trains In keeping with this week's theme of TRAINS, TRAINS, TRAINS, did you know Japan has diesel-electric hybrid trains?

Since we have the technology I'm ready for my diesel-electric plug-in hybrid Jetta any day now. I'll also take a Golf or a Beetle as long as it isn't that crazy green. Did you hear that, Volkswagon? The soccer mom wants a diesel hybrid, not a Touareg. Peace out.

trains and batman Trains and Batman.

Trains and Batman.

Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman.

Lunch.

Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman. Trains and Batman.

Trains...and Batman.

Trains and...Batman.

Trainsandbatman. Trains. And. Batman.

Trains and Batman.
Bedtime.

poor lindsay lohan I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Having your recovery (and relapse) as a lead news item has got to suck. Relapse is part of recovery, whether you're an addict or depressed. Those millions of eyeballs watching, waiting for you to fail, can't help. Recovery is a lifetime process: it doesn't end after six weeks.

bat/man And it's on to day two of All Batman, All the Time.

I also play a part.

This can stop anytime. That would be okay by me. But the five-year-old has much endurance.

as logic stands you couldn't meet a man from the future Today my kid told me he was a superhero from the future named Crossbow Boy.

His weapon is a very tiny crossbow, fashioned from a bobby pin stretched out of shape and previously used as a crude tool by adults for some purpose I've forgotten. And he's a Boy. Fair enough.

"So you're from the future," I said.

"That's right."

"I have questions about the future." I really do, and I'm curious what this five-year-old boy has to say.

"Okay."

"In the future, is the Earth polluted, or is it clean?" I asked.

"Clean," he said. "Cars run on greasel."

"Do people still fight and hurt each other, or do they get along?"

"They fight bad guys. And there are a lot of bad guys, so we always have to fight them."

Okay, so. Right now my son is a Republican who cares about the environment, like that dude in Who Killed the Electric Car? Interesting.

Or kind of like his grandfather.

It's so weird to see traits of your parents in your children.

It really is like meeting a person from the future.

my placenta Gather round, kids! Let's talk about placentas.

A sister in Vegas went to court to get her placenta back from the hospital where she birthed.

She had originally planned to eat it.

Blink.

But now intends to bury it.

Whew.

Then again, if you think eating your placenta is going to keep you from going crazy, then I can get behind that pretty easily. Hey, why not try it? I don't think I could eat anything secreted by my own body, but some people do that, and they'd probably think I'm missing out. It'd be news to nobody if I told you little boys eat their nasal secretions pretty regularly, and they come to no apparent harm most of the time. I support the not-going-crazy effort. I may be its cheerleader. Eat your placenta! Take Seroquel! Therapy! Acupuncture! Go go go!

But I neither ate nor buried my placenta. I didn't see my placenta. I had a surprise caesarian and a surgical drape was in front of that, which was just fine with me. (I'd kind of like to carry a surgical drape around to shield myself from other events I can't handle. And I had a morphine drip, which one might also carry around to shield oneself from other events one can't handle.) J. saw behind the drape, though. I asked him just now, "How would you describe my placenta?" and he says he wasn't focused on the placenta and missed it. Which makes sense, I guess. People don't normally fixate primarily on the placenta being safely delivered in an uneventful pregnancy like mine was, except for the part where I went screaming crazy. Oh, and I had heartburn. In the birthing experience you check out what's going on with the baby and the mother, and the placenta kind of shows itself the door.

So my placenta remains a mystery.

It always kind of squicked me to think about its particulars, but a placenta is a goddamn useful thing, you know. You want to do something with it that's fine by me. I just don't want to eat any.

we know dick Last night I had the honor of talking and listening about men, penises, and men who act like penises at The Dick Monologues, a performance event organized by the estimable ringleader Spike Gillespie. It was off the hook, y'all. Every single person brought their game, including the audience. There were tales of HPV, bad therapy, mix CDs, sorority rituals, obsession, cheating, sex addiction, legislative sessions, anatomical confusion, online dating, and myriad other things related to getting it on (or not getting it on). A helpful person filmed the whole shebang for posterity, and there is talk of another show in Austin next month. Possibly one in Dallas. And then...the world!

we are not safer Fred Kaplan unpacks yesterday's National Intelligence Estimate in Slate.

Corporate Megalith Pharmacy A couple of times a month I go get the family's Various Medications (though the shea butter we're using for the eczema has allowed us to slack on those prescriptions) at Corporate Megalith Pharmacy. CMP ate the other pharmacy down the street from me a few years ago; since, I have encountered a general sort of dumb-assery I observed today in an interaction with the store's relatively new pharmacist.

Now, I had refilled my prescription two days before, and because my brain is a playground for pharmaceutical executives I take a fancy combo med--two trademarked drugs combined together in a lovely and convenient and moreover trademarked capsule. This is a temporary situation relating to the mixed episode I had a while back. No shame in my game. Anyhow, our CMP doesn't stock it, so I added an extra day to the pickup to allow for special ordering. The techs in the store (as opposed to the pharmacist) are competent and spry, as the anecdote will relate when I finally get to it:

ME: Hi. I'm here to pick up my twice-trademarked brain drug. M---- I----.

THE PHARMACIST (shuffling around in the "I" bin): It's not here.

ME: Well, it might have been special-ordered. That happened last time.

THE PHARMACIST: Well, it's not here yet. Sorry.

PHARMACY TECH (interjecting): Yes it is. It's just in the back. I'll go get it.

ME: Thanks.

There was also a bit of business about my son begging for a package of Twizzlers as if they contained the Earth's last oxygen. You know, they put the things right at the eyeline of five-year-olds because they want to fuck with your reality.

PHARMACY TECH: Here it is.

I can't say I'm terribly sorry to have troubled a pharmacist to dispense my medication because that was the nature of our arrangement. The pharmacist was utterly unconcerned with the whereabouts of my anti-psychotic drug, and I was not keen on cold-turkeying it for a night because she was too lazy to pick up a special order from the rear of the store. God, you'd think I was asking for Plan B.

at dinner tonight my son (1) experienced an ontological crisis resulting from spilled milk ("I wish we weren't real!") and (2) stopped and thought a minute and then asked me if Santa Claus was real. I'm pretty sure he's about to (1) ask me where babies come from, (2) ask me to fill out a FAFSA, and (3) roll a joint.

the quiz says so To prove that I am not a dour pessimist, nor "bitter" nor "caustic" (rather I am like Victor Frankl's tragic optimist) I will post these highly scientific quiz results from OK Cupid, certifying that I am in fact slightly more Light than Dark. Because you care.

Link: The Light or Dark Test written by ahurkonov on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Also, Sheila received some good news today.

Lady Bird, no! Former first lady Lady Bird Johnson died today at Seton Medical Center.

First Governor Ann, then Molly Ivins, now Lady Bird. Can we get a 24-hour watch on Liz Carpenter?

my magnetic calendar New column up.

earth angel I'm back from a weekend in Tulsa 'cause that's how I party.

A discovery: Tulsa is Shelbyville to Austin's Springfield. We have Taco Cabana, they have Taco Bueno (fast-food enchiladas, but no margaritas). We have small zoos and clean sparkly airports. There was a alternate-universe version of our neighborhood restaurant, Houston's, called Charleston's, same kind of surly waitstaff.

I was visiting my friend N., whose life is kind of like a polar negative of mine. She's the salary monkey in a helping profession, her husband is a punk rock guitar god who makes something called Daddy's Cheesy Nachos(tm) for a six-year old girl and a three-year-old boy, both of whom continually remind me of Baldo except they're really sweet to me. They have a really awesome dog instead of a really awesome cat. Shelbyville.

I learned a lot about Tulsa while I was there. Did you know tattooing was illegal in Oklahoma until recently? True story. We have that problem with sex toys in Texas.

I ate local delicacies and took a picture under the praying hands of Oral Roberts University.

In other words, I took a vacation. It was a revelation. I sold no books and reported on nothing, and J. and Baldo had a gentlemen's weekend. Representatives of the airline tried really hard to bump me from my flight, even paging me from seat 7A of the plane, but I refused and likely due to that am back at home, where my Gigabeat (which I forgot to pack, making me doubly intent on not getting bumped from my flight) cued up to "Earth Angel" by Death Cab for Cutie. It all feels nice.

july 4 I'm one of those Amuricans who loves her country but hates her government. So I have these mixed feelings about the fourth of July. Out of deference to my neighbor Bill, who flew his POW/MIA flag today, I will accentuate the positive and list several things that make the US great.

Surf guitar.

Luby's.

Variety television. (We share credit with the British for The Muppet Show.)

Pantene Texture and Shine Redefining Pomade. Fuck you, Schwarzkopf!

Macaroni and cheese. Even Osama Bin Laden likes it.

New Orleans. We still have it, but we should take better care of it.

Liquor barns. Not just the drive-through aspect, but the barn aspect. Why a barn? Somehow it makes the experience.

We gave the world Christopher Walken.

Texas watermelons. Ahh summer.

People in other countries do pretty okay things--like, they have no pie but perhaps other pastries, Scandinavian people rock pretty hard, &c--but we Americans deserve better than our crap-ass joke of an executive branch. We are profoundly misled by our government but we are a worthwhile people. We're good people.

Hi, Kate My therapist reads my blog. You wouldn't believe the time savings.

the podcast has landed We're up.

What you'll hear is me, Amy Storch, Asha Dornfest, Danny Evans, and Tracey Gaughran-Perez discussing the state of parent blogging at SXSW 2007. I was happy to moderate. Those guys rock.