Chickens?

November 8

I took the day off today, just for the heck of staying home, the apartment to myself. In a place this small, it's hard to be alone. That's probably the most stressful thing for Matt and me, and it's not really too bad.

Have I ever talked about our dream house? We may or may not get to build it someday. But we know we'd like a place on a bit of land, a big kitchen and living room, a study/library for me, separate bedrooms for any kids. A studio for him, maybe even something like a converted trailer, so that it could be soundproofed for any late-night rockin.' Enough yard to put a dog in. And out front two hens--yes, chickens--so that they can eat bugs and because I like their little clucking noise. I don't want roosters because I don't need more chickens, and I never want to be woken up at dawn by crowing. And hey, fresh eggs are nice too.*

Anyway. That's about as elaborate as we get. Nothing fancy yard-wise, unless we are so rich we can afford a gardener (unlikely). Neither of us likes to do more than mow and lop off dead branches. I'd put in a tough native grass and pretty much leave it alone. Maybe some flowers if they were the kind that didn't need much attention, but maybe not. I have black thumb, and I know better than to attempt herb gardens and roses.

Ideally, I'd love to be able to build a really energy-efficient house. I don't know what I think about straw-bale houses, but I'd definitely want to spring for a lot of good insulation and try to keep enough trees for shade. Ideally ideally I'd like to be off the grid, electricity wise, not for scary survivalist reasons, but because I think power lines are ugly. I think it would be wonderful if someday all buildings could have super-efficient non-polluting generators of their own, and get rid of power lines, giant ugly power plants, and oh yes, massive blackouts. But I may not live long enough for that.

I don't have the house plans drawn up or anything. And our lives may make it unfeasible for us to live anywhere but a city, which I can deal with. It's just impossible to know right now. But I like the idea of sitting on my porch in a glider swing, reading the paper, while the chickens cluck inside their chicken tractor, the breeze rustles in the trees, and Matt wails happily away at his newest album out back.

*Yeah, yeah chickens. That's not weird. You know what's a weird pet? Ferrets. Little weasels that bite. Go after the ferret-people, not me.

***

I just finished Slaughterhouse Five, and I'll post the review next week. Meanwhile, I wanted to recommend this book--or any book--by Lynda Barry: One Hundred Demons

The demons she's referring to are the demons of your past, the ones that we all carry with us; bad boyfriends, betrayals, lost pets. Barry's cartooning style is odd and looks clumsy, but it fits her material, and her material is amazing. She also writes Ernie Pook's Comeek, which you may see on Salon or in many alternative papers. I can't really describe her and do justice to her; here's one strip from her site, which I highly recommend you check out.

November 5

The sunshine showed back up this week, like a bad penny, except most people were happy to see it. Not me. I was feelin' cranky and headacy, and the sunshine stabbing my eyes wasn't helping. It just didn't feel right to be wearing a t-shirt on November 1st and wishing my air conditioner were still in.

It's gone now, and today was misty and cooling and normal, though still a bit warm for autumn. I'm ready. I just dropped a small pile of cash on winter clothes at Chadwick's, which is like a slightly more upscale J.C. Penny's. Which means there is no cool cred to be had shopping there, but it is fairly cheap, and they have good shoes. And bridesmaid's dresses--I found nice ones for my bridesmaids, because you shouldn't make your friends dress like bow-butted freaks.

Anyway, so I got some shirts, a skirt, some pants, and some kick-ass boots. I bought it all online, and I am going to have to go throught the hassle of sending a few of the shirts back to exchange, but you know, it's worth it. New York may be the fashion capitol, but I really don't enjoy shopping here all that much. Prices are high, and you schlep about endlessly looking for bargains. The dressing rooms are crowded, and sometimes (gasp!) communal, which frankly, I just can't deal with. No 90-pound 17 year old cheerleader type needs to see me in my altogether, and I sure don't need the self-hatred I will feel after seeing her in hers.

I work in the garment district, and if I wanted, could find lots of wholesale hip-hop wear, but it just isn't my thing, yo. And the guy down the street doesn't defer my credit card payments for three months the way Chadwick's does, so that seals the deal.

Enough girly shopping-talk.

I started Slaughterhouse Five this week, keeping up with my Tour de Testosterone goals, and so far, I'm enjoying it. Review to come.

Work is work, but it's petered out for the season, so it's nice and slow. I surf the political blogs on breaks, stoking my rage, though Matt will tell you it doesn't need much help. I've pretty much become a Dean supporter, which isn't surprising, considering how I always get along with somewhat cranky people. Dean is cranky, but he gives you good reasons for it, and I think that after three years of Everything is OK, America, Don't Worry Your Pretty Little Heads About It, Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain, well, a bit of crankiness is called for.

Clark's a nice guy, and if he wins the nomination, I'll happily vote for him. But I like the grassroots Dean movement, I like his flexibility and super-organization, I like his drive. Next to him, Bush truly looks like the helpless, ignorant, wet noodle of man that he is. Dean would shred him in a debate...or really, even in a staring match. All Bush's macho, hey-I-may-have-skipped-out-on-Vietnam-but-I-can-sure-wear-this-here-flightsuit macho posturing would vaporize. Heh.

Clark would just as easily outclass Bush, though, which is fine. At this point, Al Sharpton might outclass him...he would certainly nail him with a few highly entertaining zingers. Al may be as crooked as George, but at least he's funny.

It's an exciting and scary time to be a Democrat. There are no guarantees, of course, and the thought of four more years of lies and more lies is pretty unbearable.* But now we have at least two viable, attractive, electable candidates, which is more than I can remember from any election I've been through (cough Dukakis, Mondale, Gore, cough cough).**

Now I am scared about the Diebold electronic voting thing (click on Salon Premium and go through the ad to read), and you should be too, no matter your party affiliation. Any system that is easily hackable and has no paper trail--which is what Diebold is proposing--makes a mockery of voting. It threatens the foundations of our democracy, actually, which is why it's so frustrating that so little has been reported on it. We should be up in arms about the idea of our votes being lost, never to be found, or worse, being changed. Especially after the last election, and that mess in Florida. Easy verifiability seems like a no-brainer, but the Diebold people have taken our tax dollars and given us a system that almost guarantees votes will be lost. Do we really not care about that?

Ok, I'm all out of ranting and it's past my bedtime. Off I go.

*The words "Bush" + "lies" in Google gives you 1,530,000 results. (Lies + Clinton, 710,000).

**Full disclosure: I was a Republican until about 1995 or so. But even though I rooted against the Dems, I was always surprised that they would send in such lame candidates. I mean, what fun is that? It was like swatting a fly with a Cadillac. But the Repubs did it too, with poor old Bob Dole. Here's a hint: try to pick someone who doesn't look quite so much like he's knocking on Death's door.