Present Imperfect

Svømme, you bastards! | September 30, 2004

So, I’m eating my lunch and reading an NYT article about Danish sperm banks, and one paragraph positively leaps out at me as yet another reason to move to Copenhagen:

In Denmark, sperm banking has become a powerhouse industry for several reasons: it has a high success rate in producing offspring; its culture, which is famously secular and sexually liberal, holds an uncomplicated view of sperm donation; and its laws continue to protect a donor’s anonymity.

Oh, how I long to live in a country that is famously secular and sexually liberal! Plus, everyone speaks three languages! And all that cheese!

Then I get to this part: “Denmark, despite its sexual permissiveness, has a law barring unmarried women from buying sperm from a doctor.”

Personally, I don’t get the turkey-baster method of offspring procurement when there are millions of orphaned children in the world, but dammit, if you want a freeze-dried Thor, you should be able to get one.

Of course, even an arctic, Thor-free, single-girl environment beats the heck out of a country whose slack-jawed, right-wing, war-mongering president is described as having the “moral clarity of an old-fashioned biblical prophet” in a recent documentary.

But I digress. Speaking of Danish things, how about “Festen” on the West End? The movie is one of my all-time favorites. I just bought it on DVD, in fact. Anyway, who doesn’t love a stirring tale of incest and suicide?!

The Weakness of the Musk Plant | September 21, 2004

I'm trying to get back in the swing of things, blogwise, but I'm still sans my own personal computer at home. Okay, that's not strictly true, as I did bring my trusty, five-year-old laptop up here, but as I have no way to connect it to that newfangled "Internet" thing I've been hearing so much about, it just serves as a really big address book.

Anyway, I am now sleeping on friend Deb's new-to-her futon in the spare room her former roommate vacated earlier this month. She is very kind to let me stay, and as if that weren't enough, she sometimes cooks for me. I heart her.

Eric and I have found a new apartment in the Mission and I will be moving in on Saturday. By "moving in," I mean I will pack up my suitcase, put it in the car, drive it over to the new apartment, take it upstairs and unpack. I will then whistle a lot and enjoy the reverb created by my completely empty apartment.

Meanwhile, Eric gets to live with all of our stuff and our cats.

On Thursday, Eric is flying up and we are going to see The Divine Comedy for my birthday. Perhaps Neil will sing to me. Of course, even if he neglects to mention my name, I know he will be singing to me. Neil will know. Neil always knows.

He'll be playing another show tomorrow night. Who wants to go with me? Hmmm? Anyone?

I wish I could lay something more funny or insightful on your asses. Actually, the thought of stacking a bunch of plates onto someone's ass just occurred to me, which may be funny, is almost certainly not insightful and is very likely just plain weird. I'm imagining Corningware plates with the little blue flowers on them.

You know, Corningware has managed to co-opt an element of the natural world not only for branding purposes, but as a functional symbol. Blue flower=microwave safe. I don't know what kind of flower Corningware has chosen to graphically render on its plates, but if I did, I would look it up to see what it means in The Victorian Language of Flowers. Hey! Moss means "maternal love!" You don't see a lot of moss bouquets at Mother's Day. I say it's high time for a moss revival.

And then there's good old Mouse-Eared Scorpion Grass. Say it with flowers, people.

The Poor Excuse | September 09, 2004

Since the cat is now bagless for most everyone I know, I guess it's time I fess up to why I've been absent from Bloglandia for the past coupla weeks.

I'm moving far, far away...to San Francisco. I got a new job and I'd rather not commute 12 hours a day, since that would be, well, impossible. There. Discuss.

Or, if that's not enough for you, there's always the Genesis capsule. It makes me very sad. I mean, this brought a tear to my eye:

Visitors and guests, watching the retrieval on two large screens in a hangar here, cheered when the returning capsule was spotted by a high-magnification camera at 9:53 a.m. ...Over the next few minutes, the image grew bigger, showing a capsule spinning and tumbling.

The crowd fell silent and confused when the controller said, "Ground impact."

I heart space exploration. Poor, poor Genesis. I hope NASA can scrape some sun junk off those panels.

And I hope Phil Collins didn't get too banged up.

(Aw, come on! I had to.)