Jan. 13th, 2017

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I’m at some friends’ house overnight on the way to the farm, and several great things have happened, for different definitions of “great”. 

* Their 2-year-old’s favorite superhero is Superman, solely because Superman saves kitties from trees in whatever media she watches, and she academically loves kitties, though she doesn’t really know any personally. (My friend is badly allergic.) 

* said 2-year-old put on a Superman cape and told me earnestly “I go save the girl!” and pretended to fly away

those were the only actually-great things, the rest are more sort of… living in interesting times kind of great, cut for mentioned gore and you know, golden showers, since those are part of our discourse now

* dude friend, who is a doctor, told a story of his most interesting patient from last week’s overnight rotation. “She called 911 and said Somebody shot me in the head! and then the phone went dead. They found her and brought her in.” “Well, had she been shot in the head?” “Yes, as it happens, but the real problem was that she’d also been shot through both lungs, so that was a challenge. She was about as close to dead as you can be and still make it.” “Did she make it?” “Oh, I checked in and she was talking yesterday, so clearly whatever part of her head she got shot in wasn’t the part that does language.” “Good thing, or she wouldn’t have been able to make that phone call.” “Oh, absolutely.” (the gunshot wound in her head was fairly minor– compared to the lungs anyway, apparently, mostly bone fragments and such.) (other friend, his wife, said I watch too many crime shows because now I want to know context. He shrugged and said you know, I don’t really have much interest in context anymore.) (I also said with getting shot in the lungs like that is it lack of oxygen or lack of blood that kills you and he made this hollow sort of laugh noise and said oh blood, absolutely, and I said how much blood had she lost and he was like uh like all of it. I asked him how much blood there is in a person, since that’s the sort of thing the Internet talks about a lot, and he was like you know, enough? and then I asked how much blood is in a “unit” and he made a gesture with his hands and was like about like that so, you know. Doctors are only so useful for research. [He did clarify like, 300 ml. He’d had to put three units into a guy who ended a high-speed car chase by getting ejected through either the skylight or the windshield. He was fortunate, dude friend mused, because he really didn’t have any brain or organ damage. he managed to absorb most of the force of the impact in his arms, legs, face, and scrotum. Lucky him!]

* dude friend has in the entire long time i’ve known him been great at saying ridiculous things that made sense in context but by themselves are phenomenal quotes. his quote of the night was “With enough pressure you can overcome just about any kind of sphincter.”

* then I said something about the Piss Traitor Elect and he was like the what now and I realized he didn’t know so, I got to tell him, which is like, I mean, where do you start, and also where do you finish, and he sort of sat there and stared into middle distance and said is this real life and I said fuck if i know and he said maybe the worst part is how I’m not even surprised? and I was like same and that was the end of the evening, more or less. 
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Reminder to self: stop in my high school bookstore tomorrow or Saturday, and buy postcards to send to my fellow alum, the junior Senator for my state. 

I think I’ll mostly just send notes of solidarity with nice calligraphy if i can manage it, but I do plan on including some pointed reminders of specific policies that it is crucial to me that we don’t compromise on. 

I’m not sure this woman really has a spine; she’s a politician. But she’s not stupid, to have gotten where she is.

I’ll send Schumer postcards too, but I don’t think he’ll care what’s on the front. I can get those in a Thruway rest stop, maybe they’ll be funnier that way. 

I know it’s not as good as calling, but Christ, I can’t the phone, you know? I can’t the phone, it doesn’t even get a verb. 

oh, also, i figure, in the car if I’m not driving (oh, to not be driving, for once) I’m probably going to busy-work my way through a bunch of little denim patches that say “No Pasarán” on them, maybe I should make enough to send to people who want them. (I found a bunch of denim squares I cut out of jeans ages ago; a bunch have five-pointed stars stenciled on them from some long-ago project I never did much with, but I figure that’s just decoration. If I get ambitious I have silver metallic thread and can embroider safety pins onto them. Let’s see if I do it.)
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Man: [singing in Spanish] Ooo… The beeeeard pets the caaat… Ooo—

Thank you for the translation and thanks to this man for bringing us such a wonderful video.
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Passenger means you get to embroider. Today’s project: on an old denim patch I stenciled stars onto years ago for some forgotten project, an anti-fascist slogan. No Pasarán: they shall not pass. (at NY State Thruway)
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What does Diego Luna say on Conan?

Diego is just the sort of person I’d love to practice my Spanish with, cause I wouldn’t feel so bad about making mistakes when his English isn’t perfect either. Spanish classes in Spain were fucking weird, like, I was in a room with two swiss people, a dane, an Algerian and a frenchman, and when someone didn’t understand something *everyone reverted to English*. Even the people who had French and/or German as a common first language did that.



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