pop quiz

Q. Which of these crazy kids:

a) talks sense;

b) does NOT bring shame on a world religion;

c) does NOT spew tripe about the Jews, teh gayz, and the like;

d) does NOT leave a funky taste in my mouth; and

e) possesses a tasty skin that I find irresistable, even though my ma always warns me that the outer filth has probably not been scrubbed off?

Fig. A William "Bill" Donahue.





Fig. B A sweet potato.

A. Trick question! I find William "Bill" Donahue neither tasty nor irresistable, although my ma did warn me about lunatics like him (I think it was the story of the teenagers who found the hook dangling from their car...) Hooray for SWEET POTATO!!!, favorite treat of all patriotic Americans.

These brethren are both fine examples of a starchy, tuberous root. However, consumption of William "Bill" Donahue may lead to diabetes, hookworm, hemorrhage, and abscesses (also: William "Bill" Donahue actually prevents me from lactating), while SWEET POTATO!!! cures all. SWEET POTATO!!!, for a smooth and sensuous mouthfeel. Yes, SWEET POTATO!!!, for cleansing the palate after I throw up in my mouth a little.

valentine

Happy Valentine's Day to my sweets, who (I imagine) won't be reading this, since it's been a long time since I posted anything here.

I am counting this as (sort of) my first couple-y Valentines' in a long time, although last year he did surprise me with roses though we weren't "official." I believe I got him a card. This year is tougher yet in the gift-giving department. I have lost count of how many times I mentioned that I didn't know what to get him. Nothing ever came of it. If he were a girl I could get him flowers or candy or some kind of stuffed monstrosity, but buying things for boys is definitely not my strong point.

But this boy has put up with several of my weak points (segue!) which have sent me into gaudy weeping fits in the past year:

• Religion
• Pentecostal/Charismatic, etc. people (see Religion)
• Inadequate wiping of a machine by my lackeys
• Roommates
• Teh Gay.

I enjoy seeing that bemused face he makes when I bust out in tears for no discernible reason. However, I hate letting people see me cry, so my V-Day resolution is to do all my weeping on the inside this year. ho ho.

But in seriousness, sweets, I am exceedingly fond of you. I would borrow a quarter to buy you some cigs. I would allow you to see my filthy apartment. I would give you the last frozen fruit bar and the last Mountain Dew. I would wash you a real spoon and use the plastic one myself. I would go out with you of a Sunday and never think about everything I am missing on Fox. In short, sweets, I love you, and I am so glad to be with you. Happy Valentine's Day, and many more. <3

when we are damned

A little something from the Gaelic. I don't usually go in for imagery of nature girls frolicking in the surf and communing with the earth and that sort of thing, but there is something so eerie about this poem. Brrr.

We Are Damned, My Sisters
(Táimid Damanta, A Dheirféaracha)

We are damned, my sisters,
we who swam at night
on beaches, with the stars
laughing with us
phosphorescence about us
we shrieking with delight
with the coldness of the tide
without shifts or dresses
as innocent as infants.
We are damned, my sisters.
We are damned, my sisters,
we who accepted the priests' challenge
our kindred's challenge: who ate from destiny's dish
who have knowledge of good and evil
who are no longer concerned.
We spent nights in Eden's fields
eating apples, gooseberries; roses
behind our ears, singing songs
around the gipsy bon-fires
drinking and romping with sailors and robbers:
and so we are damned, my sisters.

We didn't darn stockings
we didn't comb or tease
we knew nothing of handmaidens
except the one in high Heaven.
We preferred to be shoeless by the tide
dancing singly on the wet sand
the piper's tune coming to us
on the kind Spring wind, than to be
indoors making strong tea for the men -
and so we're damned, my sisters.

Our eyes will go to the worms
our lips to the clawed crabs
and our livers will be given
as food to the parish dogs.
The hair will be torn from our heads
the flesh flayed from our bones.
They'll find apple seeds and gooseberry skins
in the remains of our vomit
when we are damned, my sisters.

--Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, tr. Michael Hartnett