Furnace dead; house cold

The other day the old furnace needed repair.

Tonight…the old furnace dead. House cold.

This is unrelated to the technical difficulties that kept me from writing earlier today. But it’s been one of those days.

To keep you amused and entertained while things are a bit undone over here, I’ll show you my most googled post, which KIA asked me about a few days ago.

LABIAS UP! VAGINA-GAZING SEASON IS OPEN!
Originally posted November, 2005

Or something. (H/T Tongue-tied.) No, REALLY. :-)

Calling all women of color.

“The Vagina Monologues” wants you.

That’s the message students have heard in the past weeks, as the annual show has opted to bring women of color center stage, while planning to leave many white women behind the curtains.
…
But many other students who participated in previous shows said women of color have stayed away from the play because they believe the script portrays minorities negatively.
…
“We can’t change the words of the script, but we can change the way the words are presented,” said Lauren Whitehead, director of the show this school year. “The script is flawed in its attempt to give all women a voice because it seems to give certain women certain voices. I often wonder why angry vaginas can’t be white and happy vaginas can’t be Asian,” she said.

Longtime readers know I have issues – loud ones with The Vagina Monologues:

I do not want to repeat an experience of my liberal days, where I get to listen to some idiot woman in the row behind me suddenly stand up and exclaim, “Oh, my Gawd! I’m thirty-five years old, and I’ve never seen my cervix!”

My vagina and me, we’re just fine as we are. My vagina is exclusive – do you hear me, EXCLUSIVE – given over for the enthusiastic romping and procreating of one good man, and the deliverance of two blessed other good young men. My vagina is no weeping sister of eternal caterwauling! I do not have to keep my legs crossed in order to muffle the sound of its distress! The walls of my vagina do not thwack together in hiccuping hysteria and hyperventilation at the cruelty of men and unenlightened women. Tampons are my friends! My non-queer, unagendized, non-inclusive, politically incorrect, focused warrior vagina could beat hell out of any other pansy-assed, whiney, mediocre, liberal vagina in the whole wide world!

I have issues with the play because I don’t appreciate the way it is used to (gag me) “empower” women while (gag me more) deconstructing St. Valentine’s Day – a lovely day of chocolate and more chocolate and corny love poems – into “V” day – all about how women are Victims of Violence from those troublesome men that folks like MoDowd say we don’t really need.

Now we have to read about happy and angry vaginas?

Honestly, this makes me want to plop my giddy vagina down in a bucket of Guinness and let it slurp away, until it’s singing “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” and whistling the refrain. And don’t think it can’t do that! I have an astonishingly supple and good-natured, warrior vagina that can smack the hell out of all the sappy, happy, whiney and anggrrrry vaginas around here, without even trying. Kegel muscles, baby, they rock!

Cheers!