Wednesday, August 31, 2005

As If Things Weren't Bad Enough

The people in the Big Easy have ignorance to contend with, too: (note: this link no longer works)

Apparently those white victims of Hurricane Katrina are "finding" things on store shelves; black victims are "looting" those items.

Update 9/3/05: Go to (see link bar at right) for an article on the above, with arguments from both sides on the portrayal of the Gulf Coast victims. And did you see Kanye West go off on this very same thing? You might not have (I didn't) -- they cut [some of] his remarks from the West Coast broadcast. Specifically, his slamming of Bush for not caring about poor black people. Hmmmm..... I mean, yeah, Kanye was having trouble getting his point across, but I couldn't help but agree with some of his remarks that I did get to hear. We'll see how his statements play out in the next few days. Fox News has already been demonizing those citizens who had to be evacuated (largely black, largely poor) for "choosing" to stay.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Please Wait For Your Hostess To Seat You

...It just occurred to me that friends, Romans, and countrymen who stumble upon this little blogspot shack might just get to wondering what's up with all this plasma talk. Well, kids, the reason is simply this: after recommitting to defending my dissertation this December, I had to cut out a serious amount of extraneous stuff in my life -- to wit, about 50% of my working hours, and hence, about 50% of my paycheck. I was never flush with the green anyway, but stepping down to part-time office work has really left me destitute. Were it not for a supportive roommate, faith in an inscrutable-yet-generally-caring-deity, and a place down the street that will tap my veins for that sweet, sweet plasma, I'd...well, it would be harder to fill up my car with gas when necessary. I just refuse to sell any more books or cds for cash. Only a few more months and I'll be able to put this whole thing behind me. I'll probably still be broke, but I'll be doing it with a freshly-minted doctorate, dammit.
...Let this be a lesson to you, kids. In fact, let this several lessons. One, don't fuck around [more than is absolutely necessary] during your grad school years. Poverty is poverty is poverty, whether you speak 5 languages or just one. You're not classing up the welfare rolls just because you read Rimbaud. Two, don't fuck around [more than is absolutely necessary] with your credit. Your parents may not have told you this, but Auntie MG will: pay your bills on time! And pay off your credit cards in full! Every month! No, I said EVERY month!
...Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying life is all about what you have. We don't need any help getting more materialistic. All I'm saying is, when a grown woman finds herself on a rainy Monday afternoon watching 2/3 of Sixteen Candles alongside 40 other sad souls hooked up to machines so that they can either eat, buy more meth, or get bus fare for the week -- well, something has gone wrong. There's the kind of being poor that's a function of being steadily exploited by your society (the people selling plasma because they work for minimum wage or less and just can't make it on that pittance) and there's the kind of being poor that's a function of me doing coke twice a week* for a couple of years. And that, kids, is the kind of poor that's my own damned fault.

* I kid, I kid. I was only doing coke like, once a month, tops.

Another Day, Another Dollar

...13$ dollars, actually. That's how much I have left after going to the grocery store with my plasma cash and buying shortening and lunch meat for the week. A sister gotta have her pastrami, neh? Anyway, I needed the shortening for samosas, which I made last night and kicked ass all up and down the avenue before taking a cool-down lap and coming in for a rubdown. There are about 25 samosas left; I'll probably give half to Scooter, since it was his idea for me to make them in the first place.
...To the right you'll find a picture of me and my Boston Baked Bean Sham Marriage and Discount Karaoke Bar partner, Bernadette Van Dyke. It was taken while we were in Las Vegas, sometime in the Pleistocene era. Sadly, my hair doesn't look that different now. In my defense, however, I just woke up, and I got bed-head for reals. It would appear from this photo that I once carried this hairstyle on purpose, which is a frightening thought.
Check out Bernie's blog (which that heffa needs to update with a quickness, as the world is dying, dying, DYING to know what life is like in her new office space) here: Ya feel me? Well, knock it off.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Excuse Me, I Gotta Go Call M***** M***

I sold my plasma today for 20$. I got to keep my red blood cells, though. That was nice.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

And This is Not My Beautiful House

...the hike went off without a hitch, in case anyone was wondering. 5 miles of treacherous terrain, boldly conquered by your fearless leader. Man, I hiked the hell out of that trail.

This evening (and not this morning, as I had planned) I am going to do my second 14-mile training run in preparation for October 9. That's when I strap a camel-bak full of Powerade Endurance on my back and safety pin 4 mocha Clif Bar energy gels to my ragged t-shirt and run the Portland marathon. Because I am a badass. Excuse me -- I am a badassssssssssss.

Anyway, you'd think that someone running that distance would be a bit more disciplined and hearty, badassssssssssss, but when it comes to exercise, I can think of any excuse not to do it. The only reason I didn't go this morning is because I didn't have any batteries for my walkman. I know it sounds pathetic, but I simply could not face being out there for such a long time (I am a little bit of a brick house, you understand, so I am a very slow runner. It takes me about 148 minutes to run 14 miles) with nothing but my own impoverished imagination to keep me from dropping to my knees and giving up the ghost. So I didn't go. And now I gotta run that bad boy this evening, when it is still hot as heck out there. Smooth move, fool.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

This is Not My Beautiful Wife

I am going camping today with Scooter. Somewhere along the Columbia Gorge, apparently. I'm fairly certain that he is not taking me into the woods to kill me, but in typical postmodern paranoiaist fashion, I am leaving this electronic record. If I'm not back by the end of today, somebody come looking for me, please. I need to eat, like, every three hours or I get cranky.

Friday, August 26, 2005

The First Cut Is The Deepest

There ain't no sense in worrying about making this first post so damned good that I win some kind of trophy. Best to just get down to the get down, eh? Right? So, my brothers and sisters in Christ, let me give you what you need...2005 on it...get live on it. Pick it up:

The Lake Street Get Down is the place where I am going to park my cyber ass up to and until that point that I hire a personal assistant to take over the duties of documenting my life for me -- and said PA moves my ten cent ramblings to some other site.

The Lake Street Get Down is envisioned as a place for me to collect my thoughts regarding...well, anything I happen to be thinking of at the time yours truly parks her rusty dusty in front of the keyboard to type something up. I'd guess -- and I'm going on the fact that I know myself pretty well, and the following is pretty much guaranteed -- that The Get Down will contain 90% effluvia, 5% original material, and 5% incisive wit so cutting you could hurt yourself, boy.

Commence to waiting for the next post, my new friends.