I Need More Cowbell *

Hate, Murder, and Small Town Football

2008-08-05T23:47:00.000-07:00

On July 12, Luis Ramirez was viciously kicked and beaten by at least six white teenagers in Shenandoah, Pennsylvania. The attack left him bleeding, convulsing, and foaming from his mouth. He died of head injuries on July 14th, the imprint of his crucifix still indelibly stamped into his chest by an attacker's boot. He was 25 years old.

Three of the attackers were finally charged for the crime on July 25th. Colin Walsh, 17, who punched Ramirez in the face, causing him to fall and hit his head, and Brandon Piekarsky, 16, who kicked him in the head after he lost consciousness, were charged as adults with homicide, ethnic intimidation and related offenses. Derrick Donchak, 18, who apparently chased Ramirez down and tackled him, was charged with aggravated assault, ethnic intimidation and related crimes.

Luis was engaged to Crystal Dillman, with whom he was raising three young children. Luis supported his family by working two jobs: one in a factory, the second picking strawberries and cherries.

Despite the fact that there were eyewitnesses to the brutal attack, including a retired police officer and Arielle Garcia, a friend of the couple who went to school with the attackers and named them to police ... it took two weeks for the charges to be made.

Each of the eyewitnesses heard racial slurs directed at Ramirez throughout the fight, yet town officials were not convinced that the attack was racially motivated.

Retired Philadelphia police Officer Eileen Burke, who lives on the street where the fight occurred, told The Associated Press she heard a youth scream at one of Ramirez's friends after the beating to "tell her Mexican friends to get out of Shenandoah, or you're going to be laying next to him."

~The Morning Call

Now, you all know my dad was a cop. Cops, in general, don't like to go around telling tall tales about racially motivated attacks in their communities. It makes their jobs harder, and lots of times, brings the spotlight on them and how they handled things. They'd prefer that racial disputes never happened, regardless of their personal views on anything. They are not prone to go 'round crying wolf about this, trust me. If anything, they tend to downplay it. So if a cop says this attack had racial motivation, guess what, most likely, she's not saying that just for fun.

The investigating officers though, were apparently not so keen to listen to witnesses, even those who could actually identify the perpetrators. Check out Democracy Now's interview with eyewitness Ariella Garcia. She went to school with the attackers. Knew them by name. Saw where they ran.

The police, however, decided to stay and search her husband's car for guns. Her husband is -- you guessed it -- Latino. So instead of going after the white attackers whom an eyewitness named and pointed out the direction of escape, the police stayed to search the witness's car for a non-existent gun, and rough up her Latino husband a bit.

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Shenandoah is a small coal town of 5,000 about 80 miles from Philadelphia. All six of the young men who carried out this crime were on the high school football team.

I went to high school in a small farm town of about 6,000 in southern Ohio. Football was big doin's, let me tell you. Friday night lights, baby, nothing like it. Of course there's high school football where I live now, and I'm at most games because of the kids. But here, it's a high school thing. Most fans not directly connected with one of the high schools are more interested in the college Huskies/Cougars rivalry, or the Seahawks.

Small town football though, that's different.

It's a community thing. The whole town comes out, every Friday. In my town, there was the fish fry early in the season, second only to the county fair as far as social events. Later in the season, even the smaller surrounding towns would turn out on Fridays to watch us march our way to State, game by game. Our football team was the pride of that town, hell, the county. Those boys got free tickets at the local movie theater, and free pizza slices at the Wig-Wam, so named to match our high school's mascot, the Indians. (I know. That's another post.) Anyway, our football boys were local heroes. If they got caught driving too fast while cruising on Saturday nights, the cops - whom we all knew by name - would issue only a stern warning, with an admonition to "pay that off with a win this Friday, y'hear?"

The basketball team enjoyed notoriety too, but there's just something about football in a small town. The marching band, the lights, the crisp cold air, moms and dads reliving the glory days in their own letter jackets from 20 years back. In a small town, the thing is, all the adults graduated from that same high school. They all knew each other in their day, and they know everybody's kids now. They all remember sitting in those stands or riding the away-bus. When the town turned out to that field on Friday night, there was connection. Pride. History. Shoot, you didn't even need to show up to the class reunion, just show up on Friday night.

I don't know that I can even properly explain what football means to a small town. Truth be told, I'm not sure I can fully understand it, seeing as how I wasn't "born and raised". I think that's one reason my parents were still seen as "the new folks", even years after we'd moved there, and sis and I had long left home. Not being raised that way, they didn't understand the thing about Friday football. They didn't have any kids on the team or in the band or the cheer squad, so why would they go freeze their butts off in the stands? Didn't they go to all my concerts and watch me sing? Daddy could watch the Bengals on Monday night from the comfort of his own chair. Real football. They thought it was just a high school thing. But it wasn't.

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So, back to Luis Ramirez and the young men who killed him. As I read different articles, and the comments to go with them, all of those memories came rushing back. Folks in Shenandoah are not only reeling from a brutal murder in their town, they've also been blindsided with the fact that it wasn't a bunch of thugs who did this, hell it wasn't even the white trash who live in that sorry shack out yonder on Route 82 past Pea Ridge Drive, no, this was the football players. The good boys. The quarterback even, who's off to college come fall.

Seriously people, this is a big deal in a small town.

So it didn't surprise me that the charges were so long in coming. It didn't surprise me to read that the beating was not recorded in that night's police log. Yes, I'm serious. "Standard practice", according to police. It didn't surprise me that "despite the witness statements, Borough Manager Joseph Palubinsky said he doesn't believe Ramirez's ethnicity was what prompted the fight," or that the police chief doesn't think it has anything do with racism either. (AP)

I have reason to know the kids who were involved, the families who were involved, and I've never known them to harbor this type of feeling.
~Borough Manager Joseph Palubinsky

From what we understand right now, it wasn't racially motivated. This looks like a street fight that went wrong."
~Police Chief Matthew Nestor

I think any time there's a fight, and any time you have one ethnic group fighting another, there's going to be racial slurs. I've seen that since I was a kid on a playground 20 years ago, but they never called it ethnic intimidation until very recently.
~Roger Laguna, Walsh's lawyer

All quotes from the Associated Press

A street fight that went wrong? Are you kidding me? What kind of boys-will-be-boys bullshit is that? And I wonder, Mr. Laguna, if your school yard scuffles would have been called "ethnic intimidation" in your day had someone died on the playground?

Damn. I don't know about you, but I'm not feeling real confident about justice being served here, people.

Neither did it surprise me to read the horrible, hateful comments following the local articles, although in fairness, they were balanced by plenty of folks who were horrified by the blatant racism and cruelty, shocked at the hate that's crawled out into the light for everyone to see.

That's another thing about life in a small town. Things can seem fine on the surface, especially if you're white. Underneath though, it's very carefully balanced. As long as everyone acts right, life goes along just fine. Folks are friendly. And if you're making big yards for the football team, it doesn't much matter what color you are. Whoo-eee, that boy sure can run, cain't he? Only color anyone sees when you're driving down the field with that ball tucked under your arm, is the red and white of that uniform. Until you start dating Judge Hapner's niece. Then it matters a whole lot. Folks see color real quick then.

I bet a lot of people in Shenandoah truly do not understand how this possibly could've happened in their community. They're good hearted, well intentioned people who have never had to see things any other way, because life has always gone along according to their way, and they don't even know it. I can well imagine how this has torn through this little town.

I also know there are plenty of people there who know exactly why this happened. People of color who have to be hyper aware of their white neighbors' approval and comfort level every day of their lives. You can bet they're under no illusions. But also people who left comments like these in the local paper's accounts of the story:

TNT: Nothing he did in the U S was legal! Now my taxes are going to investigate his death and prosecute his assailants > Parasitic even in death!

Mary: Illegals...the name says it all ...goodbye and good riddance!! Those kids did us a favor, too bad they will have to face unpleasant consequences

Deer Hunter: Follow the leads of the good Sherrif and Hazleton's honorabe American leader. Nobody wants these illegals in town. Nobody! ... They have no rights. They are in your town and are bleeding it dry. Shenandoah residents should legally carry cocealed weapons to protect themselves, their property and their young women.

Tina: If these children were such cold blooded murderers they would have killed him there he died later on, yes because of the injuried these kids inficted on him, but they did not intend to murder him, it was an accident.

ddd: These boys are not cold blooded killers it was just an unfortunate mistake. Yes they must pay for their actions but if you knew them and their parents you would not be making such harsh statements against them.

John: Every city in America has a bad section. It usually has a high amount of minorites. When minorites move into a predominately white, safe and quiet town like Shenandoah, people are only assuming the worst because their reputation speaks for themselves.

Dakota: heres my 2 cents the big question ...Does his being illegal mean he deserved to be beaten to death.... YES!!! HAHAHAHAHAAH!!!!
~Comments from articles in the Pottsville Republican & Herald

You get the idea. Tip of the iceberg. Many seemed to regard the death as secondary, with Luis's immigration status firmly establishing itself as the real topic of discussion. In a nutshell: if he wasn't here illegally, this wouldn't have happened.

Again, other commenters did talk about how much more difficult the immigration process is now and how it's not really possible to "do it like our grandparents did" any more. Some commenters even brought up globalization and US corporate colonization as the real issue behind modern immigration. These commenters condemned the beating and the boys responsible, they called it out as racism, and were candid about the ongoing racial tension in their town. I was actually somewhat relieved to see a number of comments in this vein.

In the end though, it comes down to the fact that people were justifying murder of a human being, because they disapproved of him being in the US. A man was killed by some angry racist teenagers with Town Hero complexes, and the biggest discussion point was the dead man's immigration status. There's something very very wrong with that.

Did They Just Say ... Extraordinary Nut Sack?!

2008-08-03T12:22:00.001-07:00

So I'm sitting here on a Sunday morning, still in my version of pajamas, putting off updating my resume, swilling coffee, listening to my dog snore, trying to catch up on blogs and half-listening to the news in the background, when the end of a commercial belatedly breaks through my consciousness ...

... True North. An extraordinary nut sack.

By the time my head snapped up to the TV screen, CNN was back to droning the news. Did they just say nut sack?? I asked myself. Surely not. True North is kind of a classy bag of nuts, after all. I mean, we're not talking about the Planter's peanut man elbowing a roasted almond saying, "Dude ... get it? Nut Sack?" This is True North. Muted colors. Minimal design. No anthropomorphized mascots.

Now being one who well appreciates a witty phrase, particularly when employed in an original advertising campaign, I was impressed. It sure made me take notice. Caused me to remember the company name, look it up on the Internets, even. In fact, the next time I see True North nuts in the store, I'm likely to think wryly to myself, "Now that's an extraordinary nut sack." Very savvy, True North advertising team. Genius, even. That Planter's guy should tip his hat.

No, seriously. Here, listen for yourself.

Oh, my bad. That was "extraordinary nut snack".

Whole different ball of wax, there, people.

House Apologizes for Slavery & Jim Crow

2008-07-29T22:49:00.000-07:00

The US House issued a formal apology today for slavery and Jim Crow.

So everything's fine now. Move along, nothing to see here.

My gut reaction is to snort and say, "Gee, mighty White of them. An apology. That helps."

On the other hand, they can either apologize or not apologize. It's not like the choice is apologize or ... go back in their magic congressional time machine and just nip that nasty little horror in the bud before it starts. Oh, and while you're back there time traveling, guys? Don't colonize. Just don't colonize this time around, mm-kay?

Unfortunately though, that's not the choice. The choice is to apologize or not. And we will not be able to move forward to address the system that was born from that "peculiar institution" until we publicly acknowledge our part - as a nation - in slavery, and the fallout that still affects our nation today. So let me put my disgust and cynicism aside for a minute and say yes, I'm glad they apologized. It's a step, as they say.

So after stumbling across this news online, I made the mistake of trying to find out more. Inevitably, there were a whole lotta online comments. Those in the "against" crowd, predictably, had the same tired arguments. Like these:

I believe the blacks owe America an apology for tearing our moral, economic and social fabric. The illegal immigrunts can join them.

My ancestors owned slaves and I have no desire to apologize for the actions of my ancestors. In fact, I think that the federal government should give me reparations for the lost assets caused by emancipation and the confiscation of my ancestors' lands as a result of the War of Northern Aggression. How about that?
Wonder what the black folks in Africa think of the living conditions of blacks in America? They might say you were done a favor.

How many times do these people have to be apoligized to? They were apologized to at the end of the Civil War, they were apologized to during civil rights movements, again during the intergration of schools and all other places. I never owned slaves and neither did my parents. I don't think anyone alive today was ever a slave. It seems to me that the race card is being played only by the African-Americans who just want more and more free handouts from the government. I am sick of it.

Tell all those a-holes to vote to drill for oil and forget about the apology.

I haven't done anything to apologize for. Blacks have got it made here in America and they know it. Everything gets handed to them. They work for nothing and I'm sick of it. Like someone else said here, where are the "thank yous" from these people.

These people couldn't care less about equality, they want DOMINANCE!

Who gives a rats-rear what happened to the slaves over 150 years ago. Where is my apology from them for me having to listen to this bullsh-- on a daily basis living here in Atlanta? . . . Get over it. The Civil War is over. Get a job. Get a life and stop throwing slavery up in my face. You may not like what you hear if you don't. Idiots...

We are going to make a black man king of America. When is enough enough.

You White people better wake the hell up or youll be the next American 'negros'.... Im not apologizing and I'll laugh at the faces of these inadequate and inept beings and hope it ****es them off enough so I can practice my second amendment against them. What a glorious day that will be!!...

You get the idea.

So the argument of the day is -- say it with me, boys & girls -- I didn't own slaves, my grandparents didn't own slaves, I had nothing to do with slavery!

Any time the subject of race relations comes up, so too does this argument. Even "nice White people" use this one. I used it too, back when I believed myself to be colorblind. Why, I remember when the Bohemian was a 4-year-old little tyke, and we were reading My First Book of Africa from the library. Everything was fine until we turned to the double page spread of a slave ship cut-away. I was not prepared at that moment, to see my daughter go very quiet, touch the pages with her little fingers, and ask me, "But ... who would do that to people, Mommy?" So, in trying to explain this atrocity to my 4-year-old daughter, my African American daughter, I heard myself saying, "... but Mommy's family didn't believe in that. Remember Mommy's family came from Norway? Well, they lived in the North, they came much later, after slavery was over." Then I launched into how lots of White people were abolitionists, lots of White people fought against slavery, not all White people's families were slave owners ... ad nauseum.

I needed to justify it. I needed to remove myself, in my daughter's eyes, and my own, from that horrible history. It was important to me that she know that I, and by extension, she, had nothing to with this. It was those bad White people what did that. The racists. Not us. Not me.

Here's what I didn't understand: it is not about individuals. It's about a system. It's about laws.

Let me be clear -- this is about the legalized system of oppression put in place by our government, not about whether individual White folks owned slaves or not. If you think we became a superpower so quickly because we're just that good, think again. We got there by stealing Native land, working it with free human labor, and enacting the laws to back it up. No start up costs, no overhead, just pure growth and profit. That's what put us on the fast track to superpower status.

Here's what else I didn't understand: if you are a White person in the United States, you and your family have benefited from this system.

It doesn't matter whether Grandpa Orville's grandaddy owned slaves or whether his house was a station on the underground railroad. The laws were on his side. Grandpa Orville, if he so chose, could read. Go to college. Live where he wanted. Get a loan to buy land, a house. Pass that property down to his children who then start off a little bit farther ahead in life than he did. And Grandpa Orville likely wasn't worrying about being lynched, either.

Land and education. White folks had access to it, Black folks were legally excluded from access. Property equals wealth. It appreciates and is sold for profit or passed on. Education equals opportunity and increased wealth. It increases the fact that your children will also be educated. Now, would you rather be the great-grandaughter of the guy with access to the land and education (not to mention better health care), or the guy who didn't have jack shit and wasn't allowed to build it? Which side of that system would you choose?

Oh please. Don't even play like you're hesitating.

Which brings us to our next recurring theme: They just need to work harder and quit expecting handouts. Nobody gave me a handout, everything I got, I earned with hard work and effort.

I'm sure you do work hard. And I'm sure you believe no one ever has given you anything. Did your grandparents pass property on to your parents? Did your parents go to college? Do they own a home? Do you? Do people really believe that two men -- one Black and one White -- both equally motivated and working equally hard, would get the same results while operating under the legal confines of this system in 1910? How about 1940? 1960? Today?

What about the 2000 Housing Discrimination Study? They sent out 4,600 pairs of testers, separately, in 23 US cities. The testers were identical on paper, but one was White, the other Black. Consistent preferential treatment for white testers occured 21.6% of the time.

Now ... if you rented an apartment tomorrow, you'd have no way of knowing if a Black applicant with your same qualifications had been turned down the day before, would you? You'd have no way of knowing that you'd just benefited from a racist system, would you? You didn't choose to benefit from it, you didn't put it in place, you may even be outraged by it, but that doesn't matter. You'll sign that lease thinking you got that apartment solely on the basis of your good credit and consistent work history. But did you earn it? Did you earn it any more than the Black applicant who was told it "wasn't available", or who was quoted a price $400 higher than yours?

And did we really work for everything we have? What about unearned wealth?

[As of 2002], 24% of whites receive an inheritance, just 11% of blacks do so. Among those who get an inheritance, whites receive $115,000 on average compared to $32,000 for blacks.15 And these figures do not reflect the gifts children receive during their parents' lifetimes.
To illustrate the significance of these disparities, whites on average are more than twice as likely as blacks to be able to provide a healthy downpayment on a home even in the nation's most expensive housing markets or to pay tuition for four years at almost any college or university for one child from an inheritance.

~Gregory D. Squires, Reintroducing the Black/White Divide in Racial Discourse

OK, I know some of you are like, "Shoot, I never got $115K, or even $30K, you're crazy!" We're not talking about individuals -- everybody has a story -- we're talking about a system set up to benefit some and oppress others over time.

My own story, you all know: I'm a single mom, 3 kids, money problems, yada yada. But even with all that, I've benefited from a system that has historically been better to my family than families of color. My dad lent me money to put down on my house. Without that, I never could've owned a home. And without his college education and occasional loans from his parents when he was young, he probably wouldn't have been in a position to loan me that down payment. No idea how I'm going to pay him back now that the market has tanked, and I can't imagine ever being able to help my kids like that, but I'm in the house. And I was approved for a loan, even though I probably shouldn't have been. (excellent credit, shit for income, but hey, White! Just don't let Citimortgage see the kids.)

How about this one: OK, things may have been bad after slavery, or even in the '50s, but now there's affirmative action! Now I'm the one discriminated against! Where's my apology? A white man can't get a job these days!

I'd say check out the 2005 Princeton University study in which they had White, Black and Latino men with comparable resumes apply for jobs. You know what they found? Employers would hire a White convicted felon before they would hire a Black man with a clean record. Yes. This was 2005, people. That playing field is not level.

And then there's the always dependable: Slavery ended 143 years ago! It's over! Why can't they just move on and get over it?

Yes, technically slavery ended in 1865. The system did not magically change with that announcement, though. Matter of fact, new laws were put in place to strengthen the system! Slavery was over, but it gave birth to segregation, unequal education, Jim Crow, sundown towns, redlining, and lynching.

Michael Donald was lynched in 1981. This was during my lifetime, people, not ancient history. It was my 15th birthday to be exact. Of course, I didn't know that at the time; I was obliviously blowing out my candles in small town Ohio, comfortably deluded in the belief that slavery was over and things were fine now, the day 19-year-old Michael was hung from a tree in Alabama. In 1998, James Byrd Jr. was chained to the back of a truck and dragged for miles until he was decapitated. One of the guys who did it had a tattoo of a Black man hanging by a noose. 1998. Just ten years ago! This was during my youngest child's lifetime, people. 1998.

And our President vetoed the Hate Crimes Act just last year. Slavery might be "over" but the fallout poisons this country to this day. Is a lousy apology really too much to ask?

Anyway.

Today's apology is not about whether individual White people owned slaves or not. It is about our government acknowledging that the racial inequities existing today are a direct result of slavery and the legalized system of oppression that came from it.

It's about how that system has affected people over the course of generations.

It's about facing the uncomfortable reality that some people continue to benefit from this system today -- whether we choose to or not, whether we consider ourselves "racist" or not, whether our people owned slaves or not.

Judging from the last 4 statements from our online commenters above, it's also about fear, power, and not wanting to shift the existing arrangement. Usually the people who want to keep a given power structure in place are the ones sitting on top of that structure. Just sayin'.

That's why this apology was so long in coming, and why some people feel so threatened by it.

A Couple of Months in the Life

2008-07-25T13:43:00.000-07:00

So how long has it been since I've written about anything of import? Where are the posts about politics, the media, race, current events, and assholes?

I'm turning into a fluff blogger. And that's not going to change today.

Trust me, I'm still ranting about all those things, but I've just got too much going on right now to write a coherent piece about any of it. So today, continuing in the vein of bees, rats, and weather, I'm going to touch on all the little things that have been happening at Chez Cowbell, as Tony puts it, while I've been non-blogging. An update post, if you will.

MILESTONES

Teen Demon graduated from high school. She looked beautiful and happy. I was so proud of her. How did this happen? Even with 18 years to prepare, there's a lag in the parental brain. You end up sitting there during the ceremony, remembering the first day of kindergarten and trying not to rush the stage shrieking, "Give her back, I wasn't done yet!"

And those of you who think it gets easier after the first one, let me just quash that rumor right here. When the first one graduates and leaves home, it's a shock. It's hard in its own way. It's like your first break up -- the punch to the gut you never saw coming that sucks the breath from your lungs. But it seems more like an anomaly than a way of life. You come back from the airport to find that nest still plenty full with the raucous activity of the remaining fledglings. You can pretend the family is still intact, but one of you is off having a grand adventure. Or protesting the White House. Whatever. When the second one graduates though ... that's a tipping point.

By summer's end, I will have more children away in college than I do at home. I'm having some trouble with that. Anyway, congratulations baby -- you haven't always had an easy road, which makes me even more proud of your drive and motivation. I know you'll kick university ass.

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Male Offspring got his learner's permit. Willym, light a candle, please. You know how some people get addicted to gambling or crystal meth, and it takes over their life and they can't think about anything else, and if they go too long without it, they get shaky and kind of psychotic? Yeah, like that. Except without the physical and financial ruin. This boy thinks he was born to drive. Like it's his whole raison d'être. If financial success was determined by interest in driving, he'd have passed Bill Gates last week. I mean, the boy is like, "I'm going to check the mail." What? He's volunteering? Maturity is kicking in! "Can I have the keys?"

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Remember me writing last year about the advocacy group I helped start? Suffice it to say we've been insanely busy. We've been really proud to have helped bring about a couple of events for students and community recently that have had a big impact, and are gearing up for next year. All of that work has indirectly led to something else. I am currently going through the process of applying for my city's D!versity Comm!ssion. (excuse the googler protection, there) I've been through the first 3 steps, the latest being an interview with the mayor. Next step is the interview with City Council, and then they vote on me at their next meeting. So if you hear about a Commissioner Cowbell being appointed, that's me. We'll see -- send good thoughts.

HEALTH AND WELFARE

The Bohemian got stitches for the first time in her life. She, unlike her siblings, has no interest in driving. She bikes or does public transit. Last month she wiped out at the bottom of a hill -- on a curve, on a road with no shoulder to speak of -- slamming her head and various appendages into the ground. She nearly lost consciousness. She soaked a Good Samaritan's pink bath towel with blood. She scared the crap out of both of us.

The doctor, after reaming her a new one about not having her helmet on, scared us even more. "Eighty percent of bicycle head injuries are fatal," he intoned. Yeah, so are heart attacks, doc. Thanks for that tidbit.

The Bohemian is a responsible biker. She wears her helmet at all times in DC. The same helmet that is still sitting in DC, awaiting her return. She tried to wear her brother's helmet that morning, but it didn't fit over her hair. Reasoning that the park she was heading for had nothing on the mean streets of DC, she left without it. I'm so fucking grateful that she didn't come out with some kind of brain injury. That she came out of it at all. Make your kids wear their helmets, people. You can't count on them always being part of that lucky 20%.

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Male Offspring wiped out on his ripstick. Personally, I don't see how he rides that thing at all. It's got 2 wheels. That's it. Skates have more wheels than that, and you get one for each foot. In addition, the torsion bar that joins the 2 sections acts as an axis allowing each section to rotate. If that's not enough, the wheels themselves rotate. 360°. At will. The only thing that would make this thing any more unstable would be if they added a pogo stick component to it.

Anyway, the son wipes out, tearing up his hand and both knees. I get the following text message: "Can you bring home some of those really big Band-aids?" This is not the first time I've received such a text message. Parents, you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, the poor thing is unable to do dishes, with his injured hand and all. I'm sure his road to recovery will be long and arduous.

TRAVEL

The Bohemian is in Ghana. We took out a home equity loan for the clinic to protect her from malaria, yellow fever, typhoid, hepititis A, and the common cold. Oh wait, we don't have that much equity in our home -- better sell those shoes, honey. The clinic advertised "sliding scale fees". After the shots and pills were dispensed, they informed us that doesn't apply to voluntary travel. I guess they consider it akin to elective surgery or Botox. She's on a study trip for school, lady, not summering in a French chalet with her butler in tow.

Anyway, yes, she's there with a small group of music students and a couple of professors. She spent last Sunday in NYC, waiting for the rest of her group to arrive from DC. They missed their flight. Which means, of course, that they all missed the connecting flight from NY to Morocco, which led to them missing the weekly flight that goes from Morocco to Ghana. The Bohemian was not amused. I get a phone call as she's (finally) getting on the plane to Morocco, the following day.

The Radical Bohemian: (dramatic sigh) So, we're leaving. Finally.
Me: Oh good. Did they find another flight from Morocco to Ghana?

RB: No. As a matter of fact, they didn't. There is no other flight from Morocco to Ghana. We're now flying from Morocco to Togo.

(I can practically feel her eyes stabbing daggers into her professor's back)

Me: Togo? So ... how will you get to Ghana?
RB: Apparently, we're going to drive.

Me: Oh. Who's driving?

RB: I don't know.

Me: What kind of vehicle?

RB: I don't know.

Me: Well, is it a bus or private vehicle? I think that's a pretty rough drive. What about visas? You guys don't have visas to Togo.

RB: I don't know. I don't think anyone knows. Hey, we're boarding, I have to go ... I'll try to get in touch with you somehow...

Yeah. High times and adventure under the watchful supervision of responsible university staff. Anyway, she called yesterday, so I only had to worry for about 5 days. Actually, the Bohemian is a highly resourceful and experienced traveler, I wasn't too worried. She's having a fantastic time and they did actually make it to Ghana. She was on a shared phone card, so I think she crammed about 10 minutes worth of info into 2 minutes, but she sounded thrilled. Can't wait to get the full report.

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Male Offspring went to football camp in eastern WA last month. Fortunately, yellow fever was not a concern. He gloated about temperatures in the 90s and constant sunshine. He did this, of course, with a mountain range between us so I couldn't actually lash out in a moment of temporary insanity. The kid's no fool. He came back sporting the now traditional 'fro-hawk, but the guys kind of messed up with the clippers so it didn't have quite the shock value as last year's event. I am gearing up for another football season in the stands.

AT LEAST THEY'RE NOT ON DRUGS

Teen Demon got a tattoo. I'm not sure if it was at the same place where she got her belly button pierced. She'd been telling me she was going to do these things after she turned 18. In fact, she'd informed me of this fact many times, via text message. Teen Demon tells me all her important news and asks all the dicey questions via text message. Her generation should be called Generation Text. I fully expect to receive a text message rather than a wedding announcement.

Anyway, it's been nearly a year since Teen Demon turned 18, so I suppose one could say she's showed incredible restraint. It could be worse. One of her friends recently got a guy's name tattooed below her belly button. A couple of weeks after her 18th birthday. In big, capital, Olde English letters. The guy in question is a sweetheart. I like him. I met him when he was here visiting from Massachusetts. No, he's not from here; they met on the internet. Oh, he got her name as well. Same place, same style. This girl is a smart cookie and beautiful and funny to boot. So what happened? Young love, people, young love. It bites us all in the ass, doesn't it?

Anyway, Teen Demon got stars. Not sure what they represent, other than being cute and sparkly. Her reasoning involves stars "never going out of style, like some stupid fad". Or a guy's name. Hey, at least she's employing some sort of logic, here. And she didn't end up with a sun-turned-spider tattoo either, so there's something to be said for that.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Bohemian attended Pride with her friends, as per usual, with one small twist. She went in drag. She insisted on me calling her "son" that day, so she could get into character. Not sure what Male Offspring thought about me suddenly having two sons, but he said her goatee was pretty cool. To me, she just looks like the Bohemian whether she's manning up or wearing her trademark Bohemianesque skirts, but then, I'm her mom. She said she was actually passing, and even got a few looks from the ladies. The straight ones, I mean.

NEWS FROM A BROAD

Betty called from Iraq. I was so relieved. I'd been emailing her, and hadn't heard a word back. Now I'm not one to freak about that, and I know she's just a touch busy over there, but still ... I was a little worried. OK, a lot worried. Anyway, she called the other day, and we talked for about an hour, which was wonderful. She's doing well, but when I asked her how things really were, I got a long pause, a sigh, and "It's very stressful. Very stressful". She couldn't go into too many details, OPSEC and all that, but I could tell it's wearing on her. She's got 5 more months of the 15 month tour. If Dubya and crew don't extend them before that.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

OK, that's enough news for now. I know, how to handle all that excitement, right? Good point. Time for a beer

Bombus Vosnesenski, aka Beelzebub's Minions

2008-07-21T02:38:00.000-07:00

There is a nest of bees under my back deck. I use the term deck loosely, as it brings to mind an elevated structure that one can actually get under. The only thing that fits under my deck are the dogs' toys. I often find myself in the prone position, trying to scrape out a rubber ball or bone from under the "deck" with a rake. So no, my deck is not a traditional deck, per se, and I can't get under it to address the bee problem.

A friend of mine has a deck. Her husband built it. By himself. It's huge, overlooks their yard, and could be featured in a how-to manual for container gardening. You know those pictures with the flowers pouring out of the pots in a cascade of color? Like that. Also planted by said husband. He also trims the gorgeous tree with the dark purple leaves overhanging a portion of the deck, and handles the grill action, also located on the deck. Yeah. If you're going to have a husband, folks, find one of this guy's brothers. They're in California. I asked.

Could you imagine what a different experience life in This Old Motherfucking House would be with someone possessing those skillz in residence? No. Neither can I.

So anyway, bees under my deck. Porch, whatever. These bees are vicious. I had to get on The Internets to see if the much feared Killer Bees had somehow made it up to WA state without me knowing it. (They haven't.) No, we have a strain of regular old bumblebees, which, according to the Internets, spend their lives merrily droning from bloom to bloom like hairy diminutive Goodyear blimps. Under normal circumstances, they're all about the pollination, and are not vicious.

Unless you are close to their nest. Seeing as how their nest is located right at my back door, they're getting a might testy.

The other day, several of them had targeted me for annihilation. After pulling out a few ineffectual Bruce Lee moves I didn't even know I had, I somehow made it back into the house. Damned if the little bastards weren't furiously flinging themselves up against the glass door, still trying to take their ounce of flesh from my hide. The next day, The Bohemian got stung on the cheek, and Mason got stung on the leg.

The Internets told me I needed bee dust, applied with a bee duster at dusk. My hardware store didn't carry these items, so on the advice of some guy sporting a buzz cut and a red apron, I settled for wasp & hornet spray. I'd thought to go for this foam stuff instead, but Mr. Aprons insisted the wasp & hornet spray was the weapon of choice. The can claimed a 27-foot directed stream. This, as you may have guessed by the name, is intended for wasps and hornets, which tend to build their nests up high, like in the eaves of your house. One can stand well back, direct a stream of potent potion at the nest, and run like hell before they know what hit them. Bumble bees, however, tend to nest down low, like under a board or cheap-ass low-rider deck wannabe.

The only way to hit this devil's brood nestled under my decklet would be to settle into the prone position on the opposite side, shine a flashlight under there with one hand to mark my target, let loose with the 27-foot directed stream, deftly get to my feet and make like a gazelle without falling on my ass before they swarm me. I wasn't really feeling this plan, being nowhere as nimble or quick as I was before moving here and getting my fat on. Also, according to The Googles, these guys can lock on to the flashlight beam, and use it to hone in on one's ass like a squadron of pixie sized Stealth fighters, so I'd need to have the presence of mind to turn off the flashlight during all this. Better yet, just drop it, like I'm deploying chaff and flares to draw the little bastards to a false target.

Regardless, I needed some protection. Not owning a bee keeper's suit, I made do with what I had lying around the house.

I went to the garage and dug out the camping poncho I once bought during a miserable rainy "summer vacation" (air quotes intentional) on the lovely Washington coast. In lieu of an apiarist's veil, Male Offspring kindly provided the protective headgear seen to the left.

Grabbing my flashlight and Mr. Aprons' Aerosol Death in a can, I went out to do battle. I stretched out on the grass, clicked on my light, and surprise -- my "deck" was apparently built over what used to be a concrete porch. My beam reflected back at me from a concrete barrier wrapping entirely around the area where Beelzebub's minions had made their land claim.

I'd underestimated the enemy. They'd chosen a fortress from which to make their stand. This would be close in, hand to wing combat, requiring me to stand over their entry point and aim the stream directly down into the cracks of the deck. Miraculously, I made it back in with no stings.

This morning, I found my weaponry was deficient. Mr. Aprons clearly needs to refine his pest eradication skillz. The bees are not resting in peace, but are plenty pissed off. Instead of waking to find a field of wee casualties, I found instead a whirling dervish of frenzied collective rage. Berzerker Bees, if you will.

I'm going back this afternoon for the foam.

Vivisection

2008-07-15T22:26:00.000-07:00

Do you all remember The Rat? If not, click and go read -- absolutely essential backstory for today's tale of intrigue.

What? You think I don't see you trying to skip ahead? Please, I can hear the heavy breathing from here. You probably read Cliff Notes as a kid. To quote the Brady Bunch dad, You're only cheating yourself Bobby; and cheaters never prosper. In fact, sometimes they end up divorced with an ex-wife who suddenly develops a penchant for voodoo dolls. That's right, Bobby. Think about it.

I'll wait.

OK, so the other day I come home from work, open up the fridge to grab a beer, and come face to face with ... The Rat. Like you didn't see that one coming.

Yeah, OK, you got me. Ha ha, very funny, son. But wait ... what's that red ... holy scalpels, Batman! The Rat had been stitched up like a grisly FrankenRodent! It's true. The Rat was sporting an I-incision with bright red stitching, complete with decorative beadwork. Apparently, my eldest and my youngest spent the afternoon in a study session reviewing Male Offspring's freshman Biology lab notes.

Here are the gory details. My kids are nothing if not creative. And twisted.

Warning: This presentation is intended for mature audiences and contains disturbing elements of extreme violence, blood and gore. Animals were definitely harmed for this presentation. Procedures not carried out by licensed medical personnel.

Bittersweet Anniversary

2008-07-11T12:00:00.001-07:00

A summer of sorts has arrived in the PNW. Yes children, July has arrived, and you know what that means: vegetarian hot dogs, fresh tomatoes bursting with the threat of salmonella, broken lawnmowers, neighborhood streets littered with the detritus of DIY fireworks, and that wonderful summer weather -- partially sunny and only marginally chilly. You all know how I love only having to wear my undershirt 'neath my outer layers, as opposed to my normal undershirt, jacket, and knee socks.

July also means that most hallowed of all summer events, the annual Cannonball & Bellyflop Contest at our local pool. The Bohemian and Male Offspring are psyching themselves up for competition as I type. In fact, I can not do justice to the Bohemian's blog entry about this event -- I nearly peed myself reading it this morning. Totally worth the click. Just utilize the latrine before you read, soldiers.

The Bohemian and Male Offspring compete every year. So does the current (and past) reigning champion, their nemesis, Steve. Last year the Bohemian came in 3rd in the adult division. She's got pictures up from last year's showdown at her site. She found them on the web. Who knew she was famous? Steve is hot, truth be told. Not that that fact makes it any easier to come in 3rd behind him, but at least it gives you something nice to look at as you're hating him.

Steve, King of the Bellyflop

For me, the contest not only brings back memories of tender flesh smacking against a wall of water and tattooed hotties rotating through the air Greg Louganis style, it also brings back memories of a more bitter nature. Those of you who've been around for a while know of what I speak.

Last year's contest was when Dear Camera met his demise, thanks to that teenbitch careening down the stairs like she was late to retrieve a text message. I paid homage to him this morning by re-reading his tribute. Camera, though another now rests in your little case, you have never been forgotten. Canon really fucked up when they took away the 50 ISO option for all the upgrades following you, so trust that you can never really be replaced.

If you'd like to see some of Dear Camera's best work, just scroll down last July's posts - they're all there, starting about halfway down the page. Camera kicked ass. Yes he did. Only the good die young. Those of you who were around last year may remember the deep pit of depression I fell into following that fateful night.

Anyway, tonight the Bohemian takes on Steve in a contest of guts and glory in the adult division at our local pool. Male Offspring will bide his time in the teen division. I will be there with my new camera, guarding it more closely than Karl Rove guards the truth.

I leave you with pics of the offspring from last year. Keep in mind that these were taken after Dear Camera's LCD screen was crushed like the nation's hope after a stolen election. I was, for the first time ever, using the "view finder", and had no access to settings or controls. I was effectively shooting blind. Like Dick Cheney in autumn. So before I overdose on bad analogies, here are some shots from Dear Camera's last hurrah.

The offspring, sizing up the Kiddie Division

The Bohemian, coming out of a somersault in the Cannonball event.

Male Offspring, getting some height

So send your good vibes this way, folks. I'll let you know how it goes tonight.

Happy Independence Day*

2008-07-05T12:42:00.000-07:00

Hope you all had a happy 4th. I offer you my warmest Independence Day wishes:

*Unless, of course, you happened to be enslaved, native, or female at the time our founding fathers declared this land to be an independent sovereign nation.

I Won! I Won! Penny Candy All Around!

2008-06-21T14:24:00.000-07:00

I won the Lottery.

My dad is fond of saying, "A buck's a buck." True, but somehow this win just didn't live up to my dreams of how winning the lottery was supposed to go.

Those of who are long time readers know that I never used to play the lottery, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that. The first time I did, probably a couple of years ago, I had to ask the clerk how to buy a ticket. I didn't even know there was more than one kind of lottery ticket. I was raised to avoid throwing away good money on harebrained schemes or useless crap. Of course, that didn't stop me from buying those pink high-top Reebocks in the 80s, but whatever.

Anyway, now I buy tickets probably every other week, if I remember. I spend either $2 and $3, depending how lucky I feel that day. I usually buy one Mega Millions ticket, and one or two regular Lotto tickets. I tell myself that the fantasy value alone is worth it, as it chips away at that chronic financial anxiety and is cheaper than Wellbutrin. Besides, lottery money goes to the state's educational system, so I consider it my contribution to the bright young minds of tomorrow. As Whitney Houston says, I believe the children are our future.

I buy my tickets at the grocery store. Since I'm already getting screwed with the price of eggs, might as well make it a twofer. Anyway, there's a machine at the grocery store that reads your tickets and tells you whether or not you won. Checking one's tickets via this machine has got to be the one of the most disheartening experiences there is. If you do not have a winning ticket, the machine displays the following message in bright red text:

Sorry. Not a Winner.

Yeah. Thanks for letting me know that, you little R2D2 wannabe. Look who's talking.

Not "Sorry, Better Luck Next Time!" or even "Sorry, Not a Winning Ticket", no, this damn thing has to aim for the soft spot. Sorry, not a winner. In other words, go home loser, and keep clipping those coupons and buying our shitty store brand.

Anyway, the other day, I checked my Mega Millions ticket, and felt that familiar dejection as the machine silently spewed the familiar refrain, "Sorry. Not a Winner." Then I ran my regular Lotto ticket under the little bastard's red beam and saw something different ...

Winning Ticket!

For just a fraction of a split second, my future flashed before my eyes: a working furnace, travel to hot places, actual retirement! Then I saw the rest of the message:

$3!

As the clerk congratulated me, I came down to earth, handed her my ticket, and said, "Yeah, no cash -- I'll just take one Mega Millions ticket and two Lottos, please."

That's called rolling over your investment, folks.

Some Rain Funk for My Rain Funk

2008-06-10T13:12:00.000-07:00

I need some Wellies. Cute funky ones. Maybe a cute rain coat, too, but definitely the boots. It would distract me and make me happy about jumping in puddles. Like that's fun or something.

Actually, it is fun, when you live in a place where it "rains occasionally". Like when it's warm, and you have a lot of sun for a long time, and then there's a big storm with thunder and lightening, and it's cozy inside, and then the sun comes out again, and that ozone smell makes life seem fresh and bright and green, and you go out and splash in puddles under a rainbow with a unicorn. That's fun.

What's not fun is when it rains every friggin' day for weeks and weeks, it's cold, everything smells of mildew, rainbows are the stuff of legends, and the unicorns have gone to live in Arizona. What's not fun is when something called a sunbreak is what "happens occasionally".

Some cute Wellies would be a spot of brightness in a landscape of grey. The resulting lift of spirits would, much like my sunlamp, basically be a heavy dose of the placebo effect, but who the hell cares.

I have a picnic to attend today people. Yes, I said a picnic, an event for some of the kids in the school district. No, the weather has not changed, thanks for asking. Now ask me if I feel like going and standing around outside in the rain, in my poncho and scarf, eating potato salad, acting like I'm friggin' happy to be there. I need the rainboots today, goddamnit.

Seriously, aren't these just too adorable?

Bill Cunningham, NY Times

See? Cute! In boots like that, you might actually enjoy the rain. Even a rainy picnic. Then again, they probably live in a place where rain "happens occasionally". One of those places where you can say things like, "Yeah, it rained this afternoon." Inferring, of course, that rain is an event that doesn't happen all goddamn day, all fucking month long, 10 months out of the year.

You see why I need the cute boots?

These babies scream SPRING!

That's hot.

Love these funky pink and black twirls.

And if the rain's really got you down, and you're looking for a whole'nother kind of pick-me-up, you can always go for something like these:

Personally, just looking at those makes me cold, but hey, if you live in a place where you actually experience that phenomenon known as a "warm summer rain", these might be right up your alley. So to speak. There is no such thing as a "warm summer rain" here in Seattle, not even in summer, let alone June -- or as they've been calling it, Juneuary -- so I will not be sporting these hot cloppers, but I may show up to work one day in some of those other puddle stompers.

Nothing like a bright and shiny distraction to keep a girl from flying into a homicidal rain rage.

The Never Ending Story

2008-06-09T08:28:00.000-07:00

Cloudy and 52* with light rain this morning here in Seattle. Looks like the rain and chilly temperatures will be continuing throughout the week, so don't put away those umbrellas yet!

It's apparent to me that weather announcers here in the Puget Sound region are either 1) from here, and this seems normal, 2) are getting paid obscene amounts of money to chuckle and sound cheerful, or 3) are operating on heavy doses of Prozac.

Theoretically, they could also be sun-hating, fun-sucking vampires.

There's pretty much no other way to explain how a person can actually chuckle and engage in light banter about this situation. Like it's normal. Since moving here, what's become normal for me is to flip obscene hand gestures toward my radio and loudly curse it while driving through drizzle in my always-on heated car seat.

My personal reaction to this morning's weather report was to grab the plastic butter knife in my desk drawer and start sawing away at my wrists, but it wasn't very effective, and the weather gods apparently don't give a shit that I'm about to flip the fuck out because it's still raining.

They're probably up there chuckling too.

So I tighten my winter scarf (thanks Tony), turn on my sunlamp and check my email to take my mind off things. Oh look, some friends have written -- let's see what RG has to say, he's always good for some conspiratorial bitching. What's this? Oh ... it's a link to Boston weather ... looks like folks are getting sunburned and having sweatfests there. Thanks, RG. That's fucking great. Hope you had fun at your softball game. Sun, beer, and hot guys ... this isn't helping, goddamnit. Watch it buster, or Cheery Radio Bitch won't be the only one on my short list for a healthy bitch slap.

At least he took up a "sunshine collection" for me on his site. It's not working, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

Salt in the Wound...

2008-06-06T19:28:00.000-07:00

Also, this morning I attended a staff meeting in our coldass conference room where I had to take my blanket (yes, we keep blankets at work here), and learned that a colleague who has been on sabbatical for the last academic year is not coming back.

She's staying in Costa Rica.

Hide the sharp objects people, I'm about to hit my limit.

You Wanted a Rant?

2008-06-06T13:19:00.000-07:00

Still raining this morning in the Seattle area, we're expecting a high of 56* today, with clouds and continuing showers throughout the day.

I am about to SNAP here, people. I'm am seriously feeling fucking FOUL. As in a weird version of claustrophobic, no joke. Like I'm on the verge of suddenly breaking into a full out scream and running until I pass out or hit sun. I think we all know which would happen first, which is the only thing keeping me on this side of sanity.

I'm not kidding here, people, I wonder if I'm skirting around the edge of a panic attack. I've never had a panic attack, but if it's something like you want to jump out of your skin and the whites of your eyes are visible and there's a scream stuck in your throat which keeps you from breathing, then that's it. How stupid would that be? "Seattle area woman's panic attack resulted from excessive rain." Right. I handled divorce and all other kinds of shit, but no, it's the never ending wetass grey that's about to put me over the fucking edge. How lame is that. I don't need anti-depressants, I need some sort of sun pill.

I know you all think I'm extreme on this subject, but come on -- we are exactly 14 days from Summer Solstice, and we were arguing about turning on the heat last night. If it wasn't so goddamned expensive here, I'd seriously have it on at least 10 months of the year.

I was watching Candy Crowley on the news last night. She was stalking Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama, to see what their secret meeting was all about. (Hilarious how they duped the media and gave them the slip! hahahaha! Score one for the candidates.) Anyway, it's the middle of the night there, and she's standing around outside Hillary Clinton's DC home, I think.

There were bugs flying around her. At night.

That means it's HOT where she is. As in actual summer.

It looked weird. Just seeing those few little bugs flying around made me think of warm nights on my old terrace, where at 11pm the big tiles still felt warm under my feet, and my beer would sweat, and the bottle would feel good against my forehead, and I could sit in the chair in nothing but shorts and a strappy top, and the chair wouldn't be wet or cold, and the breeze was warm, not wet and cold, and I could spread out and breathe without having to pull into myself or wrap up in something. It even smelled warm there.

That was back when I owned a fan.

Anyway, I was surprised at how seeing those bugs flying around at night hit me, how foreign that looked to me now. It was seriously depressing. Such a little thing. I wouldn't even have noticed it before.

This morning as I was getting out of my car, fumbling with my book bag, purse, coffee, umbrella, and car keys, feeling my hair go limper and flatter by the minute while a big drip of water slid down my neck, I had the urge to just sit down in the parking lot and cry. "OK! I give up you fucking rain god, you fucking broke me, UNCLE for godssake, now just bring the goddamn sun out."

Of course I didn't. But that's what I was thinking. You never know what's going on inside people, do you?

Then, I make it into the building and am feeling so foul and discombobulated trying to hang on to everything and close my umbrella at the same time that I only glare at the 3 flights of stairs and head straight for the Fat Woman's Lover, aka the elevator. Which only makes things worse.

I'll never make it until Male Offspring graduates.

A Weather Rant.

2008-06-05T21:31:00.000-07:00

Photo Credit: Melanie Connor, NY Times

Here's what I heard on the radio on my way in to work this morning. This is before caffeine, people -- keep that in mind.

Cloudy and showers continuing today and on through the weekend. We're looking at possible highs in the upper 50s this afternoon.

I'm sorry, did you say upper 50s, Cheery Radio Bitch? What is this, March?!

Nope, guess again. That's right kids, it's that suckass time of year again in Seattle: June! That magical month where the rains continue and the cool maritime breeze sets your teeth to chattering. The time of year where, approaching the summer solstice and full of hope, you shed your knee socks, shave the bottom of half of your legs, paint your toes, and, like a dimwitted Pollyanna, don your kicky capris and a filmy summer top ... only to see your exposed sickly pallor break into a landscape of goosebumps.

Yeah, that little summer fit lasted about 5 minutes. About as long as the "sun break" that brought it on. Ah, June in Seattle!

That would be summer for the rest of you in the Northern Hemisphere. And those of you from Alaska, don't even try. It's supposed to get up to 70* in Fairbanks today. I hate you. Even those of you in Greenland don't have a legitimate gripe: yes, we're at about the same temperature today, but you bitches are under "partly sunny" skies, while I haven't seen so much as a "sun break" in days. So take your partly sunny and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Oh, that would be Seattle!

Actually, you all may be interested to know that the place most similar to Seattle's weather is Iceland. No, I'm not joking. Reykjavik could be our sister city today, with 52* and overcast.

Oh wait, they have higher humidity, so it feels warmer. My bad.

Oh, wait again ... it just started raining here. Are you kidding me?

So, with 52* and overcast -- as opposed to Seattle's 48* and pissing on my head -- Iceland's weather is a better bet than Seattle. I'm thinking Cheery Radio Bitch was working under a heavy dose of optimism with that "upper 50s" bullshit.

And you all wonder why I'm a bitch?

She's Alive!

2008-06-03T17:51:00.000-07:00

Hi. It's me. Let's cover the obvious first: No, sadly I have not taken up with a trapeze artist from Cirque du Soleil, turned into an exercise addict or won the lottery. This Old MF'in House has not yet fallen down around me. Johnny Depp has not come to his senses and spent the last month ravishing me. I did not get arrested for sending rotten eggs to Dubya via the US postal system. I did not snap and order a home tanning bed or run away to Arizona. And no, neither Prince Charming nor Calgon has taken me away from all this.

On the other hand, I'm home sick today, my lawnmower broke after less than a year (friggin' Craftsman) which is so not good in this area of the world (lush and verdant my ass), and a branch from a bigass tree is resting on my roof. It hasn't exactly fallen, but it's just kind of laying there, half attached, laughing at me and my short ladder.

I've been crazy busy. I didn't plan to unplug, it just kind of happened. Hey, I'm not superwoman, one of the balls had to drop. OK, two -- my house looks like shit, but I think that ball basically dropped last year, and I'm kind of used to it now.

So, sorry I haven't been around to anyone's cyberhouse in like, forever. The longer I was unplugged, the more daunting the thought of catching up became. Anyway, I'm not trying to do an out and out Real Post today - just wanted to say hey, let you know I'm still kicking, and quell the above rumors.

I do miss you all. I'll get back on soon, and likely become a slothenly netaddict once more.

Tennessee Principal Outs Gay Students

2008-05-03T11:29:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to find this news. High school principal Daphne Beasley, Memphis TN, was tired of all the PDA happening on school grounds. (That's Public Display of Affection, for those of you not living with a middle/high school student. Or those of you who've escaped military influence.)

Ms. Beasley was none too pleased with the apparently excessive PDA occurring within the vaunted halls of Hollis F. Price Middle College High School. (Middle College High School? What the hell does that even mean?) Ms. Beasley decided to take the public watchdog and humiliation route to address these nefarious goings-on. She asked her staff for the names of all student couples, in order to compile a list. All the better to keep an eye on the eager little darlings, you know.

Problem is, she posted the list. Publicly. Teachers, students, custodial staff, la-dee-da-dee everybody could see who was joined in lunchroom liplocks. But wait, there's more! She'd also specified to the staff that she wanted both hetero and homosexual couples named, which means, of course, that The List outed some gay students.

In a high school in Tennessee.

I'm sure that made for a wonderful learning environment for the outed students. The students say they are now being "treated differently" by students and teachers. I just bet they are.

And Ms. Beasley didn't stop there. Apparently she also called the mother of at least one of the gay students, an 11th grader who'd just made the Dean's list, and outed him to Moms as well.

Now, I'm all for high school kids being open with their parents. I'm reasonably sure my kids would be able to tell me should they be any version of "not straight". The Bohemian, in fact, hasn't quite nailed down what she considers herself. Whatever. Labels schmabels. But we are a progressive left-leaning household in the Seattle area. There are many out gay couples in my kids' high school. I would venture to say it's not as big of a deal here for those students who choose to come out. Not that those kids don't have to deal with ignorance and prejudice - of course they do - but there is a good deal of support in this area, should a student choose to come out at school.

I'm not foolish enough to think that every family or high school environment is going to be supportive for a young gay person. The parent in me thinks yes, I'd want the school to tell me what's going on with my child, but that may not be advisable or even safe in every situation. Did that principal stop to think about the consequences of her actions in calling those parents? Did she talk to the student beforehand? Did she think about the effects on his life? You don't know how those parents are going to react. That kid could end up getting his ass beat, or kicked out into the streets. Hey, it happens, it's not that far fetched. Even if not, coming out is a big deal. How these parents experience The Big Revelation will likely have an effect on their reaction to it. I'm betting that kid would've liked to have some control about how he came out to his parents, classmates and teachers.

This student was scheduled to go on a school trip to New Orleans to help rebuild houses. After the posting of The List, he was told by a teacher that he would no longer be going, due to the possibility he might "embarrass the school by engaging in gay affection."

Are you kidding me?

What this kid wanted to engage in was some public service, being a responsible and contributing member of society, caring about something bigger than himself, building community. You're going to tell a kid who just made the Dean's list and who was going to rebuild houses in a place our own President has all but abandoned, that his services aren't necessary because he has a boyfriend?

So, according to this teacher, being gay is supposed to be the negative aspect in this young man's life? What effect are those words, that rejection, going to have on this young man, on this citizen of our society? (and when I say citizen, I do not mean in the legal sense, I mean as in a contributing member of community.)

You know what? This kid is not "embarrassing", but Principal Beasley's actions are. That teacher's comments are. Shame on them.

I was talking to the Offspring about this story. OK, ranting. Whatever. Teen Demon made the point that it wasn't fair to any of the kids, gay or straight. She said in her school there are kids from traditional Asian families who are not allowed to date, even in the upper grades. If those students were "outed" to their families, it could be disastrous for some of them.

Again, I'm not advocating teenagers keeping major secrets from their families, but hey, things aren't always how we wish they were. In the example Teen Demon brought up, say you've got a good student, a 17-year-old kid who has a boyfriend -- one whom she basically sees only at school -- and this kid gets "outed" simply by virtue of being "part of a couple", whether she has engaged in PDA or not, because some principal put her on a List ... that doesn't seem right.

Male Offspring wondered about kids who may be falsely identified as being part of a couple. What if the staff is wrong in their presumptions?

Seems to me that a little PDA is part of high school life. Come on, did Ms. Beasley never swap saliva by the lockers? Yes, there are limits, and yes, students should practice at least a minimal level of decorum. We're talking affection, not pop, locking and dropping. If things get to that point, seems to me it still could've been handled in a more constructive way.

Seems to me the decision to come out is a personal decision, not one for the schools.

FOX Noise: Lincoln-Douglass Debates

2008-04-30T06:53:00.000-07:00

I'm a bit late to this party, as it's already out on the Internets, and our man Keith Olberman already busted this out on the airwaves, but it was too good to pass up.

You all remember when Hillary Clinton challenged Barack Obama to some good old fashioned, unmoderated, Lincoln-Douglas style debating? Now, I assumed she was referring to this:

The Lincoln-Douglas debates were a series of 7 political debates that took place across Illinois in 1858 between Abraham Lincoln and his opponent, Stephen A. Douglas, in the race for an Illinois seat in the US Senate.

Apparently, the folks at FAUX News were a mite confused at the Douglas part of that deal, as seen in their "reporting" of Senator Clinton's suggestion:

This is the split-screen from the FOX version:

Oh yes they did.

The Douglass to which they referred, of course, is Frederick Douglass -- abolitionist, author, lecturer, newspaper publisher, international traveler, former slave. Black man.

And here on the right, we have Stephen Douglas, Abraham Lincoln's opponent in the aforementioned debates. Senator, pro-slavery politician, racist, unsuccessful presidential contender. White man.

Different guys. Different beliefs. Different locations. Different jobs.

Hey FOX, I'm pretty sure Stephen is your man.

Of course, this begs the question: are the folks at FOX really that ignorant? Did they seriously think that Lincoln debated Frederick Douglass in a series of debates that focused largely on the issue of slavery? Did they really not know the difference between these 2 radically different men? Did they simply not pay attention? Not catch it?

Or, some proffer, did they do it on purpose?

Neither would surprise me. Lord knows that the "history" taught in our schools is Eurocentric and leaves a whole lot of information out. I can certainly believe a future FOXer could make it to graduation without having more than a vague recollection of Frederick Douglass's name. On the other hand, I can also believe they'd pull that shit on purpose.

I just continue to marvel at the fact that the conservatives expect people to take FOX seriously as a news source.

What the Hell?

2008-04-29T22:26:00.000-07:00

Created by OnePlusYou

Apparently, the average cussing percentage is around 9%. Pansies. This from the site:

Around 57.8% of the pages on your website contain cussing.
This is 542% MORE than other websites who took this test.

542% more? Well goddamn. And let's be clear, that's 541% above average. That's right. I said above average.

That's what rocking the F-bomb on a consistent basis can get you, people.

Soldier of Fourtune

2008-04-26T23:46:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm still behind on this meme thing. People, I have no problem being tagged as long as you all don't have a problem with a possible months-long lag time. Also, with me not remembering who the hell tagged me for what. If I don't write it down, there's really no point in deluding myself as far as remembering jack shit about the details.

I do remember one thing about this particular meme, thanks to Sling. No, he's not the one who tagged me, (you know who you are. I don't.) but he added one bit to it that, well, just needed to be added.

Anyway, here's the Four Things I've Whatevered In My Life meme:

Four jobs I've had in my life (prior to this one and other than "mom"):
1) Chief bottle-washer, camp store operator, and port-a-potty cleaner at church camp
2) Top Secret communications bitch in the US Army.
3) Telemarketer. (double shifts of saying the same script for the Sears Credit Protection Plan. Over and over and over and over and over and...)
4) Human Resources manager

Four movies I would watch/have watched over and over:
1) Chocolat
2) The Birdcage
3) Charlie's Angels (Shut up. I know.)
4) The Bodyguard. (hahaha! Kidding, people, kidding.)

Four places I have lived:
1) Junction City, KS
2) Hillsboro, OH
3) Ludwigswinkel, Germany
4) Kaposvár, Hungary

Four people I want to bitch-slap right into the middle of next week!: (thanks, Sling.)
1) Gee-Dubya
2) Email spammers
3) Hillary Clinton
4) Tyra Banks

Four people who email me regularly:
1) a woman I used to work with who send lots and lots of FWD'd messages. Rose of Friendship. Jokes. Teddy Bear Hug Chain. Like that.
2) My mom. Sometimes "real" emails (love it), more often political and religious emails in the hopes of bringing me back to the fold. (shoot me now.)
3) Red*
4) Al*
*until I turned into a slackass non-blogger non-emailer.

Four places I have visited:
1) Monastir, Tunisia
2) Tuzla, Bosnia
3) New Orleans, LA
4) Crater Lake, OR

Four TV shows I watch:
1) Brothers & Sisters
2) Medium
3) Moonlight
4) Wife Swap (Shut up. I know.)

Four favorite foods:
1) Burritos
2) Vegetable Korma
3) Any kind of pasta
4) Potatoes in any form

Four places I'd like to be right now:
1) Lake Balaton, Hungary, with a cold beer and a slab of grilled fish
2) Cheers, Kaposvár, Friday night with the old crowd
3) The coast of Spain, Italy, Brazil -- anywhere hot and sunny.
4) My old terrace, about 11pm on a hot clear night, in the green chair with a cold beer and still-warm tiles under my bare feet.

Four things I'm looking forward to this year:
1) Indigo Girls summer concert
2) winning the Mega-Millions
3) summer
4) wow, this one's harder than I thought. I need to get a life...

So there you go.