On whose shoulders do you stand?

Happy Holidays, readers!  This is the worst kind of symmetry, but the last time that I wrote an entry, it was soon after the passing of my maternal grandmother, Edna Mae-- and this entry comes soon after the passing of my paternal grandmother, Clara.  I am fresh out of grandmothers and I won't mince words: it fucking sucks.  I miss them.  I had all of my grandparents for almost 26 years, and it was an incredible fortune that I sometimes took for granted.  So, now I'm 30 and I'm down to 1 grandparent left.  I recognize that I need to take advantage of the time that I have left with my pepe (my paternal grandfather), but it's like I don't know how to go about it.  What am I supposed to say?  "Pepe, you're the only grandparent I have left, so I'mma need all of your free time from here on out, mmkay?"

It seems almost too right that I'd have to start this entry with a nod to my grandparents, because what I really want to write about is what comes before us, on whose shoulders we stand, and what inspires us.  [Sweet CHRIST, I hate when I have this much to say because I have to get it all down in one fell swoop or I know I won't have the right words the next day, or I won't have the same fire.  I don't like to write unless there's something I HAVE to write.]  So, let's get into it.  Strap in.

*     *     *

Alright.  BFF Molly and I have been BFFs for a length of time that is now closer to 2 decades than it is to 1 decade.  You can surely imagine how many mixes have been exchanged.  We have our own styles of mix-making.  I won't write to Molly's approach, but mine is usually pretty wordy.  I once sent Molly a set of mixes with "liner notes"-- like, 5 or 6 pages explaining why I included each song and what she could take from it.  Sometimes it would include some music history-- God only knows what I wrote when I included songs from Sam Cooke or Jeff Buckley.  I'm fairly certain that Molly didn't read everything that I'd include, but I LOVED writing those notes.  I threw together 3 mixes for her over this past Thanksgiving, but didn't have time to write any notes, or even fuck around with the song order for each one.  [There's a scene in High Fidelity, both film and movie, that discusses the construction of a mix tape.  The order is key.  I'm a firm believer.]  I made copies of each mix for myself and have listened to them over the past few days, and sat down tonight to write the liner notes.  I haven't written anything longer than a few paragraphs in quite a while, and I was getting the itch, so I thought that liner notes would be a good starting point to get my swagger back.  The first mix I was chronicling is called "MKD's Ladyfierce Mix".  I include that information so that you might get deeper insight into how much fucking FUN I have with this stuff.  Here's how the liner notes started:

1.  You Drive Me Wild (The Runaways)-- The thing about most Runaway songs that really gets me is how confident the lyrics are, despite being written by 15/16/17-year-old girls, decades ago.  It's my understanding that they were the first girl group to be so overt and aggressive with their sexuality, when historically female ensembles had been good-girls or just total jailbait.  The lyrics here, in "I Love Playing With Fire", and in "Cherry Bomb" are so self-assured, self-actualized, that even if it sends a somewhat irresponsible message to really young women, I don't care because it's genuinely refreshing.  

2.  The Wild One (Suzi Quatro)-- If nothing else, Suzi Q is from Detroit.  Word.

3.  Tymps (The Sick In The Head Song) (Fiona Apple)-- I love how Fi-Fi writes her lyrics.  Kayne West interviewed her right when this album came out for Interview Magazine [they shared a producer right around that time, Jon Brion], and I will never forget reading that Kayne literally told her that her "vocabulary was so ill".  

4.  Tell Him (The Exciters)

5.  Rock N Roll (The Runaways)-- This is the original version of that song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osOq7G-fiY8  I enjoy that The Runaways changed it to "that LA station".  When I release an album of cover songs, this song will be included, and I'll change it to "that Dee-Troit station".

6.  River Deep, Mountain High (Ike and Tina Turner)

7.  Lollipop (Squeak E. Clean & Desert Eagles Remix) (The Chordettes)-- You can hear that drum sample I mentioned at the :40 mark.  It's from Tone Loc's Wild Thing.  Check it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=387ZDGSKVSg

8.  The Kind Of Boy You Can't Forget (The Raindrops)--  I didn't know this UNTIL RIGHT NOW, but The Raindrops were not an African-American girl group like The Crystals or The Ronnettes, but rather the name that Ellie Greenwich and Jeff Barry used for their own songs.  They were married, and were 2 of the biggest songwriters in the Brill Building.  As soon as you read a bit about Ellie Greenwich, you're going to be like, "Fuh REAL!?" because she's responsible for some of the most delightful pop music.  Check it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellie_Greenwich  AND HOLY SHIT, she wrote my favorite pop Christmas song, too!  Check that, also: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UV8x7H3DD8Y

9.  I Love Playin' With Fire (The Runaways)

10.  I Drove All Night (Cyndi Lauper)-- I'm uneasy that Celine Dion covered this song.  Uneasy.

11.  Here's to Us (Halestorm)-- Is it too much to ask that I sit at a bar surrounded by campaign teammates and we randomly start singing this in unison?

12.  He's A Rebel (The Crystals)-- Another example of me being blown away by pop music...Darlene Love sang the lead vocal on this, and according to her Wiki page, she sang back-up on some of my favorite songs

I've been a fan of Darlene Love for a while, for several reasons, but visiting her Wiki page and then her AMG page [wait a sec, are you not aware of AMG?  Right that wrong, friend, and right it quick.], really drove home how amazing and criminally underrated she is.  CRIMINALLY.  I knew she had sung back-up for Sam Cooke, another of my favorites, and I wanted to know which songs she'd touched.  Looking at her credits, I noticed that she had worked on some of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts' albums, too.  Alright, to say that I "noticed" it doesn't cover what really happened.  I read those credits with the same emotional reaction that Allie had in The Notebook when she read the first of the 365 letters that Noah had sent her-- tearful delight, incredulity, regret at not having read those words before, etc.  I was on tilt, for sure.

And then I thought a little further.  Everything I know about Joan Jett-- which is not nearly enough-- indicates to me that OF COURSE she'd have Darlene Love sing back-up.  I LOVE Joan Jett.  I hella, hella love her.  I started listening to The Runaways after seeing the eponymous film last winter, and it really turned into something.  It made me get back in touch with the inner riot grrrl, and exploring female artists that I'd overlooked.  The overall ethos she expresses-- making noise, not apologizing, being your own advocate-- was the perfect companion to a seismic shift in my own sensibilities that started last spring. Then, a few weeks ago, I was in DC [for BFF Katie's wedding!] and I made an all-too-brief visit to the National Museum for Women in the Arts to see a special exhibit called Women Who Rock.  I wasn't sure what to expect, but on the real, I am grateful that I went on a Monday at midday because I was the only person in the entire exhibit, and it allowed me to really feel it.  The exhibit includes clothing, instruments, and random memorabilia from a ton of incredible women in music.  Check it.  And I saw things that took my breath away.  Truly.  (I described the experience on Facebook thusly:

Attention, residents of Washington, DC and the surrounding communities. If you don't take the opportunity to check out the Women Who Rock exhibit at the National Museum for Women in the Arts, please punch yourself in the face. I saw handwritten lyrics to "Cherry Bomb", a pair of Patti Smith's boots, Kate Pearson's wig, the dress Cyndi wore on the cover of She's So Unusual, one of Cher's Bob Mack

ie creations, an original issue of Bikini Kill, Kim Deal's bass, Madge's J-PG gold conical bustier, and I was sobbing for pretty much the entire time I was in the exhibit because HOLY SHIT IT'S JOAN JETT'S LEATHER JACKET WITH A PIN THAT SAYS "PRO FUCKING CHOICE" AND I JUST CANNOT HANDLE THIS EXCUSE ME WHILE I REMOVE MY GLASSES AND WEEP INTO MY JACKET SLEEVE AND CAN I JUST SET UP A COT AND HANG HERE UNTIL THE EXHIBIT CLOSES AND AREYOUFUCKINGKIDDINGMEHOWISONESUPPOSEDTOHANDLEALLOFTHISWITHOUTACOCKTAILANDALICENSEDTHERAPIST. StevieDonnaMarianneSheilaLindaPatSiouxsieDebbie, praise.) 

Seriously, sobbing uncontrollably.  [Oh, that's Nicks, Summer, Faithfull, E., Ronstadt, Benatar, Sioux, and Harry, respectively.)  My interest in/obsession with Joan Jett and female musicians only intensified after visiting the exhibit, so seeing this connection between her and Darlene Love was pure magic to me.  I couldn't help but think that maybe they're pals in real life.  Maybe they've performed together.

So, I pushed it a little further and found this.

And I lost my shit once again.  To cite another John Cusack film, it's like the universe keeps revealing these women to me.  [That's from Serendipity.]  (The tough thing, for me, about finding these little gems is that I get deposited onto some ecstatic plane of emotion, and can never seem to find anyone who can meet me on it!  ATL Laura and my friend Sara gave worthy attempts, but they really had to be there, y'know, in my head to fully understand.  It would probably help if more of my friends were prone to manic or hypermanic episodes.  Whatevs.  My friend KB gave it a shot but, again, she had to be there.)  It doesn't seem like nearly enough people in my life are familiar with Darlene Love.  It is ridiculous because NO ONE has a voice like hers.  She belongs in the same vocal stratosphere with Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Freddie Mercury, Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, etc.  Aside from her own hits, she sang back-up for some true, true legends, and a lot of it was uncredited.  I cannot even imagine how much of her voice is out in the ether.  (Speaking of back-up, Joan Jett sang on Peaches' "Boys Wanna Be Her", which gives me delight beyond measure.)  She was there for arguably the most important time in pop music, when Phil Spector was producing his Wall of Sound.

Anyway, I posted the above video on Facebook, hoping beyond hope that I'd find some kindreds.  No dice.    Is it possible that not everyone is knocked out by these powerhouse women?  Why do I feel like more of the exception that the rule?

I think about the women who costumes and paraphernalia I saw at the NAMWA exhibit, and I'm just floored.  (Granted, there were some exceptions.  In addition to an explanation about rape threats on an Tumblr comment thread, I'll also need an explanation for why Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera get to share ranks with Joni Mitchell and Bonnie Raitt.  Sure, Brit has given us some fun shit to dance to, and some of my favorite car-singing moments were thanks to Xtina, but what barriers did they break?  What risks did they take?  Some current-day female singers might end up really accomplishing something beyond mere hooks and records sales-- truly, I'm optimistic about a few-- but riot grrls they are surely not.)  Time and time again, these women blazed a trail.  They made noise when everyone and everything was telling them to keep quiet.  And in the process, they created some of the most indelible moments in popular culture and a soundtrack to our lives.  [Quick question: how badly do you want to listen to "Edge of Seventeen" right now? Or maybe "Love Me Like a Man?"  So badly, right?!]  A few weeks ago, a friend was bitching on FB about being tired and unmotivated, and I just unleashed.  We just don't have time.  This girl has a ton of potential, and I cannot sit idly by as she wastes it.  What if Aretha had been like, "Meh, y'know what, I think I'm just gonna marry well and hang it up"?  What if Cyndi Lauper was like, "Eh, I'll probably just wear jeans and a t-shirt.  I don't want to be too weird"?  No.  Fuck that.  This is what I wrote to my friend:

"Think of all of the women who came before you, who didn't even have the option of professional everjetting*, who were relegated to hearth and home, forced to bear the responsibilities of a family instead of pursuing a career or chasing a quixotic dream in a faraway city. We stand on the shoulders of generations of silent, bored women, generations of untapped potential and missed opportunities. You have the opportunities that our foremothers couldn't have imagined, so don't fuck around and waste those hard-won chances that lie at your feet. You would be cheating yourself out of adventure and success, cheating the world out of your awesomeness, and spitting in the faces of those who came before you. I wouldn't relay these words to every woman; I'm relaying them to YOU because I believe you are exceptional. Wake up, get your ass in gear, and don't rest until you kick some ass today."

(*Everjetting is sort of an inside joke.  It relates to an alias I assigned to myself when I feel like I'm living up to my potential and kicking serious ass.)  I was a bit histrionic that morning, and I'd had some strong coffee, too, but I'll be damned if I wasn't being completely honest.  We truly stand on the shoulders who came before us.  Thank CHRIST I haven't had to blaze any trails!  It would not go well.  They've been blazed, for sure.  It's our job to make sure they remain that way, that we're guardians of our progress, that we don't take everything for granted, that we keep at it and speak up and make sure that we reach back at every turn to pull the next woman up.  I look at my niece and think of the friends she'll make, and my hope for her and those girls is that they be governed by grace and guts, not by bullshit.  If I can have a hand in that, then I can die happy.

I am lucky that I work in a field where I have ready access to strong, accomplished women, rife with grace and guts.  I'm addicted to them.  My quite amorphous professional ambition is to get good women elected.  Everywhere I turn, I see new examples of women being abused, ignored, or marginalized.  It's like technology has given society new and fun ways to be shitty to women.  Some of my favorite female writers have been vocal about the harassment they get from internet trolls, and it goes so far beyond ridiculous.  Honestly, can someone explain to me the psychosis required for someone to send a rape threat to a feminist blogger?  I sure as fuck don't understand it.  Is there some reptilian corner of the male brain that drives one to violence in response to a call for gender equality?  I just...ugh.  So, instead of just complaining, my response is to work towards getting more women elected to public office.  I could go into greater detail about the logic that connects "women are up Shit Creek" to "I need to work in politics", but now is not the time.  Here are some things that keep me motivated:

1.  Professional or collegiate football, and the related hysteria, commercialism, and mindfuckery
2.  The Kardashians
3.  Any of the Real Housewives [except maybe Caroline Manzo]
4.  The sheer number of women I know who changed their name upon getting married [yeah, yeah, it's traditional, but FOR FUCK'S SAKE, that tradition is based on flagrant and archaic patriarchy]

And then there are the things that keep me inspired:

1.  A strong female voice, musical or otherwise
2.  Women who can shred
3.  Men who get it
4.  Women who get it-- OK, so here I was going to include a link to something that Amy Poehler once said, but I couldn't find just one, so suffice it to say that Amy Poehler gets it.
5.  My mom-- we're not always aligned politically, we're not always aligned about what I should be doing professionally, but she approaches everything with circumspection and kindness, and thus sets a good example for me (a judgy bitch).

I'm between campaigns right now, so I don't know what's next.  My career in politics hasn't been easy, and I'm grateful for that.  I'm getting psyched for a new challenge.  I know that whatever I do next will involve smart, motivated people for whom the phrase "fire in the belly" is entirely apt.  I might never get to meet my favorite female icons, but I have gotten to meet some of their political counterparts.  Legislative rock stars, if you will.  Daydream: Secretary Clinton runs for POTUS in '16, I get to work on her campaign, and the entire living roster of the Women Who Rock exhibit all offer themselves as campaign surrogates, and I get to kick it with Dolly Parton and Kathleen Hanna.  And when I say "kick it with", I mean "shit my pants and hide in a janitor's closet so that I don't embarrass myself in front of".  I'd pull it together in the end though.  It's a part of everjetting.

*     *     *

Here's to DLove and Joan Jett, to the women who refuse to shut up and who dare to play with fire.

Conspiracy Theorizing

One of the best things about having a house to myself is that I can sing as loudly as I want, at any time of day, to absolutely any song I choose. There was a bit of a ramp up period, but already I'm at the stage where the singing isn't enough; I've engaged the Mariah hand and its companions. I might have to record some of these impromptu performances. BFF Katie might really enjoy that in between "catching babies".

I'm expecting to be swept up into another campaign in fairly short order, so I'm embracing this interim time, and it's been pretty sweet so far. I have started working on 2 new fiction writing projects, and I've used a new approach to both. My best writing-- the stuff that means the most to me, the stuff that I feel really exhibits what I can do-- comes from spontaneous moments when something is really bubbling beneath the surface and I write to exorcise the demon. Someone once told me that you're an artist when you can't not create your art, be it painting, sculpting, writing, acting, whatever. I feel very lucky that I have firsthand knowledge of that feeling. I've had nights when I can't sleep until I get something down on paper.

* * * *

Sidebar: Sister Jennie refers to the band Florence + the Machine as "Delores and the Synthesizer". It is fucking hilarious, and my current playlist on [a certain online music service that I will NOT mention on this blog] just played a song from that band. Sister Jennie is unlike any other.

* * * *

Othersidebar: The holidays at Casa Mofo left me with a very full refrigerator and, sadly, only one stomach into which the leftovers can be deposited. So, I've been cooking quite a bit, and currently, the house smells like slow-cooker jerk chicken and apple-blueberry crisp. Regarding the chicken, there is something singularly satisfying about eating food with flavors that were developed and mastered in parts of the world that will never know terms like "wintry mix". Also, I'm embracing the opportunity to fill the house with smells that the 'rents don't enjoy. Roasted cruciferous vegetables, curry, onions, garlic, etc-- I'm going to get this joint jumping. For what it's worth, I just took a few bites of the apple-blueberry crisp and SWEET CHRIST ALMIGHTY. I'm getting the vapors. I put a little extra lemon zest in the filling and used 5 different variety of apples and added coarse sea salt to the topping...I might need a cigarette after this.

* * * *

I get an idea and then I start writing the basis for the idea. It's like I see the picture, but when I begin, I first write the "frame" so that I can nail it down before I get to the picture. The logic behind this is that writing the picture will be easy because it's already so vivid and developed. Right now, I'm working on the pictures first. I could hear the dialogue, I could see the character's faces, and I wanted to--

* * * *

Back to the othersidebar: I'm sorry, but holy shit, this crisp is delicious. And by the way, by adding blueberries to the recipe, some of the apple slices have been tinted this beautiful shade of magenta and some of them have a gradient effect. It is borderline obscene. Man, am I grateful for my hedonist side!

* * * *

--secure those pieces before they lost anything. I haven't been hit like this in a while, and I have no idea how long it'll last. I feel a bit like a pitcher in the 5th or 6th inning of a no-hitter. (Because I SO know how that feels...) I'm trying to keep all conditions stable, not change any habits, and maybe I can draw this out long enough to nail down the full skeleton of each story.

I won't get into the details of either piece, but I will say that one of them was partially inspired by a conversation I had with my aunt Mary-Ann over Thanksgiving. I don't know if she knew how beautifully or pithily she had articulated this one particular idea but holy shit. The other one was handed to me by BFF Molly. Literally. It was wrapped up with a bow. I cannot fuck that one up because the 'making of' story would be just too good to miss.

So, what else. The holidays in DKMland were rife with mirth. Rife, I tell you. All of my siblings and their respective spouses were under one roof and it was fantastic. The word "fortifying" seems appropriate. So, Sister Jennie got married in November, and there was this moment in the proceedings that I will never forget. (Bear with me; this whole thing will tie up quite nicely.) I'm standing up as a bridesmaid, Sister Carrie was a few spaces up from me, and then Jen and Brother Chris were at center ice. Immediately to my right was Brother Dave, holding the Gretabunny [whose dress was on backwards], then the Corcfortons, and my parents, BFF Katie and Dr. Kevin right behind them. There was this very tight concentration of very important people, and there's magic in that. In anticipation of our annual Christmas Eve shitshow, there was this consensus among my siblings that we wanted to keep things a little more mellow this year. Now, I LOVE my extended family; I am fully aware of how lucky I am. But, every Christmas Eve, there's just all of this rigmarole that accompanies our annual party, and it gets easier and easier to miss the opportunities for that magic ohana feeling we had going during Sister Jennie's wedding. So, this year it was just my immediate family-- there are 10 of us now-- plus Sister Kelly's family, our beloved family friend Gige and her son Rob, and the participants of our sibling hoodie exchange. We were all able to sit at one table [well, it was several tables that we sort of shoved together], no one was climbing over anyone else, there were no voices fighting for top volume, and it. was. fucking. awesome. It made me fall in love with my family all over again.

Alright, generally, I wouldn't do this, but I'm going to unpack that last sentiment. Here's why I love my family all over again, and I'll do this in age order.

• Il padre-- Watching my dad relate to BFFs Katie and Molly is a damn gift. Our family has always operated with a gentle open-door policy, and my dad set the tone for that, whether he meant to or not. He has this inherent understanding of the idea that your family can definitely include the people you find, not just the people who've dipped in the same gene pool, and it's one of my favorite things about him. I love that his was one of the loudest voices in the audience at BFF Katie's med school graduation when her name was announced.
• Mama Jan-- We were doing some last-minute shopping for Bro-Joe, and I spotted this framed photo by a Detroit-based photographer, Michael Heughens, that I knew he'd love. Jancakes was a little on-the-fence about it, and after some pleading, she goes, "You know what? I'll return that remote-controlled helicopter I got him and get him this instead." I genuinely love that my mom bought a legit TOY for her baby boy of 34 years. [BTW, check out Heughens' work. There are some great shots.]
• Bro-Joe-- I love how he comports himself around his wife. He's not annoying about it, it's not like gushy bullshit, but he does these little things that all add up to him taking his role as Kelly's husband really seriously. And I also love that his marriage has introduced 4 great new people to our family.
• Brother Chris-- the newest member of my ohana! Alright, so a very basic element to the DKM psychosis is awkwardness, right? A major, major factor in whether or not I can genuinely like someone is whether or not I feel awkward in his or her presence. Not only do I feel zero awkwardness when Chris is around, but I think he actually makes me more comfortable. Forrealsies. This is no easy feat. (If I made a fabric chain with all of the shirts that I have ruined with nervous sweating, it would span the fucking globe.)
• Sister Carrie-- on Christmas Eve, Dr. Kevin was given some fancy new undersquares as a white elephant gift. Even though Carrie has her Master's degree, even though she is somebody's mother and somebody's wife, without a moment's hesitation she grabbed one of the pairs and - poof! - new millinery accessory. Like the seltzer bottle or a pie in the face, undersquares on the head is a major icon in the commedia delle Monforton and I will never not love that about Carrie.
• Sister Jennie-- You know how I hate cleaning my room, in a way that has several levels to it? In anticipation of Carrie/Dave/Greta's arrival, I had to tighten up my cleaning game, and Jennie was all over it. Even though she doesn't empathize at all, she understands that I ascribe meaning and gravity to pretty much everything, often to my own detriment. She gets that throwing something out is tricky for me and she doesn't make me feel like total nutbar Aunt Gladdy character for it. She spent hours in my room with me, gently kicking my ass and keeping things moving, and even vacuumed the corners of the ceilings for me. And this was all done despite her feeling like shit for her entire visit home.
• Brother Dave-- I'm pretty sure that Dave's entire raison d'etre is being a dad. He's remarkable. He doesn't get rattled, he doesn't flinch, he just executes. Right after Thanksgiving, the Gretabunny was having some tummy trouble and it was causing her to break her pattern of being the most mellow baby of all time. So, in one particularly unpleasant episode, Greta just LOST it-- screaming, face flushed like a little strawberry, in very obvious pain, the whole thing. Carrie, the concerned mommy, was understandably distraught to see Greta like that; Dave handled the very unpleasant task at hand [specifics are entirely unnecessary here], picked up the baby, and went out onto the front porch with her to literally and figuratively cool her down. It was amazing.
• Sister Kelly-- Kel and Bro-Joe stayed at Casa Mofo together the night before they went back to SanFran. I was hanging out with BFF Katie earlier in the evening. I come home, see Bro-Joe and my dad in the TV room, probably watching the 2nd episode of 24/7: Road to the Winter Classic [which I cannot recommend highly enough], and I hear Jan and Kel in the dining room. I walk in to find my brilliant and lovely sister-in-law on her hands and knees scrubbing the carpet; one of the four-legged nieces had left a Christmas gift under the dining room table and Kel was cleaning up said gift. Seriously, WTF.

Anyway. I had a wonderful holiday. It wasn't as populous as it usually is-- ACG and Wifey Laura were busy moving into their new Minneapolis digs, there were no random IA reunions-- but the time I spent with my loved ones was sweet. One of my favorite holiday quotes is: "Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love." I have some bad-ass co-conspirators.

"That's the ABC's of me, baby!"

The quote in the title of this entry is from Jerry Maguire, spoken by the character Rod Tidwell as played by Cuba Gooding, Jr. I'm generally a fan of Cameron Crowe's work, and then I read that he'd told Janeane Garafalo that she'd secured the role of Dorothy Boyd in Jerry Maguire, suggested she lose some weight for the role, and then gave it to Renee Zellweger. I'll never be able to fully express how upset that makes me.

Anyway, Sister Carrie posted this little personality expose thing on her blog, and I thought I'd play along.

A. Age – 29. No one ever guesses my age correctly. An asshole at a college bar referred to me as "some bitchy 35-year-old", when I was in fact a bitchy 25-year-old; but usually people guess that I'm 5 or 6 years younger than I am. This is good because I'm a late bloomer and always have been. I might be 29, but I'm hitting 24/25-year-old benchmarks right now. (Mind your own business about that.)

B. Bed size – Twin. I sleep in the same bed that BFFs Katie, Molly, and Thea would sleep on when they stayed over at Chez Mofo during high school and breaks from college. I'm telling you: late bloomer.

C. Chore that you hate – Cleaning my bedroom. The majority of the childhood memories of my father are of him yelling at me about my messy room, and for those that know my dad, it should be clear that having him raise his voice to you is pretty much the least fun thing ever. It's pants-shittingly unfun. Also, I don't like having people in my room, so cleaning it seems like a waste of time because I don't really give a fuck if it's messy. My mentality, much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone that has ever lived with me, is that if you have an issue with my room being messy, then you are even further discouraged to come into my room. For real. Stay out. Does this indicate some sort of psychosis? Eh, probably. Add one more to the list, and once again, stay out of my room.

D. Dogs – I love all of them. I've been bitten by a dog and I still love them. We just get along well. Aside from the basic things that one can love about the species-- soft ears, warm bellies, unbelievably cute babies-- I like how dogs have a really developed social structure, and I like that so many breeds of dogs have a wonderful, storied heritage. Also, dogs exhibit the best human traits: loyalty, cooperation, persistence, intelligence, sensitivity, kindness, etc. And this.

E. Essential start to your day – If I'm working, coffee with soy milk. If I'm idling, it's reading or doing the NYT crossword in the can.

F. Favorite color – It changes frequently, but dark, rich navy blue is a perennial fave.

G. Gold or silver – There's a time for both.

H. Height – 5'6.5". I love my height.

I. Instruments you play – I used to play piano and flute, and I used to sing in a handful of choirs. I still love to sing and I'd jump at the chance to learn any instrument. I would love to be able to compose and make my own arrangements of my favorite songs. I have this long-held ambition to write an early Jewel version of Poison's "Talk Dirty to Me". I already accomplished one of my random "by the time I'm 40" goals, so that one has moved up the queue.

J. Job title – Seasonal sales associate, freelance writer/editor. I'm hoping that it's only a matter of weeks before I get to reclaim a former title: political operative.

K. Kids – Oh, Christ, no. I love the niece, and I will love whatever other offspring that my siblings and close friends produce; I'd gladly sublet my uterus or donate my probably-very-agreeable follicles, but it would be for someone else's benefit.

L. Live – Detroit 'burbs. I love my hometown, but I'd rather be pretty much anywhere than here, except maybe anywhere along the rural portions of the Trans-Siberian Railroad or in any politically unstable country.

M. Mother’s name – Jan. Jancita.

N. Nicknames – Dee, Dana Mofo, DKMofo, D-Skrab [this is an abbreviation of my hypothetical DJ name, DJ Skrabble], Danifer, Wifey.

O. Overnight hospital stays – [see entries from February of 2009]

P. Pet peeves – religious fundamentalism, conspicuous consumption by the misinformed and Conservative new money enclaves outside of major cities, bigotry of any kind, reality television [with a few select exceptions], media illiteracy, mealy peaches, bullies, bad drivers, being told to watch my mouth, being dismissed, bad customer service, mixed metaphors and misuse of expressions and idioms, Citizens United, the objectification and subjugation of women worldwide PARTICULARLY when it's done under the guise of female empowerment or by the hand of women who are spoon-fed an easy alternative, how hard it is to make a living in anything creative, apathy, complacence, being told to calm down, and I really don't like when people put their hands on my bare skin without clear consent from me. (I have this gnawing memory from Election Night after this past fall's municipal primary; I was wearing a one-shoulder cocktail dress, and this dude was congratulating me and he kept palming the bare side of my back. It makes me skin crawl every time I think about it even if it was a basically innocuous maneuver. A lot of people crave physical contact and they're OK with fulfilling that craving with strangers; I am not. Keep your fucking hands off of my skin and keep your face away from my face.)

Q. Quote from a movie – I could write volumes from this prompt. From High Fidelity: "Well, I've been listening to my gut since I was 14 years old, and frankly speaking, I've come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains." I like pretty much every line that Carey Mulligan says in An Education. I love the last line of The Apartment. And I could watch the dialogue between Frances McDormand and Billy Crudup from Almost Famous-- watch from 3:05 to 4:50 -- about a billion times and never get sick of it. There's this tiny little nugget from The Muppets Take Manhattan when the whole gang is talking over one another, someone quiets them down, and Janice (the blonde from Electric Mayhem) goes, "I'm not taking my clothes off for anybody, even if it is artistic." I like most all of Olympia Dukakis' lines from Steel Magnolias. "There's no crying in baseball!", from A League of Their Own. For real, I could go on and on. Even if a quote doesn't have that same "I coulda been a contender!" punch that we crave, there are moments of magic when an actor's delivery of a line elevates the material beyond what is deserved by the shitty writing. (Kristen Stewart, I'm looking at you.) Rene Russo's line in The Thomas Crown Affair, referring to her character's lack of a genuine romantic history: "Well, men make women...messy." Joan Cusack in Working Girl: "Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. Doesn't make me Madonna. Never will." Rosie O'Donnell's monologue from Beautiful Girls. Yeah, I have to stop now.

R. Right- or left-handed – Right

S. Siblings – 3 biological, 3 by marriage.

T. Time it takes you to get ready – That depends. Ok, from drenched in sweat to bridesmaid-appropriate, I'm 60 minutes with no distractions. From pajamas to work-appropriate, if I've showered the night before, 7 minutes.

U. Underwear – I'm a fan. I think thongs are ridiculous and I take issue with anyone who tries to convince me that they are comfortable. No, they aren't. And avoiding VPL is a waste of time-- yes, I'm wearing underwear! Stop the presses!

V. Vegetable you hate – I can make it work with any of them. I don't really like okra unless it's fried, and I don't like vegetables that have been pickled. Otherwise, I'm agreeable.

W. What makes you run late – Everything. I'm constantly running late. I recognize that it drives my friends and family crazy and it's a never-ending struggle.

X. X-rays you’ve had – Spinal column, teeth, jaw.

Y. Yummy food you make – I make really good risotto.

Z. Zoo animal – I really like big cats, particularly the massive matriarchs.

"Jennie's getting-- what?!"

Did anyone else see that SNL retrospective on Sunday night? Nothing exactly groundbreaking, but it's a treat to see all of those brilliant people in one listing on my channel guide! I read a good piece on the program, and you can read it here. (You can find more from this writer, Ryan Vaughn, at his great and somewhat NSFW blog.) It was interesting to learn that Andy Samberg is responsible for what I think is the best segment of Weekend Update. I tend to skew towards the Andy Samberg-is-overrated side of the spectrum, "Dick in a Box", "Mother Lover", "I Ran (So Far)", and "Lazy Sunday" notwithstanding. But, as Lorne Michaels reminds us, SNL has to cover a lot of bases. Comedy is subjective. Ahem, "Two and a Half Men", cough-cough. For me, just me, "Really?! With Seth [and Amy [and Tina]]" is the best of SNL: snarky, timely, irreverent, and wickedly smart. Link time...

Kanye West

Michael Phelps

Gov. Blagojevich

Eliot Spitzer

Alberto Gonzalez

Goldman Sachs

Mahmoud Ahmedinejad and DADT

Sen. Craig

Times Square

Michael Vick

I think that's all of them. I want to declare, here and now, that my blog may not have any real merit, whatever, but at least the links to every "Really?!" sketch are in one place. So...you're welcome.

So, what else...

Oh, balls. I committed a friendship faux-pas. BFF Molly and I had been pretty out of touch since the holidays, and we just had a good catch-up on the phone. I'm prattling on about my goings-on this weekend, and I made some reference to helping my sister find a wedding venue. And Molly didn't even know that Jen was engaged, which is news from, oh, a month ago. I broke a cardinal rule of bestiehood. That does not sit well with me.

Yes, Sister Jennie got rocked up a few months after Sister Carrie got knocked up. There shall be a new niece and a new brother in Danaland, and there will be much joy in Mudville.

I'm a big believer in dreams-- paying attention to them, savoring the great ones, learning from the bad ones, etc.-- and I had my first niece dream the other night. It was entirely kick-ass. There wasn't a whole lot of detail, but the general thesis of the dream was that I was with my siblings, and little nieceface started crying. I picked her up and calmed her down, and she fell asleep on my shoulder. And then I woke up to hear Big Daddy Doug talking very loudly on his cell phone and my day began. (It was the 3rd time in 2 weeks that I've been really resentful of whatever wakes me up in the morning-- 1. was a dream that involved a glass helicopter and fireworks [yeah, it was THAT awesome] 2. was a dream that involved a certain attractive reality-star-turned-decent-TV-actor and some sort of geographical hybrid between the Greek islands and the beaches of northern Michigan. My subconscious has been kind to me!)

In other news, OscarQuest 2011 begins this week. For loyal readers, this is a return to last year's activities in which I saw a bunch of nominated films in the last days before the Academy Awards. This year should be just as fun except-- and I hate to even mention this-- not drinking a cold Diet Coke while seeing a movie is going to be uncomfortable. It'll be like eating Cheez-Its without Diet Coke. Or eating pizza without Diet Coke! Or taking a road trip without stopping for a fountain Diet Coke!! Sweet Christ. Old habits run deep or die hard or whatever. (I'm 8 days clean though, despite the efforts of a certain Catholic school teacher/Glee fan.)

Lastly, on a more serious note, there are some ridiculous things happening both home and abroad. If you haven't been paying attention, then now is a good time to start. History is being made in some cases and ignored in others. You can expect some commentary from me and possibly from BFF Katie regarding what went down in the House last week. Spoiler: current events in Libya will be taking a backseat on WTF!?.