<< rawr: a blog for lions >>

2003-08-05T10:26:00.000-05:00

rawr?

2003-08-05T09:01:00.000-05:00

rawr?

2003-08-01T12:06:00.000-05:00

happy start-o-the-weekend, ladies / lads / lions. just so far, i've done three notable things today: deposited my weeks-late student loan check (phew!), remained alert during a lecture about sheet music collection development (score!), and decided to leave the country for awhile on sunday, september 7 (i'll have to go with: rawr!). yeah, i know. . .i'm shamelessly productive for a lion wanna-be.

2003-07-31T08:55:00.000-05:00

insomnia's set its claws in again. the dark crescents under my eyes are starting to look more like navy tattoos than mere shadows of fatigue. and i've reached the beg-borrow-and-consider-stealing phase of being broke, which does very little for my appearance. if only "strung out, sweaty and zombie-like" would swing back into style.

but tonight's my and jennie's double-episode viewing parteee of the amazing race. an experience from which i'm expecting nothing less than complete rejuvenation. [die kelly die!] [go clowns go!] [run away with me, phil!]

* * * * * *
“his scandalous reputation as a womanizing, hard-drinking tomb plunderer has also accompanied him. . . .” gasp! is this paperback—so promisingly titled—not really about lions? da noive!

* * * * * *
and, oh, heck. does this mean i hafta leave my muzzle loading rifle in state-side storage?

* * * * * *
one more question: what do you get when you mix chevy chase, some turks and caffeine? the visual highlight of my wednesday night, that's what. play the video if you've got the gear.

* * * * * *
rhmph. blogger is unfairly marring rawr with a top-heavy banner ad—and worse, by a banner ad that (right this second at least) is promoting "jungle plushies" and "pole cats: the golden retriever of the cat world." i had hoped that google buying out blogger would mean better service, not debilitating un-service and creepily cookied marketing. rawrry readers, try to resist the "organic lion mane extract for extra vigor," okay?

2003-07-29T11:11:00.000-05:00

proportionately larger than those of other similarly-sized animals, lions’ eyes possess very round pupils and very stark whites. but contrary to popular notion (and legend), lions’ eyes do not glow in the dark—though they are graced with an extraordinarily reflective coating that absorbs even the palest moonlight.

anyway, i always wish i had such dark-ignoring eyes when i’m dragging myself down western avenue, toward home, after ten.

* * * * * *
best rawrs and wishes, steve and katie! (and thanks for the pix, groomsman matt.)

* * * * * *
a dollop of media-porn for you liberal leos: here’s bush defacing innocent little american flags.

* * * * * *
i can’t decide which i find less impressive: ethanol or english majors. still, the almost-endearing iowa-blog makes me wonder if a combination of the two can’t make both more tolerable.

* * * * * *
i’m in class for about a quadrillion hours a week. yeah. for three and a half more weeks. thank gawd that, not unlike a big cat, my brain’s strength is sprinting / savvy, not distance / memory. generous double-spacing is saving my tail.

a rundown of my last four grad classes ever (ever, ever):

serials: issues and techniques
i don’t think the name of this class is a deliberate pun. the prof, who’s an easy embodiment of “nice guy,” has a profound, laughing stutter, gives us too much reading, and says stuff like, “beware the ephemeral, people!”

history and theory of public libraries
this prof begins every class with some rather grand throat clearing and hands clasped neatly together. he doesn’t encourage or suppress discussion—he just delivers his old-school lecture, saying stuff like, “ahh, the library gods were now faced with a vast inventory of inertia.”

management of public libraries and information centers
this prof dresses exactly like a flight attendant (i mean, pre-folded floral neck scarves?) and, as a deputy in chicago public libraries, was in charge of tens of millions of dollars, books and people. she doesn’t think i’m funny, which makes me grouchy. and i only get grouchier when she starts lectures by saying stuff like, “knowledge workers should never lose sight of their institution's vision statement.”

music librarianship
each friday, i take the purple line up north, to a purple campus, for this seven-hour class. there, i’m surrounded by doctorates and librettists and other assorted show stoppers. i’m the only student who can’t read sheet music, but at least this prof does think i’m funny. and she says stuff like, “sure, go ahead and do your fifty-minute bibliographic instruction final about the beatles and their influences.”

2003-07-23T10:28:00.000-05:00

craigslist, a free and web-based community market, isn’t revolutionary or anything, but it did give one librarian a chance to anonymously and widely express her loathing of some patrons (and of apostrophes, apparently). cruising the chicago-specific listings (because, yeah, that’s what i have time to do) makes me long to help folks like the fellow who needs to track down about half a ton of fresh lavender within the next week.

* * * * * *
it's stories like this that make me pause and wonder whether i'm cut out to live in camden—or, for that matter, whether i'm cut out to shack up with a man who writes stories like this. [an afternote: i was trying to link to a story about neighbors fighting crack dealers with waterguns, but the link's dead. so i'm settling for the shabby millionaire drama. blame kim.]

* * * * * *
maybe it’s time to start thinking about the day when i become as hot as cate blanchett. i’m prepared to pledge that, when the luminous day finally arrives, i will make a real effort to remember all the common cats i knew in my pre-cate, fluffy-mane, spotty-face days. i mean, it’s always better to settle this sort of delicate stuff beforehand, right?

2003-07-21T11:08:00.000-05:00

this almost counts as good news: in kenya, despite the harshly conflicting interests of tradition, survival and greed, the revenge-slaughter of lions is not being tolerated.

* * * * * *
i’m sliding head-first (that’s at least not meant as a sports metaphor) into my third 24 hours-o-work / 24 hours-o-class week. it’s not as dreadful as it could be—with such an alternate life in the works, responsibilities feel as much like distraction as duty. it’s the slivers and slices of in-between time that feel more critical and more relevant: watching check, please! with a shut-in sister, helping pals pack away boxes and booze, sprawling out a few feet from lake michigan, wearing just half a proper swimsuit.

it’s a season of humility, too. at work, i’m doing less work for less money while training someone it’s hard not to call a pipsqueak to take my place. past lovers and still-loves are loving elsewhere and elsewho. then there’s the prospect of moving to another part of the planet, where it might be very hard not to feel like a new-world-small-world, lion-out-of-the-grasslands. people comment that i look lighter and brighter (thank you), but i feel more sandpapered than svelte.

2003-07-17T10:04:00.000-05:00

it would be an honor to include marjan as a member of my campbell avenue pride, even in his (perfectly) imperfect plush version.

* * * * * *
“to encourage fans to keep quiet, librarians [replaced] standard ushers for the evening.” to quote a quarl: puh-leez.

* * * * * *
elsewhere on the loopy library landscape, my pal j. hazen is a floating head.

2003-07-16T12:07:00.000-05:00

happy hmphday, leos and leonas! though i've got piles of feline-focused news and wonderment that i could (and will eventually) share, i wanted to address a specific slice of rawr's audience today: the human readers. er, even more specifically: my human friend readers. even more, more extra-specifically: i got some pictures developed—yay!

[i've removed the pix because blogger kept whining about disk space. just email me if you missed 'em—see, your whining i'm fine with.]

2003-07-15T11:39:00.000-05:00

brynn, baby—our most recent picture together (lord, there have been a lot) looks like it was taken in 1976. i almost photoshopped some daisies behind our ears.

* * * * * *
chicago ranked forty-freaking-fifth in a recent survey of literate american cities. we were beaten by the likes of birmingham, tampa and tulsa. maybe the chicago reader should change its name to. . .nevermind, that's too cheap a shot.

* * * * * *
last night i saw blur at the congress theatre. even without one of their long-term band members (he flew the coop), and even in the shabby, cavernous congress theatre, the show rocked like you always hope shows will. and damon was in fine (fine) form, making this anglo-curmedgeon think all i need to be happy is a light-eyed englishman who wears sweaty, fitted suits as well as he does an impish smile. hey, wait a minute. . . .

well, maybe that's not all i need.

* * * * * *
oh, criminey. doesn't the word "grooming, "in this creepy context, seem a bit mild for what is really is?

2003-07-14T10:26:00.000-05:00

i can’t believe that this is someone’s idea of jungle madness.

. . .course, this is my idea of an imposingly awesome movie, so who am i to arbitrate taste? ahoy!

* * * * * *
at some point (not much) before high school, i decided to put a concerted effort into memorizing a selection of poetry. i guess i was un-idly envisioning an opulent, far-off future where / when i’d be called upon to recite such stuff. i can’t remember what made up my criteria for which poems were worth committing to memory; i probably just checked out a few anthologies and looked for pieces with a recognizable name, reasonable length and appealing rhythm. walking to work this morning, i tested myself—could i even remember which poems had been part of the Adolescent Rory Self-Betterment Program? and hey, could i deliver any of them? turns out, i can only recall those which i can, after all, still recite:

poe’s el dorado
blake’s the tyger
dickinson’s i felt a clearing in my mind
lears’s the owl and the pussy-cat
sappho’s blame aphrodite
tennyson’s the eagle
eliot’s hysteria
shakespeare’s the quality of mercy

oh, i am so ready for 2707 north kedzie’s next dinner party.

2003-07-10T12:38:00.000-05:00

sigh: read this.

the punch line still works (bites) but the word "allowed" in the first frame is misleading—and almost insulting. public libraries are being forced to decide between much-needed government moola and the right to not use shitty and one-dimensional filtering software.

any lion who thinks that the supreme court resolved a damn thing with this ruling hasn't been to a public library in awhile (ahem). it's not kids who are looking at porn in libraries and need to be protected from it—it's adults who are using/abusing the less-than-respectable-or-researchy online resources. the ruling also doesn't justify the implicit declaration that porn is somehow worse for the moral development of our youth than, you know, intense violence or brain-squishingly stupid games or shameless onslaughts of commercialism.

i’m actually not sure how i feel about the entangled issues surrounding web access in public libraries. i’m definitely not as clear about such stuff as the always-ardent ALA. i don’t like—or even accept the okayness of—porn. . .but i don’t want a 14-year-old looking up “breast cancer treatment” to be thwarted by a filter. a deeper, more professional conflict: self-respecting and institution-aware librarians hold dear the responsibility of selection and collection management (remember: every book in a library is there because some very human humanoid decided it should or could be)—so it’s hard to know how to feel about something like the incorrigibly expansive internet—and not because “boohoo, no one asks us reference questions anymore.”

2003-07-09T12:30:00.000-05:00

“dammit, jim! i’m a writer, not a reference librarian.” tom tomorrow can’t keep up.

* * * * * *
last night my “management of public libraries and information centers” class was let out at what the professor apparently considers an early point—that is, eight minutes before ten p.m. i walked to a van shuttle, rode that to the green line, rode the green line the width of chicago and switched to the red line somewhere under a skyscraper, and rode north to, oh, the yukon wilderness boundary waters.

it was crushingly close to midnight when i got to the bar where some long-lost friends (with emphasis, i hope, on the “long” and not the “lost”) were supposed to have been corralled and listening to some comfy honky tonk. but the platform that the red line tap calls a stage was being urgently, unexpectedly “rehabbed,” and there were no friends and no honky tonk.

lions typically drink three gallons of fresh water every day. last night, alone on the north side, i could have lapped up three gallons of anything.

respectful of that sentiment, here’s some leo-nificent drink recipes:

red lion
one-third part tanqueray dry gin / one-third part grand marnier / one-sixth part orange juice / one-sixth part lemon juice

shake and strain. before serving, moisten the edge of the highball glass and dip in castor sugar

lion house wassail
three cups white sugar / four cups water / two cinnamon sticks / fresh ginger root / four cups orange juice / two cups lemon juice / eight cups apple juice / eight whole allspice berries / whole cloves

in a large saucepan, combine sugar and water. boil for five minutes. remove from heat and add cinnamon sticks, allspice berries, cloves and ginger. cover and let stand in warm place for an hour. strain liquid into a large pot. just before serving, add juices and cider and quickly bring to boil. remove from heat to serve.

lion tamer
quarter cup ice / shot of southern comfort / shot of lime juice

blend and strain. serve chilled.

2003-07-08T09:56:00.000-05:00

well, he kinda looks like a fisher price figurine and speaks flashcard spanish, but i hafta hand it to my governor—he's made it darn hard to regret voting for him. see what i mean?

governor blagojevich, with assorted members of his cabinet:

[i’ve been meaning to mention that if you can’t read the chicago tribune articles i like to link to—and are too indolent to register yourself—feel free to use my wide-open id and password: parilac28 and firewire.]

2003-07-07T13:04:00.000-05:00

a breakdown / 21 hours of traveling:

2 getting to gatwick airport
8 on a frigid transatlantic flight
4 in the mall-ish pittsburgh airport
2 on a small, unmoving jet
1 more in the pittsburgh airport
2 on a very grumpy flight to chicago
1 in o’hare’s baggage claim
1 on relatively marvelous cta

and today demands 4 hours of work, 3 hours of walking and 6 hours of classes—leaving enough energy for just 79 words of blogging.

2003-07-04T05:59:00.000-05:00

salute and g’day, leos. it’s the fourth of july, and i miss my country—or at least i miss what i know my country’s doing: eating warm, mayonnaisey food and sipping cool, dripping drinks. frisbee and fireworks and sunstroke and sparklers. i’d love to hear a few misty anthems tonight (oh-say-can-i-see) before fighting thousands of my fellow americans to see some shitty, air-conditioned blockbuster. i hope you states-side cats are waving the flag (metaphorically and/or ironically, if you like) with plenty of vim and vigor.

right. so it’s my last weekday in the english capital (for awhile) and i’ll spend it down by the river and at the dogs, maybe ending up in a place called bedlam. less inconclusive is where i have been: lurking about libraries. . . .

i started my biblio-adventures a few days ago at the british library. karl and i got ourselves there in march but with less than an hour to take in what really is the bulk of this island nation’s treasures and chronicles. actually, we spent most of our short time on a "special exhibit" platform, very agreeably listening to fifty years of top pop songs. this time i made sure to visit the super-super-special exhibit, a gallery of the library’s most precious, invaluable holdings. this is where the magna carta (whoa) is five paces from john’s handwritten proto-lyrics for "she said, she said" and across the room from austen’s writing table (that had sweet little hidden compartments, made especially for quickly concealing manuscripts if someone disapproving came into the room).

i was dreamily listening to a recording of olivier-as-hamlet doing the graveyard scene when all the lights went out. spooooky, though it turned out to be the docents’ curt way of announcing that the place was closing. someday, i’ll leave the british library when i want to and not when they kick me out.

by the way, the library’s configuration is less majestic than its collections. the building is low and sprawling, mismatching the stone structures encircling it, too new but not awesomely modern, the color of a barn and trimmed with [most of you will get this] seminary street green. at least it’s easy to find.

next i stopped by the central library of the borough called islington. i write "stopped by," but that’s not to suggest that i didn’t take two hours, three unnecessary tube rides and six wrong turns before finally trusting my sense of direction (and my hand-me-down london: a to z) enough to find the darn place. it was a very functional, friendly library but not impressive at all. which was, in fact, comforting. i mean, i’ll be less intimidated (than i could be) trying to find work in a place with too much artificial light, no real wood and a beige-pink color scheme.

the central library for camden, meanwhile, was easily found (at an underground stop called "swiss cottage," naturally) and well on its way to being beautiful, after a multi-million pound renovation. plenty of light, space and shelving confusion. but still not so dissimilar to a larger american public library that i left feeling unsure that i could (and would like to) be employed there.

deep in london’s downtown is a neighborhood (or maybe it’s more than that) called "the city," and in the city there’s an imposing center called "the barbican," and there one can find (if one is looking and not stock-brokering or deal-making) a compact but richly appointed semi-public library. i didn’t stay long because i almost expected one of the elegant librarians to ask me for a fiver if i was going to be just wandering about.

then there’s the west hampstead library, the one closest to kim’s heathy place. nestled back in a shrubby lane (and, indeed, right next door to the keats house), it’s tiny but high-ceilinged, with dove-tailed hardwood floors and a community coffee pot in the corner. certainly a library meant to embrace the wealthy-and-well-meaning, it’s also unexpectedly lively and lived-in. my favorite part was a section—between crime fiction and self-help—just labeled "here’s a good read!" and filled with puffy paperbacks by danielle steele and jackie collins. phew—even london’s richest sorts like naughty, trashy escapes.

2003-07-03T10:33:00.000-05:00

hey, did katherine hepburn die? if so, why didn't anyone tell me? do i need a new network of informants?

2003-07-01T16:01:00.000-05:00

i brought along my hound-eared copy of vonnegut’s galapagos for this week’s countless plane n' train rides. i was on the underground’s district line and page 103 when i came across (what i'd forgotten was) one of my favorite lines ever:

"his big brain had concealed from his soul until the last possible moment its conclusion that it was now time for him to act antisocially."

[vonnegut, by the way, is always near the very top of my "what 1/2/3 dead-or-alive famous people would you like to have lunch with?" list. steve martin, emma goldman, john wayne and janeane garofalo also get routine top billing.

remember, carnivorous cats, that this is considerably different than the "what dead-or-alive famous people would you like to eat for lunch?" list.]

i’ve been reading julian barnes in transport, too. "letters from london," a collection of his new yorker essays from the early nineties, are zippier and easier to take than i had anticipated. my friend ryan-the-librarian (who isn’t, somehow, the ryan-the-librarian most of you know) happens to be in charge of the official mr barnes website.

to cap off my bookish blogging, lions, i’d like to take propose that anyone who uses the phrase "postfeminism" or "sassy aplomb" while discussing this sort of reading gets put immediately on some esurient leo's "eat for lunch" list.

2003-07-01T05:56:00.000-05:00

in trafalgar square, where i found myself again and again yesterday, and usually on purpose, four humungous lions sit guard at the base of what’s casually called "nelson's column" (but could be as rightly called "an affably phallic celebration of nelson"). after i got home and washed the london grime off my back, i googled these magnificent bronze beasts and learned that they’d been created by edwin landseer, a famous animal painter, and installed in 1868.

most remarkable was the large amounts of flak these beautiful sculptures have received. in 1886, w. j. nettleship, another distinguished painter of critters n’ creatures (which is what i’d try to become, too, if my miserable last name was "nettleship"), produced a whole essay just to criticize landseer’s lions, writing:

"the trafalgar square lions must be quietly damned, because, pretending to be done from nature, they absolutely miss the true sculptural quality which distinguishes the leonine pose, and because a lion couched like that has not a concave back like a greyhound, but a convex back, greatly ennobled in line from the line of a cat's back in the same position."

cripes. well, i think they’re enchanting.

2003-06-30T05:07:00.000-05:00

hallo, hallo from london, lions! this morning, britannia’s weather is grey and gray and famously, uniformly grim. but that—nor u.s. airlines determination to keep all my luggage for its own purposes and enjoyment—is not stopping me from planning a fullish day of tramping about and scouting some public libraries. my itinerary is loose, but i’ve promised myself to visit three before my next (on-the-cheap, on-the-street) meal. i’ll write up a proper report tomorrow.

2003-06-26T15:06:00.000-05:00

at 3:30 this morning i was upright, sagging with insomnia and isolation. trying to eke some benefit out of being unwillingly awake, i did two things i don’t usually do: sit-ups and free-writing. the (eleven) sit-ups went badly, but the free-writing went worse—i’m reproducing it here as self-punishment, in hopes that next time i can’t sleep i’ll just re-re-re-organize my underwear drawer:

freezing bananas and rinsing off fan blades / heaving and sulking and wilting / cats seeking out cool, smooth surfaces, lying stiff and still as taxidermy samples / slick forehead and damp back and dry mouth / heat like this makes me lonely / though maybe no one ever writing to me or calling me back or wanting to hang out with me is augmenting the feeling

ack. self-pity might slant-rhyme with “pretty” but it’s so not.

2003-06-25T14:31:00.000-05:00

much to jot down, rawrs, but i'll put it off, being under a drag of a deadline. still i wanted to promise more soon (for you antsy lions) and to post the latest:

there once was a puma from spain
who desired a great golden mane.
said he, "i'll be a lion
unless i die tryin,"
and promptly expired from strain.

2003-06-25T10:12:00.000-05:00

yesterday was chicago’s first hardcore summer day—humid enough to ruin a nap and bright enough to make you wonder if the earth had slid closer to its nearest star. today’s been just a slightly hazier edition of yesterday, so i think it’s a splendid opportunity to share my favorite summer reading list. it’s more an index of far-flung, affectionate reviews than a list, but it’s worth clicking around and includes sunscreen-smart stuff like aimee bender’s debut novel and the big knockover.

* * * * * *
forget advanced medical research and prestigious think tanks: harvard university has finally justified its existence by publishing encyclopedia brown’s last case.

2003-06-24T11:29:00.000-05:00

this sunday, after a couple hours of vicarious magnificent-mile-shopping, i scrubbed my soul by visiting the terra museum of american art, found at the almost perverse address of 664 north michigan avenue. i was bummed to learn (from a very unsympathetic security guard) that the hoppers had been “put away,” but the museum’s bounty of edward hicks paintings almost compensated. even leos who don’t follow such stuff would probably recognize a hicks work—his “peaceable kingdom” series (we’re talking a long-ass series) has been thoroughly commercialized and is used on what seems like 3/5 of all non-fiction book covers.

hicks was more than a relatively successful, plodding folk artist. he was also a crazy quaker and reformer, who used one puny bible passage (from isiah, too—not some more imaginative chapter like corinthians) as inspiration for the bulk of his paintings, all of which had similar but weirdly nuanced social messages. so one painting of a bunch of animals and children in a forest is a warning against the dangers of religious fervor, and another painting of a bunch of animals and children in a forest is a tribute to william penn—and another is a suggestion to be nice to native americans.

there's almost always a lion or two in these “peaceable kingdom” paintings. one scholar, obviously trying to make some word-count, writes, “the lion, representative of strength and leadership as a defender and protector, reminds us of the dangers of secular kingdoms and the misuse of temporal power.” but hicks himself always explained that his animals were indirect symbols, referring to emotions and temperaments which in turn referred to something pertinent to his point. and what did lions supposed to epitomize for hicks? the “choleric temperament,” or anger. whatever.

* * * * * *
would any of these ads make you want:
rum?
a vibrator?
ear plugs?

if you answered “yes” to any of the above, we’re in a huge fight.

2003-06-23T10:38:00.000-05:00

good morning, stray cats! please join me in a little rawr-chant: oh god no / oh god no / oh god no.

2003-06-20T09:23:00.000-05:00

early, early this morning my roommate hollered at me for erasing a mysterious voicemail that, to my ears, had sounded like a south-african-accented robot making death threats (turned out to be a senegalese pal leaving a phone number). a few minutes later pounce hollered at me about accidentally shutting him in my closet (as if he’s not going to snooze all day and couldn’t do it in my cozy closet). on my short walk to the bus stop, a well-soaked homeless man hollered at me when i told him honestly that i didn’t have any spare (or even un-spare) dollars. then the slouchy bus driver hollered at me about the importance of looking up from my alice munro book when i’m sitting on the bus stop bench, un-gently arguing, “how am is supposed to know whether you’re waiting for this damn bus or just some damn drunk on the bench? damn it, girl!”

that’s a lot of hollering for what could/should be a summer-simple, grouse-free friday morning. but three things have kept me buoyant enough:

one) that i tricked myself into listening to toad the wet sprocket on the long leg of my way to work.

two) that my favorite chris sent me (us) a picture of sir leo clapsaddle doing lear.

three) that i now have an excuse to treat myself to a (credit-card-purchased) “banana blueberry blitz” smoothie for breakfast.

* * * * * *
“this book is not for some people. you almost have to be female to understand the main character.”

the lo-fi amazon world blog has taken up the considerable burden of digesting some of the most harebrained/frightening/obtuse “customer reviews” on amazon.com. the quote above, for example, comes from someone’s searing review of kate chopin’s the awakening.

2003-06-19T14:27:00.000-05:00

okay, if blogger was a lion, it would have been ditched long ago by its pride, left to make friends/food of grubby insectivores. i can't post pictures, my links are brittle and my archives just aren't archivial. i'm going to wait until blogger shapes up to post about my guest chef stint and decadent "desert service" at charlie trotter's. so there, you big, baggy conglomerate.

* * * * * *
if i’m ever interviewed for the trib and can be accurately quoted as saying, “it’s more incredible than we ever imagined. the day of the Y [chromsome] has dawned,” would someone please remind me to remove myself from general society?

* * * * * *
and is there really such a thing as an “ancient american publishing house ritual”?

2003-06-18T12:04:00.000-05:00

my yesterday was a string of amazing moments, but i ended it by drinking the equivalent of eight glasses of wine (which together easily cost more than my entire wardrobe). now i’m living through a grody hangover—it feels like all the vital fluids in my head have evaporated—so i’ll think i’ll wait till tomorrow to tell y’all all about it.

but here’s a highlight: yesterday, while elbow-deep in belgian mushrooms, i managed to ask america’s top chef—whose fame comes partly from his wizardry with game—whether he would ever prepare or eat lion meat. his answer, verbatim: “no way. it’s their job and pleasure to eat me, not vice versa.”

2003-06-17T09:58:00.000-05:00

don't miss meg's "mulletastic" white trash cookies, which graced our unprecedentedly cool WW/BT party last weekend.

* * * * * *
the most exotic essence jennie and i have in our kitchen comes from her frozen vegetarian enchiladas, which are infused with “spicy bean flavoring.” somehow, all the savory stuff ends up on our scummy shower shelf. our current inventory of soaps and shampoos includes ingredient groupings like:

cranberry / mint
oatmeal / honey
ginger / lily
kiwi / kumquat / fig
rosemary / watercress

it doesn’t seem fair that our taste buds are one of the few body parts that aren’t involved with such tasty stuff.

* * * * * *
first venus got herself a zine. now she’s got her zine a snazzy new site. don’t get too absorbed in reading the absorbing interviews—get on the "you" page and interview yourself about your city (if you have one).

[by the way, if you google “venus and lion,” you’re rewarded with hundreds of warnings about what happens to people when their “natal astrological mark of leo” is paired with a “venus birth influence and/or ascendant.” i’m not about to admit what my rising sign is. . . .

venus-in-leos love to court and be courted, and they need to feel very special. they are warm, generous and even grand. be prepared for their displays but remember that they're just showing off to you—and it's likely harmless. it's a different story if you do the same, however. that's when you'll hear the lion roar. . .and, no doubt, you'll want to keep these cats purring. venus-in-leos have high expectations, but they are really quite big-hearted and are most threatened by a relationship that appears to have settled too much or lost its spark. they are also offended by indifferent or impersonal behavior on your part. venus-in-leos actually lose interest when they perceive the slightest loss of interest in their partner—and, watch out, you can expect that any letdown will be acted out in a dramatic fashion.]

2003-06-16T09:52:00.000-05:00

getting a pitiable seven out of ten on this generic world capitals quiz has made me put “anything by rand mcnally” on the top of my summer reading list.

* * * * * *
who wants to go see/hear/boogie to some romanian gypsy brass on thursday evening in grant park? better question: who doesn’t? lessons start at six, and the band (“fanfare ciocarlia”) really gets going around 7:30. jennie’s and my vcr will be diligently taping "the amazing race,” so don’t let yourself miss out on some roma merriment.

* * * * * *
what a weekend: friday the 13th (my sympathy goes out to paraskevidekatriaphobic pussies), flag day and father’s day. unobserving all of these, i kept busy as my own secretary, cinderella and escort. it turned out to be the sort of jolly weekend that june should be full of: a spontaneous trip to the nature's museum's breathtaking butterfly haven, mid-day hours spent reading salacious non-fiction, meandering jacket shopping, plenty of letter-writing and guilt-free jewel-brand soda-guzzling.

* * * * * *
sorry for the inside yuk, but for those of you who spent more than a healthy amount of time in the knox pub office between 1999 and 2001. . .don’t pictures like this one of master nathan myers make you feel like a bona fide fogey?

[i'd rather post the pic than wimpily link to it, but the blogger empire has some uploading flu related to google's recent purchase of it. rawr should have visuals again in a week or so. . .and i'm considering shelling out for a "comments" feature. whatchha all think?]

* * * * * *
i didn’t think anything could make me want a segway human transporter more than i already did (and i’m sure they’re working a lion transporter prototype). . .until bush fell off one. now i think they’re fantastic.

i’m sure you’ve all seen an image or two of bush’s spill. . .but i like this pre-fall pic the best [again, sorry i can't upload—it's the second picture down]: babs bush in her nightie watching w. and h. zoom around. what, she couldn’t throw on a texas rangers sweatshirt to make herself more decent?

2003-06-12T11:31:00.000-05:00

a recent london times article told the surprisingly intriguing story behind the classic rawr song, “the lion sleeps tonight.” you must pay and register to read the full story—but since lions like registering for stuff as much as they like gnats that are just out of tail-swatting range, i’ve digested the, er, tale for you:

a-wimoweh: in the jungle, the lion wakes at last
by michael dynes, in johannesburg

as a boy, solomon linda protected his father’s cattle from lions. years later, as a member of a group that toured south africa’s black townships, the zulu tribesman turned that experience into a song. it was bought by a record producer for ten shillings.

sixty-four years on, that tune—“the lion sleeps tonight”—has earned as much as £45 million worldwide. when the tune was picked up by the american folk singer pete seeger, its refrain (“uyimbube, uyimbube” or “you are the lion, you are the lion”) was roughly translated into “a-wimoweh, a-wimoweh.” it is probably the most famous song to come out of africa, but the riches passed linda by. he died in poverty in 1962, and his widow was unable to buy so much as a headstone for his grave.

it is a tragic tale, but one that now looks as if it will have a happy ending. the belated discovery of an obscure provision in british imperial copyright law means that linda’s three surviving daughters, who still live in tin shacks in townships in johannesburg, may soon become fabulously rich. the provision states that all rights to the song revert to the composer’s estate 25 years after his death.

the family would have remained unaware that the provision existed had the original talent spotter’s company not been belatedly struck by guilt. it instructed its lawyers to find ways of helping the daughters. the master of the supreme court in pretoria is now appointing an executor to Linda’s estate who will begin to recover the royalties due to the family—royalties that should be worth millions.

linda never wrote the song down. it was largely improvised when he sold the rights to the song, originally called “mbube,” which is zulu for “the lion.” linda also received work packing boxes in the company’s warehouse, where he remained until his death. though the song’s success made linda the toast of the zulu migrant worker hostels, he had no idea of the fabulous wealth it could have brought him and his family. nor could he predict the song’s global popularity. legend has it that when brian wilson of the beach boys first heard the song, he had to pull off the road because he was so overcome. apollo astronauts listened to it while waiting to take off at cape canaveral.

2003-06-11T11:39:00.000-05:00

i’m all for liberty, but how are these “excess” lions supposed to manage in a sunderban forest that’s the natural home to more than 300 royal bengal tigers? hmph. calling it a “sanctuary” isn’t supposed to be ironic.

* * * * * *
what do you do when ”a whole new world” from disney’s aladdin is your favorite song ever? you write about it in mcsweeney’s, of course.

* * * * * *
i'm in happy charge of making up the quiz activity portion of my and meg's WW/BT bash, coming up this weekend. how would you be doing, so far?

q one: what year is the "fender stratocaster in classic white with single triple coil pickups and a whammy bar" that wayne pines for?

q two: name the products that wayne and garth plug, in order, during their "the beast doesn't include selling out" scene.

q three: who do bill and ted think the biblical noah was married to?

q four: what grade to bill and ted receive on their history report?

(a one: 1964 / a two: pizza hut, doritos, reebok, nuprin and pepsi / a three: joan of ark / a four: a+)

* * * * * *
"liberrian: one who picks liberries from wild liberry bushes and makes a liberry pie. mmmmh! mmmmh! so delicious!"

2003-06-10T16:11:00.000-05:00

chow and good afternoon, lee-ohs. rawr has had a conspicuous anglo bent recently and—since i spent this past weekend in the u.k. capital—today’s post won’t really stray from that. but i swear you fidgety cats can expect fresh cuts of blog meat for the rest of the week.

the only reason i could let myself go to london for, er, a weekend is because the SARS alarm in toronto has forced air canada to drop some of their hub fares by more than seventy-five percent. i’m not a-scared of no SARS.

air canada turned out to be an odd operation. every one of their complimentary snacks involved sesame seeds and a maple-leaf-shaped swizzle stick. one of the in-flight movies was speed—yep, from 1994. on each leg of my trip, martin short (via video) would ask me and my fellow flyers for “any extra foreign change, to help the children of the world.” finally, as my coming-home layover, the airline substituted montreal (oh. so. much. french.) for toronto, at the last minute and out of the blue.

when you’re anywhere for less than a full three days, you don’t feel much pressure to do anything. but, hey, i did some stuff. i visited the british museum on its 250th birthday. some extraordinarily mulish volunteers wouldn’t let me see the famous reading room (“so sorry, but we’re setting up a program in there. a program. set up. see? sorry.”) until kim argued that i was a librarian from the other side of the world.

later on, i started to see and meet some of the beautiful people with which london is supposed to be heavily populated. bad skin and ill-fitting pants do nothing to fend off shyness in these sorts of situations (fake feisty yankee confidence aside). i found myself murmuring things and being relieved that kim is tall enough to hide behind. getting over this sort of thing will be as essential as figuring out the fahrenheit / celsius conversion.

unessential details are essential, too. this weekend i learned that clotted cream is somehow a good, delicious thing, especially when drizzled over tart summer pudding (which is not at all like bill crosby pudding).

right. essential. as in, essential for preparing myself to move to a country that’s got the “united” part but matches it with “kingdom” instead of “states.” the actual act (or, rather, series of acts) of moving won’t be hard. i’m good at maintaining lists and sorting and disposing. my ducks, as they say, are usually in a row. it’s the gradual, intangible stuff that makes this a Big Life Decision. my material desires, for example, are shifting: instead of wanting my next apartment to be in a nice graystone walk-up, i would love to get a flat in a mansion block or pub conversion. instead of wanting to take pounce with me (which i’ve accepted can’t happen), i want a british cat just like pounce. instead of wanting cuter clothes, i want exceptionally cuter clothes. i’m not optimistic that any of these things will happen, but i’m just pleased to have revised wishful thinking.

back to my travels. coming back is always less draining than going over—mostly because my excitement level is more of a low hum than a crackling buzz. and it’s just more comfortable following the sun instead of racing it backwards (yeah, i know it’s more complicated that that). my next trip will have an intense library focus. yesterday, during my last hour in london, i saw a public library—i think it was in westminster, or marylebone—that had two concrete but handsome and art deco-y lions guarding its front door. high hopes—that’s what i’ve got.

2003-06-10T10:07:00.000-05:00

gadzooks! it's been dang near a week since i posted in this here blog. let me 'sure you that i've got high designs to do so later this very day. . .soons as i get a smidge more caught up.

2003-06-04T12:32:00.000-05:00

the oh-so offical list of fictional characters that british women would like to date includes three detectives, an alien, a spy, a plantation owner, a miserable moor-wanderer, generic royalty and some dude i’ve never even heard of.

still, i’m in mega-meta-agreement with the frontrunner, mr. darcy.

who would you do?
mr. darcy
james bond
superman
hercule poirot
inspector morse
heathcliff
sherlock holmes
rhett butler
prince charming
sharpe

* * * * * *
neal pollack with his big tongue firmly lodged in his big cheek—supporting those madcap new fcc regulations.

2003-06-03T13:04:00.000-05:00

sup, phat cats? last night i pulled my second all-nighter in a row. i wasn’t dancing with the devil or stalking medium-sized mammals—i was working on the on-going freelance project from which i’m frantically trying to emancipate myself. i had slotted between three and six a.m. to sleep but just couldn’t once those hours rolled around. instead, i held the most recent issue of self magazine in front of my face and stared right through it. i swear, i didn’t actually, consciously read a word of it. but, well, this morning i seem filled with some weird new knowledge. . . .

information that self magazine (might have) subliminally etched into my poor, exhausted brain:

one) there are six hundred “healthy phytochemicals” in leafy green vegetables. [this is at least fourteen more than i would have thought.]

two) vacuuming burns as many calories as a slow walk on a treadmill. [of course, vacuuming is an activity distinguished by cool people, while treadmill-slow-walking is a sure mark of losers.]

three) women who get breast implants are three times more likely to commit suicide than those who don’t, according to the british medical journal. [no word yet whether they’re more likely to commit homicide, too.]

four) big, chunky rings are so in this summer, and i could get a super a-dorable one with "antique metalwork" and “exaggerated peridots” from becky kelso jewelry for only $275!

five) beyonce knowles, from destiny’s child, only has an “average” body, and that should inspire me to love my own.

* * * * * *
right. back to the sort of stuff i deliberately learn about: in pre-Modernist political cartoons, the united kingdom was graphically represented by a (hmph, sometimes bipedal) lion as often as it was by “john bull” or anything else.

great britain, in the divine form of a lion. . . .

wanting to speed up napoleon’s waning power despite the threat of russia (drawn as a big, mean bear) / 1808

again wanting nothing but bloody revenge after the sepoy mutiny in india (depicted as the “bengal tiger”) / 1857

chatting with france / (symbolized by an eagle, amusingly enough) about whether to interfere with america’s increasingly bloody civil war / 1862

refusing to eat american beef after upton sinclair’s the jungle was published / 1906

[don’t get growly-agitated if an image doesn’t load—for some reason, the site probably just wants you to click on the middle of the screen before it can / will call up the cartoon.]

* * * * * *
"beware the lustful fires that burn in a librarian's heart. they can rage beyond all control."

2003-05-30T09:51:00.000-05:00

if mystical tornadoes destroy illinois crops—or abe lincoln is suddenly revealed to have been a plagiaristic, puppy-drowning transvestite, at least we’ll all know why.

* * * * * *
here’s a wholesome snack-like interview with one of my favorite “radical librarians” (as if there were any other kind), jessamyn west. i’m glad it’s in friction magazine, and i’m glad jessamyn makes sure to mention one of her more recent, biting pet projects, five technically legal signs for your library.

* * * * * *
while i’d been wondering if the lion community was getting impatient with the deficit of specifically leo-relevant material, i've actually gotten some affable flak about rawr’s failure to deliver dirt. now, i’m not against a confessionary approach (well, okay, i am, but i’m trying to make a point), and i would consider posting about sex, hijinks, boys, weekends, intrigue, drugs, fantasy, exploitation. . .if, for me, any of these categories had anything to do with each other. but they don’t; your fair editor’s life is currently segmented and stodgy. the closest thing to a confession i’ve got (and this one has its share of steady conditions) is that this might become a london-based publication come autumn. don't worry—i'd refuse to spell "rawr" with one of those superfluous "u"s the brits adore so much.

2003-05-29T11:07:00.000-05:00

i feel was feeling admirably lionized and lazy yesterday
and had to prevent myself from just posting pictures
of cute stuff like cubs and hugh jackman.

oh, what the hell:

2003-05-27T09:55:00.000-05:00

i swear, lion chums, i’d gladly eat antelope stew, zebra casserole and hyena salad. but falling for someone who can cook (like, with ingredients and stuff) has brought into focus just how fucking food-fussy i’ve let myself become. sigh.

rory is a gastronomic wet blanket: the short list

• spicy food (so, no ginger, curry, cumin or chili—wiping out most food from nice
places like thailand, india and jamaica.)

• fish (except for tuna) and seafood (yeah—all seafood)

• tofu and densely soy products

• dark breads (sorry)

• nuts and things like nuts

• chocolate (unless paired with orange crème or caramel)

• raisins and figs (except in toast or newtons)

• free-form ice cream

• olives and coconut (i’m not sure why i’m pairing these up.)

• watercress and other wussy “greens” and radishes
and mushrooms and turnips and cauliflower

• gingerbread and biscotti and pumpkin pie and coffee/mocha

• fancy frenchy cheeses like bleu cheese, brie and roule (munster’s okay.)

• white wine and beer and vodka and gin

2003-05-26T09:08:00.000-05:00

just a short note to wish you a merry memorial day, lion-likes. between naps, take time to sing an anthem or commemorate something.

2003-05-23T09:49:00.000-05:00

the bookslut blog is madly compulsive reading.

(special secret note to my library budz: check out the site’s contribute/ors section and just guess what made me scream bloody murder.)

(and, by the way, googling the words “lion” and “slut” together gets you stuff like this.)

* * * * * *
like most lions, i’m keen on subordination (in other people), truly independent clauses, and correct coordinating conjunctions. so this grammar lesson—with its clarity and engrossing, rawr-worthy theme—is much appreciated.

* * * * * *
hey, us earnest, community-loving librarians will try anything:

2003-05-22T11:54:00.000-05:00

my pride really pays woefully little attention to my amazon wishlist.

* * * * * *
read this story. first of all, “chief executive officer of planned parenthood of amarillo and the texas panhandle” sounds like the most dispiriting job ever. second of all, how in the hell can something called a “24-hour reflection period” be considered appropriate and authorized state legislation? third of all: goddamit, texas! don’t make me come down there.

* * * * * *
why would any lion need robbie williams to volunteer his probably-pretty-puny rawr?

2003-05-21T10:23:00.000-05:00

if this doesn't qualify as great news, nothing does. let the door hit you on the way out, christie!

* * * * * *
this recent post on uggabugga was a captivating bit of currency gossip:

“the u.s. treasury has announced yet another change in the look of paper currency. the first bill redesigned is the $20. most of the changes have to do with the background and use of subtle colors. for example, the reverse is virtually identical to the current one, except that an oval framing the white house is gone. the front also drops the oval which framed jackson. and that's about it—except for a small addition. there is a small dark eagle sitting on a crest which looks like a strange amalgam of the 1930's national recovery act eagle, and the department of homeland security shield. did tom ridge have input on the design?”

see for yourself! even more alarming than this "small dark eagle" is the fact that i don't have a twenty dollar bill of my own to examine.

* * * * * *
getting to work without a car (or bike or horse or helicopter) means a slow ten minute walk / five-to-ten minute wait / twenty minute bus ride / fast fifty minute walk. and getting home means, of course, the reverse. it’s not so bad when i remember to travel with a beaty-bumpy mixed cd (and extra batteries), a sloshing water bottle, thick socks, a kit kat (or super-tart green apple) and at least one pet periodical.

this morning, facing south and moving west on the division bus (sorry, matt—i mean the #70), i jotted down some of the more eye-catching business names:

Floristas del Amor
Latin American Lounge
Pagan Liquors
Chicago Bulls Meat Market
Cool Crystal Clean Hand Car Wash
Fan Bag Company
Super Galaxy Auto Supply and Repair

* * * * * *

2003-05-20T10:17:00.000-05:00

the london arts council recently spent 2,000 quid testing whether a group of monkeys could, in fact, randomly come up with the complete works of shakespeare. revealing a monumental misunderstanding of the concept of infinity, the reseach group selected six macaques and gave them full access to six typewriters, for a month. from the london daily mail: “not only did the monkeys fail to produce [even] one of the bard’s plays, they did not write a single proper word.” that will teach 'em to never send a random monkey to do a random lion’s job.

* * * * * *
any lion with three spare minutes and a love of labels (ahem—that's all of you) should take the which political sterotype are you? quiz. my right-on results:

you are a socialist.
you believe the free market can be beneficial, but that a large and powerful state is necessary to redistribute the wealth of the top classes to those of the bottom. you also think that basic utilities and trasportation should be publicly owned. your historical role model is eugene debs.

* * * * * *
i admit there’s something awfully satisfying about this index of bad design.

2003-05-19T10:49:00.000-05:00

a rawr return, steadfast felines! my week off was everything i wanted/needed it to be, but now i’m feeling draggy and drippy, after a couple nights of a half-hearted cold and medium-strength insomnia. still it feels good to get back to work, if only because i had to return sometime and “catching up” is considerably less fun than “kicking butt.”

* * * * * *
well, he claims to have tried everything else: “my ideal lady is a light smoker. . . .”

* * * * * *
for several sturdy reasons (including a mysteriously unyielding “backorder” at walgreens), i’m changing up my birth control this week. no more reasonably priced injections of synthetic progesterone to stop my ovaries from releasing eggs and thicken my cervical mucus and uterine lining. nope, i’m ready to prevent fertilization in a very similar way with cheap daily tablets of synthetic estrogen. why isn’t margaret sanger’s face on a coin yet?

* * * * * *
i wish kurt vonnegut was running something (like our country), but he's 80 and crusty and busy so i should just be happy that he's still doing stuff like this.

* * * * * *
here’s a picture that’s worth a thousands rawrs (at least). can y'all tell who this is?

2003-05-12T13:00:00.000-05:00

catz, rawr will be on vacation until monday, may 19. i've got some grasslands to prowl and some gazelles to gobble up.

2003-05-08T11:37:00.000-05:00

ryan, brynn and various other similar survivors—i understand that you, too, went to shitty high schools. . .but at least the most gripping content on your school’s website isn’t a lunch menu from january 2002. to gauge how crapsville by high school really was, make a quick comparison with some of my peers’ h.s. alma maters. (see, if i hadn’t gone to union high school, home of the yankees, i’d know how to properly pluralize “alma mater.”)

where i spent 1994 through 1997

where some of my pals spent (roughly) those same years
matt l. and eric
kerry
karl
matt z.
jennie and bill
claire and agnes

and, okay, meg—your school gets special mention. (everyone, please, check out the "prom central" link.)

* * * * * *
claw power! but how and why does such great news originate in west freakin' hollywood?

2003-05-07T11:52:00.000-05:00

sweet legitimization: i just scored a soaring 101 points on the lipstick librarian quiz. makes me want to put some glitter in my bun.

* * * * * *
my other-people’s-birthdays awareness campaign is going pretty well, and—after some intense quantum calculation—i don’t think i owe anyone a card today. unless, of course, i wanted to send one to. . .

sir james m. barrie (b. 860), who, besides peter panning the world, said stuff like, “there are few more impressive sights in the world than a scotsman on the make."

or candice bergen (b. 1946), who, besides murphy browning the world, says stuff like, "it's impossible to be more flat-chested than i am."

* * * * * *
according to an otherwise useless domain search, rawr readers represent a wide range of esteemed educational institutions—the college of wales; northern illinois / purdue / washington / indiana / loyola / northwestern universities; knox, ohio wesleyan and kalamazoo colleges; and the universities of chicago / michigan / california.

it’s heartening that so many students are using this solid online resource for their lion-related research.

2003-05-06T09:31:00.000-05:00

sure enough, keg cats—it's that special, secret tuesday in mid-spring. . . .

H A P P Y F L U N K D A Y !!

(those very few flunk-free folks can read an abbreviated, scrubbed-clean version of the story here.)

2003-05-05T14:16:00.000-05:00

we were slated to see it on tuesday but some of us couldn’t wait and spontaneously rushed out to see holes late last night (which is always a good reason and always a good time to see a kids movie). IT’S SO GOOD YOU MUST GO SEE IT RIGHT NOW. unless you haven’t read the (marvelous, entangled, funny, smarts-like-a-rattlesnake-bite) book, in which case—YOU MUST GO READ IT RIGHT NOW.

* * * * * *
whoo-ha-ha! the bard’s purpley prose can now be stretched to cast me as the leading lady. not to negatively comment on my own affairs, but it’s tempting to part with 25 bucks, request “jude law” as my romeo and demand the “happy ending” option.

* * * * * *
geez. how about i pledge allegiance to never again putting the words “loyalty” and “day” next to each other in a sentence?

* * * * * *
not-very-uplifting international lion news

“two of them charged our guys. we had to take them down. . .the zoo keeper came the next day and he was pretty cut up, but i think he understood.”

“we are experts in cover-ups with cats. nobody knows nothing. it's nothing to do with us because there will be no paperwork or anything.”

“there’s no feeling here that marta the lioness should be put down—there'd be a protest from animal welfare groups here if there was such a suggestion."

2003-05-02T12:36:00.000-05:00

hur-rawr! after class last night, i was upgraded to 2/3 a master-degreed librarian.

* * * * * *
didn’t get a chance to wish you labo(u)r-loving leos a merry may day yesterday. i perversely celebrated by not going to work and not spending any time outside.

* * * * * *
a friday afternoon confession chronology. . .
how long it really took me to learn some rather basic stuff:

[23 years]
that the international version of may day is, like, meaningful—and way cooler than our wussy “labor day”

[22 years]
that i would never meet anyone who liked to vacuum as much as i do

[21 years]
that led zeppelin is/was a british band

[20 years]
um, that america actually lost the vietnam war

[19 years]
that the voice of "shaggy" on "scooby doo" was casey kasem

[18 years]
that the wind does/can not “blow away” UV rays

[17 years]
that "jack kennedy" and "john kennedy" weren't brothers

2003-04-30T14:21:00.000-05:00

wednesdays aren’t usually when things happen for the first time—but, in a few ways, this humpy-bumpy wednesday feels like a roll-over:

for the first time in 2003, the heavy rain feels brings-may-flowers-y instead of like a grumpy winter afterthought.

for the first time ever, i’m committing myself to public transportation dependence (babe the blue oldsmobile’s been sent, almost literally, down the river).

this morning, for the first time, i left a comment on a stranger’s blog (take in both at ex-liontamer).

* * * * * *
i haven’t been this excited about anything on tv since “the fresh prince of bel air” was granted weekend syndication. manor house, on PBS, is a well-produced, intriguing pleasure. especially for “reality tv.” especially for a show focused on edwardian england. and especially for a program that doesn’t have any cute boys in it (see, i’ve made do with a crush on the crazy cook).

2003-04-29T13:14:00.000-05:00

my favorite thing about this list is that i really can’t think of anything (besides the true-fan-obvious "scrambled eggs") to add.

* * * * * *
regality rarely fosters adaptability—i mean, lions aren’t big into lifestyle adjustments. but us honorary lions are often forced to trade majesty for plasticity. and for me, even showering can be a showcase of behavior bending. . . .

my kitchen faucet spray-soaks me whenever i turn the pressure up past “tinkle,” so i skip the sink and just shower with the big soup kettle and the cumbersome colander. i don’t even buy those pretty, poofy body sponges anymore—my skin has adapted to dish scrubbies. and with no access to a garden hose (or a garden, or a yard for that matter), i shower with dusty sandals and muddy bike inner tubes. sans laundry facilities, i shower with sweaty yoga pants and stained sweaters. when i want to drown out the shrieking kids in the alley, i take a shower. when the furnace goes out, i take a hot shower. when i’m short on time, i brush my teeth, stretch, yell at my roommate and water the cats in the shower.

who knew that a workable urban existence would demand a detachable nozzle?

2003-04-29T00:19:00.000-05:00

outstanding sibling updates

aubrey not only wore a homemade madrigal costume to her senior prom—she was voted freakin' prom queen.

and abbey—with her patent-pending, weed-wilting stare—is seen here in a newspaper clipping about her school's "illinois young authors" winners. she's the reigning k-through-3 overall champ—which, i'm assuming, is very much like being a queen.

2003-04-28T14:26:00.000-05:00

at long last—the judy bloomers official fansite. cheers to darlene for her aggressively awful photo clipping (i'll just claim the rock-n'-roll lifestyle made my face that puffy).

2003-04-28T09:27:00.000-05:00

we've all got our little preconceived notions about what librarians are and what they do. something along the lines of: librarians are diminutive civil servants, scuttling about "sssh-ing" and stamping things.

listen. librarians have degrees. they go to graduate school for something called information science and subsequently become masters of the complex interactions between you and data and community and words and history.

people become librarians because they know too much. their wisdom defies the restrictive parameters of specific disciplines.

librarians can catalog anything, from an onion ring to a gutenberg. they could—if they wanted to and weren’t busy with something more important—catalog you.

a librarian wields unfathomable power. with a flip of the wrist, a librarian can hide your dissertation behind piles of old field and stream magazines.

for precious little compensation, librarians bring order and meaning to chaos. they interpret and organize and preserve. and—take note—though they dig getting worshiped, librarians are just as happy getting some respect.

this is an extraction (with heavy rawr revision) from the mighty librarian avengers.

2003-04-25T11:02:00.000-05:00

my favorite moment of the morning, so far: signing something called a “delivery manifest” for a truck driver, after he asked if i knew where he could find a “mister rory pontiac.”

* * * * * *
for those of you lions who weren’t too sahara-snobby to rate kittens, i recommend something even more engagingly, hopelessly silly.

2003-04-24T09:46:00.000-05:00

last night, the kids in the east village youth project were given the chance to earn some extra points (“points” are accumulated toward winning reasonably kid-awesome prizes like pizza parties and lisa frank eraser kits). their challenge: to wrestle with a few gnarly puzzlers.

my tutoree/mentee, cynthia, was resourceful enough to declare, “i bet you can’t get any of these, roar-ree!” so i hunkered down (making cynthia hunker down with me)—and we ended up the only team to decipher ALL of them. that means we’re GENIUSES! know what geniuses get to do? CAPITALIZE anything we WANT!

admit it: you think you’re a genius, too. fine. below are a few of the ciphers. example: “9 = P. in the S.S.” would be solved as “9 planets in the solar system.”

1 = W. on a U.
3 = B.M. (S.H.T.R.)
5 = D. in a Z.C.
7 = W. of the A.W.
11 = P. on a F.T.
54 = C. in a D. (with J.)
64 = S. on a C.
200 = D. for P.G. in M.

WELL? can you capitalize ANYTHING you want?

* * * * * *
as soon as i realize that a work-related phone call will probably last more than twenty-three seconds, i start itching for a distraction. and skimming “wanted” ads in the chicago reader is one of my favorite (harmless, silent) diversions. a selection of some of this week’s more attention-grabbing ads:

starting a different greeting card company, looking for artist or cartoonist to work with me. . . .

they’ll be in restraining devices (oven cleaner poured down their throats), where will you be? world day for lab animals. action volunteers. . . .

i have two pairs of black leather pants, men's size 34 and women's size 22. will trade for men's size 36 or 38. . . .

a raccoon came into the cage. my young daughter is so upset! need donation of young female guinea pigs. call dad at. . . .

* * * * * *
never wonder why i want to be a librarian. . . .

"as has been observed in college students, the peeps also appear to favor working on collaborative, or group, projects. we observed them meeting as a group in an area of the library designated for such purposes."

2003-04-23T15:47:00.000-05:00

it’s opening night for the lion king in chicago. this city rarely puts up such an (i can’t help it) upROAR about traveling, commercial theatre fare (we prefer our obscure local stuff), and i’d long ago given up on ever getting tickets. but i’m a lucky woman and got to see it last weekend, in another country.

at least in its original conception (if not in a long-running, almost-fatigued version), the lion king is unquestionably the feat of theatre it’s critically made out to be. shadow and bunraku puppeteering are synthesized with african masks and drumming; the stage is a folding, swirling mechanical wonder; perspective and illusion are constantly shifting and startling. it’s beautiful.

but maybe all this beauty should have been applied to another, less familiar story. the musical’s script stays close to the movie’s—and there’s a reason most disney movies are less than 85 minutes long. in the 130-minute-long show, added songs add nothing to the exposition and make even die-hards like me kinda restless. the twinned dialog means similar characterization, but some of the dramatic characters seem rushed onstage (and it’s just plain hard to convincingly act like james earl jones acting like a lion). unsurprisingly, the comedic characters—timon! timon!—were the shiniest.

it says a lot for my three days in london that seeing the stage version of one of my favorite movies was a highlight and not the highlight. the lion king was great—but not tony-the-tiger-grrr-eat.

* * * * * *
will contemporary war propaganda be so charming for future generations?

* * * * * *
if you’ve ever doubted the internet’s capacity to nurture community, you owe it to yourself to rate a kitten. i’m partial to the tawny, cub-like kittens.

2003-04-22T15:10:00.000-05:00

merry tuesday, family felidae!

many thanks to those of you who’ve sent—or promised—me terribly wonderful and wonderfully terrible bumper stickers (see opportunity to do so in post below). my oldsmobile’s future might be uncertain, but the its visual distinction is certainly not.

* * * * * *
another appeal: can someone teach me how to knit? it could be a mutual exchange—where i could show you how to make vacuuming more pleasurable, or how to use any of adobe’s major software programs, or how to justify extraordinarily high quesadilla consumption.

heheheh. i dig that my job makes finding ridiculous but appropriate clipart so easy. . . .

* * * * * *
hard to believe that the u.s. justice department thought its website needed a kids’ page. but not only does such a resource exist, it actually includes what could arguably be called content. hey, i know some kids who might want (for a laugh) or need (for a class project) to read up on stuff like “alcatraz: inmate regulations, 1956” and “are you a good cybercitizen?” and “just for teens: the truth about club drugs.” ain't justice fun?

2003-04-17T08:58:00.000-05:00

catz, i going to london tonight. does anybody need anything?

* * * * * *
recognizing that i’m an impatient person about to take on more than eight cramped hours of flight, i prescribed/purchased for myself the current issue of all my favorite slicks:

adbusters / bitch / us / dwell / muse / punk planet / national geographic / jane

* * * * * *
in uncertain times like these, i'd like to remind faithful rawr readers that diversity is something to be celebrated—not feared or repressed. with this in mind, i'm ending this short blog week with—awww—some mountain lions. . . .

2003-04-16T12:09:00.000-05:00

last night, my lanky, uncranky milio’s stylist—vlad(imir)—asked if he could make my hair look like catherine zeta-jones’s from chicago. and he did, so that’s what i’ve (miraculously still) got. later on in the evening, i was compared/connected (from afar, and not based on the new ‘do), to emily watson, which has happened before. and yesterday, during my daily constitution, an older, hand-holding, miami-colored couple had this exchange while walking past me: “doesn’t she look like the girl from that program, ‘china beach’?” “yeah, but a little shorter.” “oh no, definitely taller.” dana delany? wha-at? it’s these rascally bangs.

* * * * * *
it’s not upROARious, but at least this new yorker cartoon includes lions and at least it’s (probably) not a biblical allusion and at least i get it.

* * * * * *
steve r. officially becomes the last carbon-based organism to start a blog.

* * * * * *
i’ve got a contest up my sleeve, too, meg. [by the way, how about “keg o’ meg” or “in a rut(ledge)”?] well, it’s more of an opportunity than a contest. . . .

you all know i have a very big car. and the car has a very big butt, even for a station wagon. and on that butt i've stuck a few bumper stickers. still, there’s room and precedent for more bumper ornamentation. also part of my motivation: i hope to give the vehicle to a rural sister no later than september—and i like the idea of her being forced to drive around with a motley bunch of embarrasing bumper statements (as they’re called in more passionate catalogs).

the opportunity for rawr readers is golden: i’m not going to choose which stickers to add to babe-the-blue-oldsmobile. i’m going to accept submissions/donations. you send me a bumper sticker and—unless i could get arrested/killed for displaying it—i’ll slap it on. guaranteed. i don’t care about incongruity, absurdity or even nerdiness.

now, think about the sort of messages you could force me to travel around with!

or, you could be a real bad-ass agitator and design your own.

(those of you without my mailing address can email me to get it. those of you without my mailing or email address should be ashamed.)

2003-04-15T15:58:00.000-05:00

it’s pay day, cattails. so it’s also laundry day. grocery day. hair cut day. credit-card-awareness day. giggly-lunch-with-alison day. brimming-tank-of-gas day. almost-lower-middle-class day. change-purse-is-actually-useful day. feel-like-mary-tyler-moore day.

2003-04-14T16:01:00.000-05:00

how’s tricks, rawr-ees? i'm downright confused—is the war over? did we kick major butt? is freedom ringing? is saddam definitely dead and stuff? in more clearly-reported, triumphant news, nbc has ordered thirteen episodes of "father of the pride," a computer-animated series about lions who perform in siegfried & roy's vegas magic show. let's hope for a poignant, non-exploitative drama.

* * * * * *
i just finished one of the stranger, shorter phone conversations of my day:

me [after a short hold]: yes, hi, i’d like to make an appointment please.

women’s health center receptionist: what do you need done?

me: done? i need to get my annual exam—and my depo shot.

whcr: who do you like to do it?

me: like? well, dr. moore did it last year.

whcr: okay, shirley moore. may ninth at 10:30 work for you?

me: may? er, yeah, i think i can make that. what about my depo?

whcr: i’m sure a gynecologist with three degrees can manage to administer an injection of a common contraceptive.

me: common? oh. right. thank you.

whrc: great. [hangs up]

2003-04-11T09:26:00.000-05:00

lazy friday blogging. . .

* * * * * *
fickle felines: make sure to rate this publication as hot hot hot or not. it's imperative. keep in mind that dot / snot / fought / knot / clot / besought are not legitimate ratings.

* * * * *
watch out, william carlos williams—rumsfeld can bust a (non)rhyme, too.

* * * * *
alright, can anyone explain this recent new yorker cartoon to me? i'sa just not bright nuff. . . .

2003-04-10T10:52:00.000-05:00

anemic lions should drink more library juice, like these healthy girls.

. . .and you know your mother and i worry that you're not getting enough get your war on.

* * * * * *
a few days ago, i mentioned that i was reading the pig and the skyscraper / chicago: a history of our future, and i think i mentioned that it was written by marco d’eramo, a sweetheart italian physicist-sociologist. i should now mention that i’m no longer reading it for the history, the future or even the pigs—i’m reading it because d’eramo (and his translator, graeme thomson) craft passages like this:

“it cannot be denied that chicago wants to be, and is, a lovable city. along with america’s most corrupt politicians, its most vicious gangs and its most ruthless capitalists, you will also find here the country’s most generous grassroots organizations. . . [a]nd from under the trees of lincoln park, near the limpid blue lake, squirrels stare right at you, their little heads cutely inclined. puff jowled, their tails glistening in the sun, they rub at the white fur of their belies, as though anticipating the nuts you will hold out to them.”

ahh, those crazy, nut-distributing italians.

* * * * * *
tonight i’m giving a class presentation summarizing and showing off my final project for human records (which happens to be a lesson plan for a high school blog-writing / exploring / researching unit). i’ll be showing my classmates rawr, so i’m trying to spruce it up—a big botch so far. i’ve failed to beat the archives into submission, i can’t prevent the wavy formatting, and i can’t get my “hot or not” rating (which is bunk, even mathematically, but a nice touch) to post. i even tried to join a neat webring-for-redheads but rawr won’t be activated for maybe another week.

i suppose, though, what sort of self-respecting “blog for lions” would heed its editor/keeper? even a blog for sea lions would probably be naturally defiant.

* * * * * *
a “cute, kind boy” (see Rory Parilac Poverty Index post below) growled at me for not naming him specifically and then wrote, “please comment on this item in your blog. . .[it’s] just about the most ridiculous thing [i’ve ever heard].”

but, karl—what could i possibly say about this stupid, stupid story about stupid, stupid people that it doesn’t say for itself? like tim robbins, i didn’t think that baseball (despite the misstep of having no national team called “the lions”) was “a republican sport.”

2003-04-09T10:48:00.000-05:00

lately, for a drawn-out homework assignment, i’ve spent more than my fair share of time looking up depressing statistics—like the number of starbucks in mundelein and the 2001 suburban average for crimes which include assault. but it’s got me thinking about how the census might go about calculating the Rory Parilac Poverty Index. it’d be tricky. they’d have to make sure to include slippery factors like:

change i’ve found on the Y locker room floor

the dozens of millions of hundreds of thousands of dollars i will eventually owe the u.s. department of education

not whether but by how much my checking account is overdrawn

a median measure of how grumpy and gas-sucking my vehicle is being

monies owed to my favorite type of loan shark: cute, kind boys

airfare rates to london

potential endorsement deals

(is peanut butter consumption a viable tax deduction?)

* * * * * *
crafty leos should try their paw at this crazy-ass game—it’s just an online version of the subjective-favorite “twenty questions,” but. . .um. . .the computer will beat you. dudes, i’m telling the solemn truth here! against me, it figured out "lion" and "station wagon" and "cream cheese" and "library.” i beat it with “toaster,” but only by cheating.

* * * * * *
jennie and i are year-round spring cleaners (well, alright—i’m a year-round spring cleaner and she has yet to turn me into the authorities), so these tips were well-appreciated (though i can’t figure out what the man in the graphic is actually cleaning).

2003-04-08T11:20:00.000-05:00

last night, during a frustrating lecture that should been subheaded “the best resource for international and foreign government information will always be a u.s. web site,” our well-meaning guest instructor somehow stumbled across google’s language tools subsite. an equally astounding and amusing place to be, this options page will translate google (and billions of other cooperating sites) into a rainbow of languages—impressively un-spanish languages, too, like croatian, faroese, occitan, tagalog (traditionally a major lion tongue) and xhosa. but the real delight is stuff like bork, bork, bork!, elmer fudd, esperanto, hacker and klingon.

come on, you lazy cats—you know you want to read google as filtered through the swedish chef!

2003-04-07T11:16:00.000-05:00

of course, the concept of a "lion tamer" is a bit of a weak joke, but still. . .i wouldn't giggle at this sehr eindrucksvolle frau.

* * * * * *
alongside a buddy holly biography and marco d’eramo’s heady the pig and the skyscraper: chicago: a history of our future, i’m currently reading/skimming sarah vowell’s the partly cloudy patriot (despite vowell’s idiotic “about the author” picture—i think she’s going for smoldering smugness but just looks out-of-breath and mean). s.v. writes for npr, mostly, and her writing is unsurprisingly young, huffy and rhythmic. good for reading in traffic. my favorite lines so far:

“i guess gettysburg is a pilgrimage. and, like all pilgrims, i'm a mess. you don't cross state lines to attend the 137th anniversary of anything unless something's missing in your life.”

* * * * * *
rawr! not much of a meaty monday blog, meowers, but expect a bulk delivery as soon as this roguish april snow melts and this twelve-page paper about local government fact-finding is handed in.

* * * * * *
if we got to choose (or modify) such things, i'd choose to be the color of butterscotch:

2003-04-04T15:18:00.000-06:00

i haven’t been eating much recently that isn’t glazed or doesn’t have cream cheese as a primary ingredient. i’ve also been sleeping alone, which is an inviting situation for pounce and fat cat—each night they find a new bend of my body to align themselves against. and last night in class i found myself initiating a conversation about what constitutes a sensible amount of tupperware and the blessing that is “soft light” light bulbs.

i might need some lion-confident reassurance that i’m not turning into a needs-sturdier-bifocals, 46-year-old divorcee.

* * * * * *
ugh. here’s the abstract image that the trib is using to describe this afternoon’s weather:

the paper’s online graphics manager should add a zeus to the thundercloud—depict him rawring at us puny humans below.

2003-04-03T10:12:00.000-06:00

a distressing day for chicago carnivores: demon dogs is being shut down. turns out, the full story is even juicier than demon dog's relish.

2003-04-03T09:48:00.000-06:00

as promised in mid-march. . .the lions i met in london.

2003-04-01T11:59:00.000-06:00

instant history! bush spent yesterday pondering “what would jesus do?” and is holding a press conference this afternoon to announce that, well, jesus wants the coalition forces out of iraq. meanwhile, a recent johns hopkins university study indicates that large amounts of generic soda (in tasty flavors like grape and “red”) might help prevent ovarian cancer. finally, ralph nader and queen latifah are engaged. hey, hey, kit-kats: happy april first.

* * * * * *
ahh, we can’t help it: the feline temperament finds idiotic measurements irresistible. say, it’s gettin' hot in here. . .

* * * * * *
the final project for my government publications class is an analysis of the accessibility / content / authority of a cabinet-level web site. my assigned agency? the freakin’ department of energy. gross. but not absolutely uninteresting. the site’s “photo gallery,” for example, has images like this.

i guess the d.o.e. freaked out in 1979 and asked the treasury to print gasoline ration coupons for emergency use during the energy crisis. they were indeed printed (or at least engraved)—but never issued.

* * * * * *
it really shouldn’t be so easy to find stories about drunk brits feeding lions things they ought not, like ice cream and penguins.

* * * * * *
this is the look i give my student assistants when they whine about how much homework they have.

2003-03-28T14:58:00.000-06:00

a rawr digest of recent lion-y news. . .

family
wildlife experts, game watchers and samburu villagers were amazed when the lioness adopted the oryx calf.

international relations
"i hope the cubs bring laughter and hope to the afghan people with their youth and vigour," mr. yi said.

science
do lions react to hyena sounds despite frequent exposure to such sounds in a zoo environment?

* * * * * *
if i were (a sassy) catholic, i'd. . .

* * * * * *
this summer, i’m plowing through the last four credits toward my illustrious master’s degree in library and information science. i had merrily planned to take:

collection management
international librarianship
public library administration
youth services and programming

but. . .i couldn’t afford to pay off my “matriculation fee” (nor could i get anyone to explain to me what the fuck a matriculation fee is or will ever do for me) and was barred from early registration. which means i’ll instead be taking:

public library history
music librarianship
school media center management
serials

still. those don’t sound so terrible, do they? my transcript won’t have much to do with what sort of library job(s) i’ll be offered—and even less to do with what an awesome, celebrated librarian i’ll end up being.

* * * * * *
sibling of the week

her name’s mary caroline, but i call her carrot-butt. she’s cool because she:

doesn’t mind that i call her carrot-butt.

can do a spread eagle but won’t.

has almost made it through her first year as a hooiser undergrad without joining a sorority.

will accept hair brushing as a birthday present from her poor older sister.

didn’t mind much, at age fourteen, when she learned she actually had an older sister.

2003-03-26T12:32:00.000-06:00

wow. someone found rawr through a yahoo search for "list of soliders deployed March 2003." i feel kinda bad. . .

* * * * * *
sorry, bill, you’re right—i did promise to publish the winner of the oscar party guessing game. and it was. . .me! i was six for six at first but started to stumble and fumble in the later categories (even my extensive us magazine research couldn’t help predict crazy shit like eminem winning “best song.”). still i creamed the competition—except for matt lauterbach, the classic pop culture idiot savant, who managed to tie me. we’re happily sharing the prize of a lula café gift certificate. i plan to spend the meal explaining to matt why ben and j. lo won’t last.

* * * * * *
my co-worker roseanne resigned (while i was in london—the nerve!) and is putting in her last few days. she’s been demonstrating appropriate disdain for her duties and subsequently distracting me with stuff like this harvard dialect survey. it’s a long survey to actually take, and there’s no satisfying “what your dialect says about you” end reward—but it promotes scientific inquiry and the questions, at least, are worth a look. some of my favorites:

“caramel” is pronounced. . .
a) with 2 syllables ("car-ml")
b) with 3 syllables ("carra-mel")
c) i use both interchangeably
d) i have both forms, but the two have different meanings and/or usages
e) other

would you say "where are you at?" to mean "where are you?"
a) yes
b) no
c) i can use "where are you at" in contexts such as asking someone how s/he is coming along on a project, but not in the general sense of "where are you physically located in the world at this moment?"

what word do you use for gawking at someone in a lustful way?
a) ogle
b) oogle
c) oggle (pronounced to rhyme with "boggle," but may still be spelled "ogle")
d) i use both oogle and ogle interchangeably
e) i use both ogle and "oggle"
f) i have no word for this activity
g) other

* * * * * *
if my media diet consisted of nothing but the new yorker, i would think all poems were tripe and all essays were plums. so thank goodness for us, which has taught me that the purest literary form is truly the “what’s hot / what’s not” list.

2003-03-25T12:09:00.000-06:00

my sister molly, at the un-tender age of fifteen, has started a blog, under my primary encouragement. as far as i can tell, it's currently a collection of old diary entries. it doesn't make any external sense and it smacks of sullen n' sour 15-year-old sensibility. still—"land of naked soft drinks" makes for more compelling reading than most war coverage.

2003-03-24T12:55:00.000-06:00

i’m all set for my twenty-third spring. my worm phobia is snugly in place, making rainstorms minor tests of personal courage. i’ve got an absurdly blithe attitude toward transportation responsibilities (currently driving on a suspended license / without insurance for my emissions-test-failing oldsmobile). i’ve got big plans to wear shockingly cute sandals for the next four months and am more than ready for windows without curtains or glass or even screens. insensibly dumb pop songs about love and hope and the moon make perfect sense to me this season. matt l. and i have promised each other at least one leisurely bike ride around humboldt park’s paths and fields each weekend. and i’m this close to going full lion-style—just find a flat surface on which to doze all day.

2003-03-21T13:40:00.000-06:00

shock and awe? shock and awe? i’m still waiting to feel shocked about any of this. still waiting for some decent awe to set in.

* * * * * *
on wednesday night, at east village youth project tutoring, i helped my charges with an art project. they had been instructed to create a “tribute”—a picture meant to be sent to a deployed u.s. solider. this was their assignment! first they had to come up with a headline. some favorites: “thank’s for everything [sic]” and “your heros [sic]” and “god bless america [no sic but still].”

besides encouraging them to use up awkward white space and to draw actual facial expressions, i suggested that these junior high politicos portray as many perspectives of the war as possible. so saul added george w. in a corner, pointing at something. tabitha drew her parents watching tv. and zeke—i’m not making this up—added some more people with funny hats and labeled them “japs.”

alas, no one added any metaphorical lions of victory to their tribute.

while i watching my tutees hard at work, i realized i had been their age when this war happened the first time. geez, i had made tributes for art class, too. in fact, i still remember exactly how i drew saddam (in purple, my color of choice in sixth grade):

it’s too bad i didn’t have my current photoshop skills when i was twelve, or i could have gotten really subversive:

* * * * * *
the producers are pulling red carpet oscars coverage because too many celebrities were either afraid that one of saddam’s snipers would be waiting for them or afraid of looking like a ridiculous, superfluous human being during such sobering world events. whatever. i want the red carpet. it’s steve’s big night, i made a ballot for our party, and i don’t want to wait any longer than necessary to see what nicole is wearing. if the producers need to make a hollow statement, they can just make it a white carpet of peace.

2003-03-19T10:27:00.000-06:00

i didn’t see any felines on his list of “animals eaten,” so i heartily recommend a side order of ben blogging.

* * * * * *
lion roaring can be heard up to five miles away, easily. still, seems like there should be a listserv or something to meet the longer-distance and networking communication needs of big cats. unfortunately i don’t have time to manage such an enterprise, especially as i need to keep up with my own pet list, PUBLIB—a general public librarian forum. shaddup—it’s not dull! here are some of my favorite portions of yesterday’s digest:

“did anyone catch vincent d'onofrio's line (as detective goren) on last night's law and order: criminal intent? he said, ‘i'm about to use my most important investigative tool: my library card.’ boy, did i cheer. . . .”

“we are compiling a list of children's books which deal with themes of peace and war. the working title of this bibliography is weapons of mass instruction. . . .”

“a question for librarians who shelve foreign-language films by title: do you use the original title or the english title? we can think of cases where people are significantly more familiar with one than the other. to illustrate—don't shoot the piano player and crouching tiger, hidden dragon versus la cage aux folles and das boot. . . .”

“does anyone recognize this story? the patron remembers reading a fable about a wealthy man who lures people to his home and offers them a bed which turns out to be a torture rack—and he apparently gets away with killing people because he's such a prominent citizen. . . .”

[naturally, someone else on the list promptly answered with “that’s the story of procrustes (also known as ‘polypemon,’ according the new larousse encyclopedia of mythology.) theseus eventually made him undergo his own treatment.”]

this is the stuff of my chosen field! i love my chosen field.

2003-03-18T11:26:00.000-06:00

good morning, dandy lions. i’m at work, doing my production manager thang, preparing something called “endowed scholarship brochure” for its second round of onerous text proofs. meanwhile, i’m sidelong glancing at my personal (not, unfortunately, as in “intimate”—personal as in “sometimes being an adult blows”) to-do list. why does it read like i jotted it down in secret commie code? am i afraid someone else is going to do this stuff for me?

to do to do to do
• emissions
• cancel “country living”
• glass slipper project by 21
• lowell sat w/ presents (stickers?)
• (2) rolls
• return stack
• clorox fridge / v bags
• thursday after class?
• agnes / kara / matt / brynn
• broken word

* * * * * *
unabashed nagging: make sure to get your war on.

* * * * * *
it’s easy to be vain about the mane, but admit it—occasionally, other creatures can come real close to being as cute as us leos:

(i'm talking about the bear, not the beard.)

* * * * * *
severe acute respiratory syndrome? that’s the best handle they could come up with for this WHO-notable mystery illness? too bad we gave up tagging infectious ailments with exotic, vaguely jingoistic names like spanish flu and hong kong pig flu.

2003-03-17T11:45:00.000-06:00

erin go braugh! are we dropping bombs yet?

* * * * * *
my homeboy steve m / keeping it unreal

2003-03-16T07:25:00.000-06:00

i’m back from london. rawrs all around!

preview: in a few days i’ll post some focused pix of the city’s many manes. but you’re spared, wiggly cats—i don’t plan to unroll an action-narrative of my holiday. i’m usually the least patient listener/reader when it comes to others’ travels—i don’t want the disjointed story of where they went, what they ate, what they saw. instead i always wonder what, if anything, the vacation did to them. i mean, yeah, every third thing i ate was hidden under a pile of bacon, i very happily explored the almost-ugly british library and (narrowly) missed the wax museum. but that’s not my london—london’s what i’m left with.

as a first-timer, i mostly over-worked and overwhelmed my eyeballs, looking at the city from a hundred perspectives. i saw london from along both banks of its regular-looking river, from its highest hill, from the shingled balcony outside our pleasant, narrow room, through the slimy lens of morning television, from down below in an underground that, as far as i could tell, works only by the sheer will of its patrons.

i saw london while perched above the driver’s head in a few gut-tickling double-decker rides; i saw it from curbs and bridges, through glass windows and in pamphlets. i saw it hungry and drunk, holding hands and alone. and london humbled me. flattened me with with my own flat voice and bare manners. made me lose my sense of direction. made my chin break out something fierce. made me trod and skip and scurry, keeping the small of my back wondering why it wasn’t prepared for this. after six days, i didn’t want to ever leave or stay another second.

now, awake at seven on a st. patrick’s sunday morning, infatuated with my warm and as-yet-unmoving chicago, i’ve got one regret: that i didn’t pick up a tweed deerstalker when i visited sherlock’s place on baker street.

2003-03-07T12:59:00.000-06:00

this january, the asian lions living in the london zoo saw snow for the first time. i can't wait to talk to them about it.

2003-03-06T12:43:00.000-06:00

aroo, tomcats. i've been a slacking rawr poster lately. my tail-between-the-legs excuse: pre-london preparations—most of which have nothing to do with london, only with the pressure of being away for eight days—have me hustling and bustling more even more than usual. my boss just treated the office to a chinese buffet lunch. . .my fortune cookie granted no promise of a less hectic existence but did instruct me to "accept the next proposition offered." bring it on.

2003-03-04T12:52:00.000-06:00

huzzah—jen p.b. just landed a full-time position at the skokie public library! i can’t hide my jealousy, but i can hide my plan to usurp her through a diabolical plot involving hyenas with impossible reference questions.

* * * * * *
i just went to jewel for lunch, thinking i’d pick up a light greek salad or hearty vegetable soup. instead, i filled my basket to its plastic brim with beef jerky (original smoke flavor—lions shouldn’t be seen gnawing on anything teriyaki), animal crackers and grapes. already irretrievably past the silliness threshold, i also tossed in a “star scroll”—a rolled-up horoscope. these ridiculous scraps of nonsense used to constitute major, monthly purchases when i was thirteen. for at least a short while, i would wait for the “right cusp” or “lucky phase” to do important things like write a crush note or order more amy grant tapes from BMG.

pay attention, comrade-leos: today we’re at risk of acting on negative emotions, which could possibly threaten a financial goal—just sit tight until the eleventh, when our personal charisma will help firm up an alliance. (and look forward to the eighteenth, when we’ll “reap a creative or romantic harvest.”)

* * * * * *
you know, mardi gras is wacky/tacky/smacky enough without people forcing their felines to be so miserably involved. . . .“hmph! she didn’t even stop to acknowledge or admire my lion costume.”

2003-03-03T13:25:00.000-06:00

i’ve got the day off work, not quite sure whether it’s in observance of spring break or fat tuesday or ash wednesday or the splendid obscurity of revolutionary war hero casimir pulaski. just to be safe, i’m spending the day in a brightly patterned bikini, forehead smudged, and eating more than my suggested daily intake of polish sausage.

pulaski, who probably never flashed his breasts for cheap beads. . .

* * * * *
the highlight of my saturday morning was watching french foreign minister dominique de villepin duke it out with a smarmier-than-thou george stephanopoulos. after georgey asked de villepin (i can think of at least six different ways to mispronounce that name) whether it concerned him that some americans were so ticked at french resistance, the good minister huffed and responded, “well, you know. . .there’s always been such a passion between our countries.” that’s some of the most solid political commentary i’ve heard in awhile.

* * * * *
for background noise, i’ve had the maury povich show turned on. and, dammit, he keeps making me cry. not with tales of drugged-out step-children who sleep with their racist midget cousins. oh, no—maury’s having a snuggly-soft day. he just surprised a little girl suffering from severe eczema with a lifetime worth of dermatological drugs and a visit from her favorite wrestler (who in turn gave her a new puppy). sniff, sniff. next up: a non-profit daycare program for blind kids is going to receive a brand new van and playground equipment. stop it, maury!

* * * * *
ooo la la, lions-who-like-lux—you are encouraged to make a yummy statement of protest. right on, war!

* * * * *
a recent email from bryan shared his as-usual invigorating perspective:

“perhaps one day soon i too will reacquaint myself with the feeling of mutual attraction, but lately, everything’s been one-sided, like politics. speaking of which, no one seems to be articulating the best reason for launching a war against iraq, which is because america needs more sand. oil, be damned. we’re fighting to prevent beach erosion.”

* * * * *
let's get idealistic on a monday. the lion and lamb project, besides having a great name, might also be based on a great idea.

2003-02-27T11:10:00.000-06:00

big cats, lap cats, hep cats and fat cats: it's the four-month anniversary of this for-lions-only publication. many arched-back thanks to rawr readers everywhere. and back to content-cramming tomorrow. . .

2003-02-25T22:32:00.000-06:00

* * * * * *
a few days ago my coworker irene, while slipping into her short mink and cherry-red kid gloves, commented, “you know, there’s just something about the word smackdown.” she wasn’t being funny—she was really savoring “smackdown.” since then, i’ve been mentally indexing words that, for me, there’s just something about. words that my teeth and tongue like to make happen. here’s what i’ve got so far. . .

butcher
genuine
scorn
meadow
thematic
argentina
crayon
postage
tavern

* * * * * *
[women formerly of post one—go ahead and start cackling.] somehow i still remember my first college boyfriend sputtering, “carl sandberg? he wasn't a poet—he was just . .regional!” but i’d rather read carl sandberg’s handsome, deliberate words than anything that dumb boy ever wrote. and i recently re-discovered a collection of sandberg's early stuff—a lot of which was written in/about/in spite of chicago. one especially—“young woman”—caught me. the first third of it:

you are a halsted street gypsy running a shop
where shovelmen pay fifty cents apiece
to hear you tell the luck of their lives
waiting for them on the long rough road.
you call them with signs and symbols painted in crosses
and black cats on the front door of your place.
now you sit in a smoker on the elevated
across the aisle from me
and you throw your right foot under your left knee
and go on talking with your mother.
men looking on don’t bother you;
the steady run of short musical words
keeps coming from your lips.

2003-02-25T13:05:00.000-06:00

talking god with three pre-teens

me: so how was catechism class this morning?

cynthia: um, okay. i got all my prayers right.

me: were they good prayers?

cynthia: that’s a stupid question. [manic giggling]

jessica: yeah, all prayers are good.

latonya: nuh-uhn. i like the ones to the cool saints.

cynthia: oh yeah, me too. what are your favorite saints, rawr-ree?

me: i don’t think i have any favorites.

jessica: didn’t you have to pick some out in catechism?

me: i didn’t go.

all three: you didn’t have to go? uh-huh! no fair!

me: well, i’m not catholic.

latonya: so you’re just christian? that’s weird. [manic giggling]

me: i’m not christian, either.

latonya: shut up! she’s probably a stupid baptist or something. [manic giggling]

me: nope. i don’t actually believe in god.

cynthia: aren’t you worried about hell? [manic giggling]

jessica: yeah, where are you going to go after you die?

me: i was thinking my soul could just haunt you guys, bug you about homework.

cynthia: that’s stupid—we’ll be graduated by the time you die.

me: good point. guess i’ll be a baptist.

latonya: baptists are stupid! [manic giggling]

2003-02-24T09:19:00.000-06:00

as far as i could tell, there were only two semi-shiny, less-than-shameful grammy moments last night. the first was maurice gibb’s son, adam, accepting some “you were awesome” award for his late dad. not only did he almost make me cry (and not just because i’d been working on a paper about congressional legislation for seven hours), but he was also awfully cute, in an i’m-probably-very-sweet-and-have-a-silly-soft-beard sort of way. but now i’m conflicted—who to pursue? george harrison’s son, dhani, or the son of a bee gee? i guess i’ll just wait and see who calls first.

(this is dhani, just so's y'all knows i'm not crazy. . .)

ahem. the second decent moment in an otherwise dismal ceremony (i mean, norah freakin’ jones? she sings a few at-best-uncrappy songs that she didn’t even write and wins every award that the dixie chicks or eminem hadn’t already bought? the music business needs to hang itself.): elvis costello looking like he actually cared when he joined bruce springsteen and dave grohl (and was that the percolated bass player from no doubt behind them? oh, dear.) for a pretty right-on tribute take of “london calling.”

* * * * * *
nothing makes me feel more girlie than gingerly brushing the snow off my V8 set of wheels while wearing an above-the-knee skirt. well, maybe driving to a manicure appointment afterward would make me feel even more girl-a-rific. but i wouldn’t do that.

* * * * * *
there’s lots more to get down, rawr readers, but i’ve been—and continue to be—busy as a bee, and a beaver, and any other small, hurried animal that a lion wouldn’t even bother to eat. tomorrow i’ll include an abridged transcript of talking god with lethargic latinitas, what the compound word “smackdown” does for me, and how rawr fits into what the first round of books-about-blogs have to say.

* * * * * *
lauren’s lion
his name is victor, which might account for him looking so studly sans pride.

2003-02-21T11:05:00.000-06:00

sibling of the week
lady monica jean parilac. a beautiful five-year-old who—though she has access to a cheerfully old real horse named ollie—still likes to trot around on a stick version that santa was astute enough to leave under the tree. keen on corn-on-the-cob, the color purple (not the film), and being a pony-tailed star of afternoon kindergarten, monica’s favorite hobby is cuddle-reading with her mom. this girl is exceptional PR for the five-year-old population.

2003-02-20T10:23:00.000-06:00

just one of the happy subsidies of tutoring middle graders is the requisite, remedial vaccine of basic math skills. just about every worksheet is a shot in the arm of something i’ve forgotten to do—much less help an already-frustrated twelve-year-old figure out. it comes down to feverishly re-teaching myself on the spot, relying on the learning curve my $100,000 undergrad gig helped whittle. meanwhile, i tell the students that i’m “reading the directions carefully.” last night was negative integer multiplication and quadrilateral categorization. didn’t take long to realize that my brain is both scalene and obtuse.

* * * * * *
an image too (apple) juicy not to share. this served as a cover for one of dominican's alumni magazines, sometime back in those wacky mid-80s.

2003-02-19T12:19:00.000-06:00

it’s high time for some rawr shout-outs. . .

a supportive shout-out to jennie, who woke up at four this morning to make it to her first social worker lobby day, down in springfield.

a fiddle-string shout-out to will, who will need plenty of friendly hooting n’ hollering when his country/western band plays in a “twang off” at the lyons den (!) this thursday night.

a honestly humbled shout-out to sallee, who—besides being generally great—has made it in both ecuador and utah for longer than i ever could.

a solemn-nod shout-out to bryan, for knowing what he likes: “kafka, chocolate, ER, yo la tengo, red wine, and kicking people in controlled two-minute sessions.”

a hurry-up shout-out to claire, claire, cynthia and agnes, all of whom—for pete’s sake—are still in college.

a hey-why-not shout-out to bill, for having an astonishingly cool last name (“wanderer”) and knowing what a catch agnes (see above) is.

and, a tickled shout-out to lauren, who distinguishes herself in several ways: first, she’s the first complete stranger to read rawr and track me down to respond to it. second, she called me and rawr “fabulous”—not once, but twice. third, she too has plans to be a hot, progressive librarian some day.

2003-02-18T10:09:00.001-06:00

sorry to skip the monday entry, lion-likes. i was feeling surly—there’s not a duller annoyance than waitingwaitingwaiting for something to come by mail only to remember that it’s presidents’ day and you’re waiting for nuthin’. “presidents’ day” isn’t a very impressive holiday—civil servants slack off and PBS re-runs a documentary about mount rushmore. why not have a “vice-presidents’ day” while we’re at it? how about in august? it could be another big national picnic weekend—wal-mart could sell paper plates decorated with the glowing, grimacing faces of hannibal hamlin, schuyler colfax and walter mondale.

* * * * * *
our chicago fire department commissioner is named james joyce. i like to imagine him waking up every morning and—before he extinguishes anything—muttering, “welcome, o life! i go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.”

* * * * * *
oh, big fucking surprise.

i keep thinking:

* * * * * *
i hadn’t been on the ‘bay for months, but this morning i was pestered by a string of long, stuttering phone calls and needed a silent distraction. so here’s what i’m currently coveting:

for the kitchen
for the living room
for the bedroom
for the throat

* * * * * *
rawr! rouding out with an a-dorable visual aid.

2003-02-14T12:13:00.000-06:00

despite well-spread rumors of sixty eight feet of snow a-comin’, the day has a touch of thaw to it. the campus security guards are rambling around wearing their official jackets instead of their official parkas. one of them, catching my warm-temperature grin, even wished me a gruff happy valentine’s day.

this holiday and i have always gotten along. i like having an excuse to coat my tongue with sweettart residue and daydream about love and loveliness. plus, valentine’s day is as gratifying to witness as it is to experience—this morning i saw a dilapidated mini-van with dozens of vaguely heart-shaped mylar balloons tied to its rusty bumpers. while standing in line at the 7-11 with my juice and Us, i listened to a man sing an almost-reggae version of “pour some sugar on me” into his cell phone. i joked with the switchboard operator about her being surrounded by several as-yet unclaimed bouquets (all choked with baby’s breath) and being bloomless herself. i overheard my dressed-all-in-red co-worker tell her husband about a certain digital camera that, were she green-lighted to order it, “would make an excellent valentine.” he consented. romance lives.

* * * * * *
"among [lions] i like or admire, i can find no common denominator, but among [lions] i love, i can—all of them make me laugh." —w.h. "i heart big cats" auden

2003-02-12T17:35:00.000-06:00

i suspect our country’s too big for our own (or anyone else’s) good. too wide, too resource-full. it’s been suggested that if our civil war had turned out drastically different (or hadn’t been fought at all), the northern states would still be rich, powerful and densely populated today—in other words, some form of america would still rule the world. but i’ve got an extensive plan to make the u.s. a bit easier to manage. . .

first, yeah, the south. the republic of dixie can do its own thing. new america doesn’t need any more poisonous snakes, confederate flags or army bases. meanwhile, i think we can all agree to forget the alamo and hand texas over to mexico. while we’re at it, let’s reverse another war: give new england back to england. then george w. could work for tony blair and they could give each other backrubs. next up: hawaii and alaska give up their statehood—some motivated zillionaire can made a bid and rent them out for wedding receptions. any alaskan or hawaiian who still wants to be a citizen can have a free-of-charge ranch-style home in either of the dakotas. that should about do it, though i’d also advise california to watch itself—this plan could be amended to include turning that wacky state over to australia, out of pity for the both of them.

2003-02-12T16:09:00.000-06:00

sibling of the week
sir joseph john paul winbigler. my only brother. tallest boy in his class. cutest eight-year-old in this hemisphere. gives free rides on his four-wheeler. says “uh, bye, love you” without prompting. lets any cat who wants to sleep next to him. has no problem with the pink power ranger. possesses a great rawr. can kick your butt.

2003-02-12T13:32:00.000-06:00

alright, smarty-pants-would-be-valentine-kit-cats. . .

what is this a list of? and what’s missing?
ann
anthony
gale
don / donald
john / john
elaine
mel
norman
rod
tom / tommy

2003-02-11T10:38:00.000-06:00

“oh, you want to be a librarian? did you know laura bush is a librarian?” shudder.

* * * * * *
really, everyone in the rawr readership is my valentine (though some would, i guess, categorize themselves as bloody valentines or funny valentines). still, i have a special valve of my nerdy heart reserved for those of you who are figuring out these puzzlers. . .

what is this a list of? and what’s missing?
life
king
prepared
tonight

* * * * * *
swiss cheese memory aside, i do remember reading (and re-reading) and relishing the chapter of little town on the prairie when laura ignalls wilder convinces ma and pa to let her experiment with bangs. and i remember the charming garth williams illustration of laura nervously biting her lip, using gigantic quilting shears to lop off her front locks.

what i don’t remember is what convinced me to recreate a nostalgic bangs episode for myself last weekend. but i’ve got em, baby. a full, round forehead of bangy hair. yep, it makes me look a bit like a first-year again. like a librarian, like it’s 1953, like i lost a bet, etc. it even—sigh—cuts down on the mane-effect my hair often assumes. but at least i’m a bang-baring person who knows where the word comes from:

“bangs” does, after all, shares the same root as “bang, bang, you’re dead.” the old norse word was “banga” and meant “to hammer” (a relic from, “hey, i’m a viking and i’m going to banga your face in.”). “bang” gradually evolved from “any violent movement” to “any abrupt movement”—until someone decided that “bang-off” would be a fine description for what’s currently above my eyebrows.

2003-02-10T11:14:00.000-06:00

dump trucks of blogging coming soon, panthera leos—but first things first: get your war on.