-use only, I hasten to add) and breathing filtered air and sleeping 12 hours a day--and I am now living and functioning in the world like a person with a bad cold, most of the time. It is a great improvement.

    I had a very expensive and elaborate blood test that had to be mailed to California by carrier pigeon (or so the cost indicated), which showed that I didn't have a lot of scary things (yay!), and more interestingly, that I don't have classic Chronic Fatigue/Immune Deficiency Syndrome. Rather than being deficient, my immune system is hyperactive--I have five or six times the normal levels of T-3 cells and Natural Killer Cells and things like that. No wonder I am so tired; my body is working overtime to kill The Illness That Would Not Die.

    I've been reading fun books about magic (both the stage and the other kind) and Spiritualism and unsolved murders and UFOs and things. I am writing my very first horror/fantasy story, which has a historical setting as well, so there has been lots of research. Writers' group meetings, dinners with friends, hanging out with the hubcap...getting back into the swing of an actual life at last.

    I ate a can of sardines for lunch yesterday, and that reminded me of this poem:

    Why I Am Not A Painter

    by Frank O'Hara


    I am not a painter, I am a poet.
    Why? I think I would rather be
    a painter, but I am not. Well,

    for instance, Mike Goldberg
    is starting a painting. I drop in
    "Sit down and have a drink" he
    says. I drink; we drink. I look
    up. "You have SARDINES in it."
    "Yes, it needed something there."
    "Oh." I go and the days go by
    and I drop in again. The painting
    is going on, and I go, and the days
    go by. I drop in. The painting is
    finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
    All that's left is just
    letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

    But me? One day I am thinking of
    a color; orange. I write a line
    about orange. Pretty soon it is a
    whole page of words, not lines.
    Then another page. There should be
    so much more, not of orange, of
    words, of how terrible orange is
    and life. Days go by. It is even in
    prose, I am a real poet. My poem
    is finished and I haven't mentioned
    orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
    it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
    I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
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