When I was a kid I was assigned “Flag-Duty”, which basically meant that me and a classmate were responsible for raising and lowering the flag at our elementary school. We were taught the special way to fold it and everything was fine, until one day the wind caught it when we were folding it and a corner of the flag touched the ground and my co-flag-folder lost. her. shit. Then she confessed to the principal and he got pissy and said that now we’d have to destroy it because it had “touched the ground and been soiled”…which sort of seems like an over-reaction and I was like “Yeah, but it touched AMERICAN soil, so why would that dirty it? It literally just touched AMERICA. How is that bad?” And then said he was going to have to burn the flag and I was like “You’re going to burn the flag? Is that even legal?” and he was all “It’s illegal not to, and since you were so careless now we have to buy a new flag.” But then the next day he gave us the “new” flag and it totally had the same tiny hole in the corner as the last one and it was really obvious that it was the exact same flag, so basically he just made me feel bad for grass existing while he lied about his flag-burning exploits.
I was reminded of all of this because I just saw a painting of Betsy Ross showing George Washington her flag, and she and all of her little child laborers are like “Look at this bad-ass flag we made. The only thing that would make this better is if we had glitter, except that glitter hasn’t been invented yet.”
Via The Library of Congress, who might be fine with me not crediting them on this one, now that I think about it.
But George Washington is just ignoring all their hard work and he’s glaring at the corner of the flag touching the floor, like “OMG, I can’t trust you bitches for anything” and his compatriots are all “Bitches never have respect for anything. And, by the way, you’re totally poking your sword into Betsy’s rug.” And then Washington would be like “WHAT? I NEVER” and then they’d explain that they meant it literally and not in some weird sexually metaphoric way. And also, why did the painter purposely paint trash on the ground of her house? And is that a turtle on a cushion using a cane to turn the pages of a book? What am I even looking at?
PS. I actually wrote this on Flag Day, but I didn’t publish it then because it seemed like it would be disrespectful. I mean, not as disrespectful as impaling other people’s rugs while criticizing the work of illegal child-laborers, but close.
For those of us with triskaidekaphobia the year 2012+1 will be an entire year of forced behavioral therapy.
It’s a stupid superstition but one I still struggle to shake as (for me) it’s wrapped into a weird layer of OCD-based terror. In my mind, every time some one says the unlucky number, everything becomes unlucky for everyone who has just heard that number, and only saying it again will cancel the negative effects. Except that it’s impossible to know exactly if you’re on the lucky or unlucky side of life, and so maybe you say the unlucky number to get you out of an unlucky period but then you get your arm chopped off and then you realize that you were in the unlucky period before, so you say it again and then your leg falls off because you’ve just said the unlucky number too many times and fate is now pissed that you’re fucking with her. This all makes sense in my head.
That’s why yesterday at my friend Laura’s house I was a bit of a nervous wreck entering the first day of this terribly named year. And so we decided to change the name. To “The Library.” At first I thought this just made me feel immediately better because the booze had just kicked in, but now I’m perfectly sober and I’m in the second day in The Library and I feel so terribly comforted.
(by Johanna Ljungblom)
In The Library you are safe. It smells of old books and worlds you’ve yet to explore. It smells of worlds you’ve loved that beckon you back. It smells of the bacon sandwich the guy in the corner has smuggled in while he devours words and food, not sure which is more filling.
In the library you are prepping.
Everything that happens in the library is just preparation for the next year. That means if you fuck something up this year it’s fine. This whole year is just practice. The library is made for that. Maybe you spend the year writing a book no one will ever read. Maybe you spend the year recuperating from last year. Maybe you burn the Thanksgiving turkey and forget an important birthday. It’s okay. It happened in The Library. It was just practice for next year. Maybe it’s insanity, or maybe it’s just me, but somehow I think we all need a year in The Library. A year where it’s safe to make mistakes. A year where it’s okay to have to escape and stare out the window without someone asking you when you’re going to get back to work and fix your life. A year where we all whisper quietly about our plans and our wishes and dreams and darkest fears. A year in The Library. A year of getting lost in dusty, forgotten corners, and a year of finding the want. (The want to leave. The want to play. The want to shrug off the dreams and walk out in the sunlight. The want to pounce on 2014 with glee and rapture.)
The Library opened yesterday. It closes 51.9 weeks from now.
My friend April from Regretsy practically threatened to stab me in the face when she thought I’d outbid her on this insane taxidermied squirrel who is flashing his little squirrel nut-sack at the world. (Click the link. You need to see this shit.) I assured April that she was very off-base, as we were BOTH being outbid on it. I considered telling her we should pool our resources and just share the squirrel like recently divorced parents, but then I saw this little treasure:
Well, hello there.
And yes, at first I saw what you’re probably seeing….a strangely posed, non-nutsacked, extremely dead squirrel in a very unnatural position. And then I looked a little closer and realized that my current cell phone cover is cracked and that this would make a fucking fantastic replacement. Not just because it would be fuzzyy and ergonomic if I need to hold it against my shoulder, but also because it would hardly ever get lost in my purse, and no one would accidentally pick up my phone thinking it was theirs. Plus, when I put my phone on the table at restaurants it would just look like a squirrel was hanging out with me, and squirrels only hang out with cool people. And if I put my phone on vibrate the squirrel would buzz across the table like he was alive and growling.
It’s like the best accessory ever.
me, on my squirrel phone
PS. I probably should have waited until the bidding was over before I posted about this. Damn it, Jenny.
PPS. If you only check my blog once a day you may have missed it yesterday when I promised Simon Pegg that I’d leave Nathan Fillion alone and then my good karma was reward by Wil Wheaton and Jeri Ryan and the whole world sending me pictures of their spatulas.
Just your typical Monday, really.
Today when I look out onto my backyard, this is the glorious sight that greets me.
For real, y’all.
- WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE.
PS. I have the best husband ever.
PPS. I just realized that the PS might imply that my husband bought me a TARDIS, but no, of course he didn’t. What he did was not freak out when a giant package arrived at our door and I said “Oh, that’s probably the TARDIS I ordered since the pharmacy wouldn’t give me one for my birthday.” I mentioned it was way cheaper than Beyonce the giant metal chicken and he paled a little and walked away before I could mention that we also need new towels. Then I went off and carried a cardboard TARDIS all over our property to take pictures of it and Victor yelled “YOU KIDS GET OFF MY PROPERTY” in his most cantakerous-old-man voice. When I was done I left the TARDIS in front of his office window and made really loud TARDIS noises. Victor was on a conference call and was very unimpressed, but you can’t deter the furiously happy, Victor. Unless, that is, you go back in time and make me not buy a cardboard TARDIS. You’d need a real TARDIS to do that though. Which would be awesome and I would trade in my cardboard TARDIS for it in a heartbeat. So no matter what, I win. Which is only right since this is my birthday present to me. Happy late birthday, me.
Enjoy your time.
PPPS. I got cactus in my foot getting this picture. It’s not a great one but there’s no way I’m not linking to it since I suffering through cactus-foot for it.
PPPPS. If you don’t watch Doctor Who this whole post is probably very confusing. You should skip it.
PPPPPS. Victor: “That PPPPS. would probably be a lot more helpful if you go back and put it at the top.”
me: ”IF ONLY I HAD A TIME MACHINE.”