Got a secret. Can you keep it?

Swear this one you'll save
Better lock it, in your pocket
Taking this one to the grave

There's a lot going on, and I'm not going to tell you about it (those of you who don't already know, mwahaha!), at least, not yet. That's just the way it is.

You win some, you win some

Fantastic news from SCOTUS this morning - habeas corpus is alive and well in Guantanamo Bay.

The Supreme Court ruled Thursday that foreign terrorism suspects held at Guantanamo Bay have rights under the Constitution to challenge their detention in U.S. civilian courts.

In its third rebuke of the Bush administration's treatment of prisoners, the court ruled 5-4 that the government is violating the rights of prisoners being held indefinitely and without charges at the U.S. naval base in Cuba. The court's liberal justices were in the majority.

Justice Anthony Kennedy, writing for the court, said, ''The laws and Constitution are designed to survive, and remain in force, in extraordinary times.''

Kennedy said federal judges could ultimately order some detainees to be released, but that such orders would depend on security concerns and other circumstances.

It was not immediately clear whether this ruling, unlike the first two, would lead to prompt hearings for the detainees, some of whom have been held more than 6 years. Roughly 270 men remain at the island prison, classified as enemy combatants and held on suspicion of terrorism or links to al-Qaida and the Taliban.

The administration opened the detention facility at Guantanamo Bay shortly after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks to hold enemy combatants, people suspected of ties to al-Qaida or the Taliban.

The Guantanamo prison has been harshly criticized at home and abroad for the detentions themselves and the aggressive interrogations that were conducted there.

The court said not only that the detainees have rights under the Constitution, but that the system the administration has put in place to classify them as enemy combatants and review those decisions is inadequate.

NYT

Word

We have to remember: There is nothing wrong with women writing about themselves, their youth, their indiscretions, their habits and values and personal development. Men have been writing about this stuff for thousands of years; they call it the canon.

And like their male contemporaries, a lot of this writing disappoints. When it does, there is nothing wrong with criticizing it. The thing that is wrong -- really wrong -- is when we forget that these kinds of stories are not the only ones that women have to tell.

TK

Do the math

We adore Ms. Klein, of Straight Up & Dirty, and the forthcoming Moose, especially when she shares dictates for dating:

how young can I go without being considered a pervie?

Half your age plus seven. How do people not know about this rule? Men can date women half their age, plus seven, and it's all good. So a 33 yr old bartender cannot under any circumstances date a 21 year old. Even if she doesn't giggle. No.

What I want to know is, where was she in December, when I needed this formula? Although perhaps it doesn't apply to women? Hmmmmm ...

In case you were wondering: Who pays

I have to say I'm surprised that /wardrobe/, and /whoever makes more pays/ (which may or may not correlate to /male genitalia pays/) didn't get more play. Love that 2% recognize /Girls don't need to be logical/ - goddess knows I'm not known for it.

Whomever asks should pay should have made a better showing, better even than dutch, imho. Ladies? Anyone?

Gawker

Lessons in Cultural Competency: You say tomato

I say solicitor.

I got an email today that I thought was referring to someone's attorney, when in fact it was referring to an individual who was asking a donor for a gift. Of course, I was in the middle of a conversation with my super-boss when I realized my mistake.

I believe the exact quote was, "Oh, wait, you don't call them that here, do you?" Reminds me of the time I said Javex in front of 200 kids when referring to bleach.

And yes, it will have been 11 years next month. Bollocks.

Hold on, hold on to yourself

for this is going to hurt like hell.

Fortunately, it appears that being a feminist doesn't mean we have to be impervious* to the swirling world around us. At least according to Katha Pollitt:

Just because you are part of a social-justice movement, which is how I think of feminism, that doesn’t mean you are some brick wall of impermeable stalwartness in every area. Feminism, for me, is not about presenting a facade of perfect strength to the world.

I wonder if she makes house calls.

Woman's Studies [NYT]

* note definition b:

Shuesday: I said, watch out!

And this week, we have what not to wear in a spectator. Sad, very sad.

A lesson to all who think that it's impossible to overdo it. Take off the last accessory you put on, please.

Shuesday: Surprise, surprise surprise

Three inch heels aren't much use in Montana.

I'm just saying, the flock of ducks at my backyard meeting today weren't appreciative.

Solidarity, or, when it's ok to eat ice cream for dinner

In case you missed it, New York City had a public transit meltdown today. Torrential rains in the early morning combined with a tornado in Brooklyn (yes, really, and incidentally combined with temperatures in the 90's and ridiculous humidity), to cause flooding in the subways, trees across streets in Brooklyn, over-packed buses and snarled traffic. Yes, all the subways (of record).

I awoke to a fantastic thunder and lightning storm at 6 a.m. When I was a summer camp staffer at various levels of responsibility, I loved waking up in my plywood cabin to the crack of thunder and the entire space alight from above. Among the things I missed in my intermezzo on the Worst Coast was weather with chutzpah. And here, we get it in spades. I enjoyed the interplay of light and sound over the Empire State Building for a while, then dozed off until the alarm rang. Then, comme toujours, hit the radio for NPR in my ongoing effort to put my feet on the floor before 8 am. And listened to them off the subway lines, one by one. It was like listening to Dumbledore recount Voldemort's purging of the wizard community - first the R, then the 1, then the 4-5, then the 2-3, then the 6. The W didn't even warrant a mention. My alternate transportation plans kept evaporating, and I am disinclined to experiment with the buses under duress.

I pinged a colleague who's sort of a neighbour (and, despite being a native was one of the blissfully media-in-the-morning-free), who dissuaded me from experimenting with the bus under the circumstances, and we decided to walk.

You heard me.

I donned indestructible clothes, my most comfy flip flops (heels in my handbag), and headed into the heat. Met my friend in Soho, and walked the 4 or so miles down Broadway to Lower Manhattan along with the rest of the people who felt obliged to make a timely effort to get to work today, (and could do so). It was actually fun. We walked and talked and made our way through Tribeca and the Financial District, hitting a Starbucks at a key moment for a/c and a decent breakfast. The walk was hot, although punctuated by surprisingly cool breezes near City Hall, and I wished I'd work shorts and carried work-wear, but we survived.

Regardless of what you may have heard about New Yorkers, on days like today, people made eye contact. They smiled, in spite of the sweat and the heat, and the general discomfort. My partner in crime shouted at one of the stupid double decker tourist buses poking its way along somewhere near Canal Street, "it's not always like this!," to the delight of all. And at work, everyone shared stories of the 1-4 and a half hours it took them to get in. The guy who accidentally ran over my heel at Trader Joe's this evening (I shopped my way home to maximize the air conditioning of others), apologized profusely, and I told him it was ok at least 6 times.

And then I got in, unpacked groceries, turned on a/c, and sat down in the bathtub with only cold water running. Definitely a night for shrimp spring rolls and ice cream for dinner.

A pox on both your houses

So far I've avoided finding out what's happened to Harry et al, but damned if someone whose blog I visit daily didn't put the crown jewels (I think) right on the front page!

I only barely escaped with my Deathly Hallows purity intact! With friends like these! For shame!



(Note: Entire post written with tongue firmly in cheek.)

Engage!

Not me, my ex.

What's that quote, in springtime, young men's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love?


Previously: To the left, to the left

Lessons in Cultural Competency: Weather this

Nor'Easter: is a macro-scale storm whose winds come from the northeast, especially in the coastal areas of the Northeastern United States and Atlantic Canada. More specifically, it describes a low pressure area whose center of rotation is just off the coast and whose leading winds in the left forward quadrant rotate onto land from the northeast. The precipitation pattern is similar to other extratropical storms. They also can cause coastal flooding, coastal erosion and gale force winds.

I haven't seen rain fall this hard since I spent American Thanksgiving weekends on the Oregon coast in a beautiful home with a loft and two stories of windows right on the beach.

I like the sound of falling rain, and, because I didn't have to leave the house on Sunday and had ample DVR'd TV to catch up on, it was more than bearable. I did pull on all my West Coast rain gear and go across the street for eggs so I could make pancakes midday, and then went up the block for a mani-pedicure late in the afternoon. It stopped raining just long enough that I could get home dry. Monday was slightly better, although of course the hardest rain fell while we sought a cab in midtown, and now the city is just cold and overcast.

Lessons in Cultural Competency: Being a regular

I've been to Mud often enough now that the baristas recognize me (come on, I wear the same sunglasses, one of two coats and white hat almost every day, and arrive around 9:30). So I was in heaven this morning when the less laid back one didn't ask what I wanted and just handed me my coffee. I paid, and went on my merry way - things were looking up for a Monday.

Then I took a sip.

It wasn't my drink! He forgot the sugar! (just a little bit)

Which is just to say, don't forget to use your words, honey.

Lessons in Cultural Competency: Silence is Golden: Part Deux

I learned this weekend is that a hotel room in an office park 30 minutes outside downtown Chicago is eight million times quieter than an apartment in the East Village.

Of course, no one wants to live in Oak Brook, Illinois.* Not even the people eating dinner at Maggiano's like it was Nobu.

*(Not to be confused with Office Park, Illinois. Which would be extraordinarily easy to do. Trust me.)

Lessons in Cultural Competency: Silence is Golden

New York isn't a quiet town - from the early morning trucks to the honking cabs, the busy office with ringing phones to the DJ neighbours (couldn't figure out why I kept hearing the same 24 bars of music over and over and over again), and the NYU student neighbours who host parties and play music until 3.* But taking the subway is like visiting an abbey where the monks and nuns have taken a vow of silence, especially compared to the bus in the Emerald City. In part it's because cell service is less than reliable underground, but those annoying conversations held by fellow-commuters in outside voices have been virtually eliminated. And everyone is reading - books and text-heavy magazines. I've barely used my Nano at all, and I like it.

*(I'm not complaining, I'm just noting it. And loving it, frankly. So far ...)

Lessons in Cultural Competency: Starquirks

To lid or not to lid? You wouldn't think it would be that big a deal, but witness. In Toronto and environs, you'll lid your own drink at your local Starbucks. In Seattle (proverbial home of the big green mermaid), your drink is lidded for you by the barista. Unless you've brought your personal mug, in which case you hand the mug over sans lid.

This morning, in Lower Manhattan, I handed over my mug and was asked for the lid - "The coffee's hot, miss, and I wouldn't want you or the barista to get burned."

I'm so confused.

Day 3: Hardin - Sioux Falls. 671 miles.

Good day, sunshine ... Icicle, icicle, where are you going? ... The sun will come out, tomorrow ...

Another, longer day. It didn't feel long until the last hour. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Most of today was fantastic. Sunny skies, dry roads, lovely people.

However ... Am starting to call The Fabulous Father /The Snowman/, as each time we trade and he gets behind the wheel, it starts to snow. Or, in tonight's case, rain. Freezing rain. Would have been fine, but the headlights and the wipers got jammed with ice, reducing visibility to close to nil. We crawled along dark and icy roads for the last 90 minutes and into Sioux Falls, only to discover that it's close to impossible to get a beer in South Dakota after 9:30 on a Sunday night. Never thought I'd say this, but gods bless Bennigan's. (Who knew the Irish ate ribs?)

Things I've learned thus far:

• Drive as fast as you can, safely, when roads are clear and dry, and the sun is up.
• Chain Removal Area signs mean you're now free to exhale. Especially when you didn't put chains on in the first place.
• The air, including that coming out of the car heater, is incredibly dry this side of the Continental Divide. Moisturize, baby!

Google Maps.