Month: December 2008

Asshole

This son of a bitch stole an entire page from Groceteria, posted it on his own site (images linked directly from my server and all) without attribution and didn’t even include a link to the page he stole it from. Far be it from me to suggest that you add a comment telling him what you think of that, but…

By way of an update, the page was removed shortly after I commented on his site and made some creative edits to the photos he’d leeched.

Alarming Announcement

The Detroit Free Press announced yesterday that it will begin limiting home delivery of its print edition to three days a week starting early next year. Apparently, there will still be some sort of printed newspaper available on the other four days as well, but it will only be sold in stores and racks.

I find this pretty alarming, but not really unexpected. Smaller newspapers have been making similar announcements and cutbacks for quite some time, but this is a major metropolitan daily, and I’m pretty sure this won’t be the last such announcement. We’ve all been hearing for decades about how newspapers were on the way out. Seems it may finally be happening. And that’s sad, not just because it means the end of an institution that has been such an important part of history, but because it also signals the end of a very effective, compact, and convenient means of preserving that history in the future. A complete newspaper from, say, 1942 or 1959, is perhaps the quintessential pop culture artifact of its day; nothing else is really comparable.

I’m pretty comfortable accessing most of my information digitally, but barring a digital display tool that approximates the size and feel–but more importantly, the foldability and browsability–of a newspaper, it’s never going to be quite the same for me once the printed version finally disappears.

He’s Back

Back from Fresno and other assorted points west. More later about:

  • Family.
  • Friends.
  • Vomit.
  • Machaca in Madera, pizza in San Francisco, waffles in Millbrae, and chicken pie omelettes in Fresno.
  • Loving my boy.
  • Running into someone I’ve “known” for years but had never actually met, on a travel day that was even more sucktastic for him than mine was for me.
  • Safeway Select Diet Grapefriut Soda.
  • The rather exciting fact that most radio stations in California seem to be broadcasting in Spanish these days.

God, I Hate Flying

An air travel rant. Cliché, I know…

There’s a reason it’s been twelve years since I’ve travelled by plane for something that was purely a pleasure trip. No matter how hard you try and how far in advance you plan, it is nearly impossible not to get fucked (hard and without lube) when using those little sardine cans in the sky. It’s absolutely nothing I’d ever do voluntarily, and for the past decade or more, it’s been something I only do because of relatives who live on the other end of the country–first mine, now Mark‘s. The thought of taking a “fun” trip to someplace that’s only realistically accesible by plane has pretty much  evaporated for me over the years. I couldn’t imagine getting on a plane if I actually had a choice.

I woke up at 3:30, after managing to get about two hours sleep, to make a 6:20 flight with my mom that was booked two months ago, so we could get decent seats. Upon waking, I immediately learned we’d been re-booked on a flight leaving three hours later, and arriving four hours later. Aside from the special excitement of an extra hour in the Atlanta airport, there were, of course,  only middle seats left on the new flight. This is unpleasant news for most people. For someone of my size (and increasing level of claustrophobia), it almost inspires panic attacks. Seriously. I haven’t been able to get back to sleep thinking about it; I feel my chest tightening up and my heart pounding, and I even considered scrapping the whole trip for a second or two. This is one of my nightmares. That’s why I book so fair in advance; so I can avoid this scenario.

Yes, I understand that I don’t fly often and that frustrations like this are an everyday occurrence for people who do–like my poor husband, who has spent many nights in airports in the past few years. But that’s sort of the point. I would fly considerably more if it weren’t such a gut-wrenchingly miserable experience, and if there were some viable option between first class and hell.

Or if they at least provided lube…