If I were eight, McCain's VP choice of Sarah Palin would excite me. As an adult, I should be excited that a woman might be the second-in-command in the White House.

But let's be real: Palin is a weak pick, and it's tokenism in the ugliest way.

I didn't support Hillary in the primaries, but I never questioned her political skill or ability to lead. She was a strong candidate not because of her gender, made stronger to some voters because she did so well despite the sexism that tainted the media coverage. Still, nobody could argue that she was almost the nominee because she's a woman; she won it because she's a ball-buster.

And then we get to Palin, a former Miss Alaska runner-up whose greatest pre-gubernatorial accomplishment was being the mayor of Wasilla, Alaska (pop. 8,500). She has been governor of Alaska for less than two years. Simply put, she doesn't have the chops to have the second most powerful position in the country (if not the world). So for once, I'm sad to say that her choice was more about her gender, about picking a woman — any woman, gotta get those bitter Hillary voters! — than about skills or accomplishments. That's doubly depressing because it shows what the McCain campaign really thinks about women: That we are so dumb that we'll back an inexperienced candidate simply because we have the same chromosomal pattern.

Labels: politics

I got the hair fixed, for those of you who asked. I look like Shane from the L Word now, which pleases me greatly:
Also, since I am being egotistical anyway: The latest tv spot, which Josh says makes me sound Californian.

Labels: signs of latent homosexuality, weird obsession with finding perfect haircut

I have a few issues with Jezebel, the largest of which is former editor Moe's dismissive haw-hawing over rape. Usually I can deal with its commenters' clique faction because I am prematurely grizzled and therefore over high-school stuff like that. But it's personally upsetting to see the thinly veiled mockery going on in this post on asexuality. The commenters, ostensibly pro-sex feminists, dig into my friend David by assuming that his asexuality is a cover for bigger issues. (He's a foxy pro-sex, feminist-minded, bisexual asexual, for the record. Yes, we live in San Francisco.) I don't understand why some people panic and point fingers because other people don't want to have sex. Why is everyone so obsessed with what's going on, or what's not going on, in other people's beds?

Labels: crabbiness

After three not-so-great haircuts in San Francisco — all of them from the alleged "best" salons in town — I am now going to become one of those awful, obnoxious people who doesn't get her hair cut in town. In Los Angeles, Christine Symonds at Warren-Tricomi gave me a snip that, no kidding, made me feel GIDDY. (See picture at right.) It was just what I wanted, a better version of me. I thought about flying to LA to have her cut it again, but not only is that environmentally awful, it's impractical, and besides, when do I have time?

So I went to yet another salon here in SF. This crappy cut from January was the worst so far, but this weekend's is the one that made me cry. Details are unimportant, but even after going back to have them fix it, it's uneven. And the only way to make it right is to go even shorter. I usually don't feel very attractive anyway, but now I feel even worse. I should have fled the salon the moment they mentioned that Devendra Banhart gets his hair cut there. If you need me, I'll just be hiding in my house for the next four months.

Labels: vanity, weird obsession with finding perfect haircut