The Prisonaires

The Prisonaires are one of Nashville’s stranger groups.  They were comprised of, well, men in prison (at the Old State Penitentiary, which should totally give tours, hint hint) who recorded songs and, even though they were incarcerated, travelled around Tennessee performing.

This is a picture of them, on the air at WSOK.  And this is one of my favorite pictures in the history of the world.  I love how it seems like you’re looking in right over the engineer’s shoulder.  I love that you can see the reflection of the rest of the room in the glass.  I love his snazzy hat up on the console.  I love how it seems like you’ve walked in on something interesting.  But I especially love the girlie pictures at the top.  To me, that’s what really lets you know what era it is.

I Have Arrived

There are certain milestones in a feminist blogger’s career–the first time someone “discovers” your real name and blasts it all over the internet; the first time someone comments and says “your fat” or “your gay”; the first time someone tells you that you just need to find a man, but of course, no man will have you, because you are bossy and ugly–that tell you you’re on the right track.

Yesterday, I feel like I hit a number of those milestones all at once.

First, Dan Turnbow over at Post Politics lumped me in with Southern Beale and The Tennessee Guerrilla Women:

If Kimmy would promise to have the state troopers arrest Bush and Cheney if they ever set foot in Tennessee so she could turn them over to the Hague for war crimes. Then B,Sobeale,guerilla women and the rest of the lady libs would be panting like a teenage girl watching Zac Efron over Kimmy.

It’s practically perfect.  There’s this thing, which purpotes to be a sentence, that starts with “If” that involves some fantasy he assumes I have of having Bush and Cheney arrested.  That’s funny enough.  But let’s look at the sentence starting “then” which is un-parsable, I think.  How does it work?  Are the lady libs panting over Kim McMillan the way that teenage girls pant over Zac Efron?  Are we panting like teenages girls pant when they watch Zac Efron have sex with Kim McMillan.    Are we panting like teenage girls when we watch Zac Efron having sex with Kim McMillan.  “Zac Efron over Kimmy” is a euphamism for sex, right?

Anyway, I have discovered that, when they start lumping you in with Egalia, you know you’ve irritated some folks.

Woo hoo!

And then…

And then…

I think I got concern-trolled by Pith!  Note that again, I’m being lumped in with Southern Beale (which causes me to about die of flattery), because Woods is concerned that we’re not supporting McMillan, when, apparently, it is obvious that we should because, though we may not have noticed, she is a woman and we are women!!!!! And then bb tries to warn me that I cannot possibly be a successful political blogger if I don’t know everything there is to know about state-wide politics the second I am called to task by Jeff Woods.

This makes me laugh so hard.

I mean, looking at my numbers, and judging by my most popular posts, I am actually a very shitty hermaphrodite porn blogger who is disappointing her core audience by only posting about hermaphrodite porn once.  If I wanted numbers and influence, I would chuck all this and devote my time solely to watching and blogging about very poor quality hermaphrodite porn.

Oh well, I’m missing my calling, apparently.

Mrs. Wigglebottom Still Tickles Me, After All These Years

So, this morning, Mrs. Wigglebottom and I both noticed that one of the peonies is open and the same time and we tried to play it all cool like we didn’t care, but we both ran over and I leaned over to smell it and when I did… boink!… I hit my head on her head because she had come in for a sniff, too.  And then, she stood right down-wind from them and closed her eyes and curled back her lips and flared her nostrels and, I swear, it looked like pit bull bliss on her face.

I think she would have stood there all morning, just smelling in the smells.

Because I Think Some of You Fail to See the Tick Problem

Let me illustrate.

The tick bit into me right where my thigh and torso meet up.

This is my view of that part of my body:

I don’t think I have to spell out for you what mound of flesh was in the way.

Judy Blume? Really?

For the past few Wednesdays, some busybodies have been crowding the sidewalk in front of the Planned Parenthood on my way to work.  I resist the urge to stop and ask them questions.

But maybe next week I will stop and ask them if they believe that folks who send death threats to Judy Blume really help their cause.

Because, seriously, if you claim to be pro-life and you send death threats to a beloved children’s author, you look like you are deranged.

You really think that people who are sane and who are uncomfortable with abortion are going to be galvanized to the pro-life side by tales of how you threatened Judy Blume’s life?

Because I’m not seeing it.

A Handy Tip Regarding Ticks

Aquanet does not have a high enough alcohol content to make one back out.  And once you have aquanetted your upper thigh, you CANNOT use the match trick.

Just go with a gob of toilet paper soaked in rubbing alcohol.  Apply for ten seconds, and that tick will have walked right back out of your leg and you can pull it off and flush it down the toilet.

These handy tick-related tips have been brought to you by my morning.