1. You went to see They Might Be Giants recently, so let's talk about concerts. What was your first concert? What was your favorite? Who have you seen the most? Is there anyone you would have liked to see but didn't get a chance to, due to band breakups, deaths, etc?
My official first concert was Rick Springfield with my mom and cousin when I was about ten. I then went to see Tesla in 9th grade. I have seen some incredible
concerts, but these weren't them. My favorite? Um, I'm excluding small local band shows, so it has to be Patti Smith. She's been such a legend and an inspiration for so long that to actually see her in person (at a small venue, no less) was almost magical. In fact, when she started "Gloria" I almost cried, and I swear I'm not a freak like that.
Who have I seen the most? Well, They Might Be Giants, actually. I've seen them three times, which is more than any other band (NIN is the runner up, at two). There are some local bands I've seen more times than I can count, though, like The Secretions, The Groovie Ghoulies, and The Knockoffs.
I'm sure there are a LOT of bands I'd have liked to see but didn't get a chance to. Most of the classic rock milieu, for one. The one I REALLY regret, though, was that I didn't see Jane's Addiction when the first Lollapalooza came to my town. I was grounded, and I LOVED Jane's Addiction. I did see them later, but I still wished I'd caught that show.
2. What so far has changed most significantly in your life with the upcoming arrival of PeaPod?
That's a hard question. Really, not much has changed yet but for a few physical things. But I sort of have a whole different attitude toward the world. Like, I feel as though I should march in anti-war protests, feed the homeless at Food Not Bombs, walk in the diabetes walk and the breast cancer walk, give money to charity. It's like I'm nesting on behalf of the whole world, and I really want to clean the place up a bit before Peapod gets here. The other thing is that I'm already so concerned with his or her well-being that I don't have time for trivial bullshit. Someone cuts me off on the freeway? No sense being mad -- I need to be safe. Shitty song on the radio? I can turn it off and use the time to sing to Peapod. Can't see at the concert? That's okay, 'cause at least I'm not getting jostled.
3. What's the first thing you do when you go to a zoo?
I don't go to zoos that often. They kind of make me feel sad and hypocritical. But when I DO go (and I went this summer with friends), I tend to like monkeys. They have a lot of personality.
4. Where would you most like to visit? Where would you most like to live?
I've never been to Europe and I've always wanted to. Number one on my list is Ireland, but I'd go anywhere you gave me a plane ticket to. Seriously, if you were like "Here's a ticket to Madagascar, and I scored you the time off work" I'd be in. Vietnam, India... the only place I'm not all that interested in is the American South! It scares me.
As for living, gosh, that's so hard. If I could move my job, my family, and Sweetie's family to Santa Cruz, then there. I love the weather and the ocean and the mellow feel of the town. I also love Portland and Eugene (Oregon). I love the Bay Area, but it's too expensive and busy. Frankly, right now I really like living in Sacramento and can't imagine living anywhere else. I would, however, like to smoosh all of northern California and southern Oregon into nothingness so that Eugene was right next door.
5. If you weren't a teacher, what would you do with your life? Or if teaching is what you would do no matter what, what would make it absolutely perfect for you?
I like being a teacher. But I have thought that I might like to be an editor. I edited the literary journals at Sac City and Sac State, and I liked doing all the reading, selecting the best pieces, giving feedback where appropriate, and seeing the finished product. I also once edited a friend-of-a-friend's novel, and I really enjoyed that. I did proofreading, but also real editing.
My second choice would be a freelance writer, but I think I'm far too lazy for that.
I've said before than in retirement, I'd like to run a small bookstore, but it's looking like that's a dying trade. Sad.
Thanks for the awesome questions, Des! I'll do questions for someone else if you want to do this, but I can't guarantee mine will be so insightful.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Belly pic for public consumption
I suppose I should have put on make-up.
My belly is still a little funky -- it's not all round and popped out yet. It's like there's still an indentation at what used to be my waistband. But here it is! Ta da!
Did I mention Peapod's been moving? I can feel it. Not a ton, but about once a day, either a little flutter or a big bloop. It's really, really, really cool.
My belly is still a little funky -- it's not all round and popped out yet. It's like there's still an indentation at what used to be my waistband. But here it is! Ta da!
Did I mention Peapod's been moving? I can feel it. Not a ton, but about once a day, either a little flutter or a big bloop. It's really, really, really cool.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Why is the world in love again?
Why are we marching hand in hand? Why are the ocean levels rising up? It's a brand-new record, for 1990, They Might Be Giants' brand-new album.... FLOOOOD!
Okay, so that was 17 years ago. I'm still in love with that album. Drummergirl and I were talking last night, and I can't remember exactly when I discovered TMBG, but Tiny Toons may have been involved. I can distinctly remember listening to "Istanbul, Not Constantinople" in my sophomore year, which was, in fact, 1990/91.
The show was great. We sat in a balcony in the back, which is funny, because I used to be devoted to and good at getting REALLY close to the front. I've been sweated on by more rock stars than I care to admit. But I didn't want to get crushed, so we sat comfortably far away. Any chance of eye contact with either John? No, but Peapod's safety is about a billion times more important. At one point, I thought I smelled grenadine, and I realized that a Shirley Temple would be delicious! I had two, and they were!
They played a lot of newer stuff I wasn't as familiar with, but they also played several things from John Henry, Apollo 18, and Flood, so I was happy. As they came out for the encore, Drummergirl said "Wouldn't it be great if they played 'Particle Man'?" I agreed, but said I'd really like to hear "Istanbul..." They played both! We bounced (carefully) and danced and sang. And at one point, saw a really drunk guy get punched out. And then found out he was the brother of a guy I briefly dated.
Oh, and yesterday I said I hadn't seen them since 1994 or something -- not true! I forgot I saw them at CSUS a few years ago as well. So I embrace my dorkhood -- I have seen They Might Be Giants three times.
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Two Peapod notes: He or she has been moving around in there. I noticed it first Wednesday night at ballet, but it just happened for a moment, and I wasn't sure what it was. To be honest, it feels a lot like when gas is moving around in there, but it's really confined to one tiny area, and goes straight up, then stops. I've felt it a few times since then, including this morning, when apparently Peapod was quite active!
And I DID see the comment requests for belly pictures and I WILL honor that request, but I want to take a good picture first.
Okay, so that was 17 years ago. I'm still in love with that album. Drummergirl and I were talking last night, and I can't remember exactly when I discovered TMBG, but Tiny Toons may have been involved. I can distinctly remember listening to "Istanbul, Not Constantinople" in my sophomore year, which was, in fact, 1990/91.
The show was great. We sat in a balcony in the back, which is funny, because I used to be devoted to and good at getting REALLY close to the front. I've been sweated on by more rock stars than I care to admit. But I didn't want to get crushed, so we sat comfortably far away. Any chance of eye contact with either John? No, but Peapod's safety is about a billion times more important. At one point, I thought I smelled grenadine, and I realized that a Shirley Temple would be delicious! I had two, and they were!
They played a lot of newer stuff I wasn't as familiar with, but they also played several things from John Henry, Apollo 18, and Flood, so I was happy. As they came out for the encore, Drummergirl said "Wouldn't it be great if they played 'Particle Man'?" I agreed, but said I'd really like to hear "Istanbul..." They played both! We bounced (carefully) and danced and sang. And at one point, saw a really drunk guy get punched out. And then found out he was the brother of a guy I briefly dated.
Oh, and yesterday I said I hadn't seen them since 1994 or something -- not true! I forgot I saw them at CSUS a few years ago as well. So I embrace my dorkhood -- I have seen They Might Be Giants three times.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Two Peapod notes: He or she has been moving around in there. I noticed it first Wednesday night at ballet, but it just happened for a moment, and I wasn't sure what it was. To be honest, it feels a lot like when gas is moving around in there, but it's really confined to one tiny area, and goes straight up, then stops. I've felt it a few times since then, including this morning, when apparently Peapod was quite active!
And I DID see the comment requests for belly pictures and I WILL honor that request, but I want to take a good picture first.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Must be Friday
What a strange day so far! In 1st period, the design tech teacher (zero period) kept my kids to do some work, so I had a quiet study period for the few who were here.
In 2nd period we were talking about symbols in literature, and I was going to say "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar," but found that they needed quite a bit of background information on Freud. We ended up talking about phallic and yonic symbols, and I said "so, you know, anytime there's like a dark, wet tunnel, like a WELL, there's a pretty decent chance you could read it in a Freudian way." (We happen to be reading a book about a dude who goes down a well.) Anyway, then we start talking about what that might mean, and I am trying to guide them to the idea of rebirth, but they're not following. I'm like "Well, what's at the end of that lady-part tunnel? What's on the other side if you go through it?" A kid answers seriously, "The butthole?" If that's their grasp of anatomy, we're in trouble, folks. but it was nevertheless an enlightening discussion, because once we (finally) got to rebirth, I was like "Well, when he comes out, is he different, or changed?" And the frickin' light bulbs went on all around the room.
Then at lunchtime, one of my kids from 6th period came in. I'd given them an article to read from Ms. Magazine that was an interview with Jean Kilbourne (I admit! I am brainwashing them with my liberal views!). They were fairly interested, and when I said she'd made several documentaries, they asked if they could watch one. I had to say no, because the movies are sold for like $100, and I can't check them out of the CSUS library. Well, uh, one kid managed to get a copy anyway ("Arr! Avast, ye mateys!") and brought it in today to ask if we could watch it. Sorry, all you copyright lovers, but I said yes. Anyway, he hooked up the DVD player and put it in to make sure it worked, and then he and a friend sat there and watched quite a bit of it. He was, in fact, explaining bits of it to the friend. He had apparently watched it 5 times last night. Does anyone else find it strange, yet encouraging, that a male high-school junior is so intrigued by a documentary detailing the sexist nature of advertising that he'd watch it five times?
And the icing on today's weird-but-good cake is that Drummergirl got tickets to see They Might Be Giants in town tonight, and doesn't have someone to go with, so she asked MEEEE! What a lucky, strange day.
In 2nd period we were talking about symbols in literature, and I was going to say "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar," but found that they needed quite a bit of background information on Freud. We ended up talking about phallic and yonic symbols, and I said "so, you know, anytime there's like a dark, wet tunnel, like a WELL, there's a pretty decent chance you could read it in a Freudian way." (We happen to be reading a book about a dude who goes down a well.) Anyway, then we start talking about what that might mean, and I am trying to guide them to the idea of rebirth, but they're not following. I'm like "Well, what's at the end of that lady-part tunnel? What's on the other side if you go through it?" A kid answers seriously, "The butthole?" If that's their grasp of anatomy, we're in trouble, folks. but it was nevertheless an enlightening discussion, because once we (finally) got to rebirth, I was like "Well, when he comes out, is he different, or changed?" And the frickin' light bulbs went on all around the room.
Then at lunchtime, one of my kids from 6th period came in. I'd given them an article to read from Ms. Magazine that was an interview with Jean Kilbourne (I admit! I am brainwashing them with my liberal views!). They were fairly interested, and when I said she'd made several documentaries, they asked if they could watch one. I had to say no, because the movies are sold for like $100, and I can't check them out of the CSUS library. Well, uh, one kid managed to get a copy anyway ("Arr! Avast, ye mateys!") and brought it in today to ask if we could watch it. Sorry, all you copyright lovers, but I said yes. Anyway, he hooked up the DVD player and put it in to make sure it worked, and then he and a friend sat there and watched quite a bit of it. He was, in fact, explaining bits of it to the friend. He had apparently watched it 5 times last night. Does anyone else find it strange, yet encouraging, that a male high-school junior is so intrigued by a documentary detailing the sexist nature of advertising that he'd watch it five times?
And the icing on today's weird-but-good cake is that Drummergirl got tickets to see They Might Be Giants in town tonight, and doesn't have someone to go with, so she asked MEEEE! What a lucky, strange day.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Salt of the earth...
My poor sweetie. I got home from work today and my punkinhead called me and said "Was there some sort of accident in the kitchen this morning?"
What kind of accident?
I don't know... never mind.
No, seriously, was there water on the floor?
No.
Blood?
No.
Was there broken glass?
No.
Well what happened, baby?
Oh, well, my sandwich was really salty.
It turns out that the kind of peanut butter that you have to mix the oil into also has a very salty portion right at the bottom of the jar. If you don't mix up the WHOLE thing, you end up with salty peanut butter. Very salty peanut butter.
So then I started making dinner. I was planning on a curry, and I started by browning some garlic. If I'm not using garlic on something like garlic bread, I chop it with salt, because it helps release the oils. So there's salty garlic cooking when Sweetie comes in again.
Whatcha doin?
Making a curry.
I thought we were going to have leftovers?
Why would we have leftovers?
Of lasagna!
But you NEVER eat leftovers. You hate leftovers.
I eat leftovers of lasagna.
Okay, well let's have that tomorrow.
*Hangdog look* Well, how far have you gotten?
Not far, just the garlic, mainly.
Oh. Well do you have band practice tomorrow?
I don't think... Hey! You have an ulterior motive! Do you want sandwiches tomorrow?
*Sheepish smile*
Okay, fine, we'll have lasagna tonight.
We can put the garlic on bread! (He takes off to lay down.)
I heat up the lasagna and eat mine, and when he gets up again, he goes to eat his. I forgot to tell him that the browned garlic was salty. So he put it on his lasagna. Poor dude.
What kind of accident?
I don't know... never mind.
No, seriously, was there water on the floor?
No.
Blood?
No.
Was there broken glass?
No.
Well what happened, baby?
Oh, well, my sandwich was really salty.
It turns out that the kind of peanut butter that you have to mix the oil into also has a very salty portion right at the bottom of the jar. If you don't mix up the WHOLE thing, you end up with salty peanut butter. Very salty peanut butter.
So then I started making dinner. I was planning on a curry, and I started by browning some garlic. If I'm not using garlic on something like garlic bread, I chop it with salt, because it helps release the oils. So there's salty garlic cooking when Sweetie comes in again.
Whatcha doin?
Making a curry.
I thought we were going to have leftovers?
Why would we have leftovers?
Of lasagna!
But you NEVER eat leftovers. You hate leftovers.
I eat leftovers of lasagna.
Okay, well let's have that tomorrow.
*Hangdog look* Well, how far have you gotten?
Not far, just the garlic, mainly.
Oh. Well do you have band practice tomorrow?
I don't think... Hey! You have an ulterior motive! Do you want sandwiches tomorrow?
*Sheepish smile*
Okay, fine, we'll have lasagna tonight.
We can put the garlic on bread! (He takes off to lay down.)
I heat up the lasagna and eat mine, and when he gets up again, he goes to eat his. I forgot to tell him that the browned garlic was salty. So he put it on his lasagna. Poor dude.
Maternity clothes
Hiya. I think I mentioned before that I bought some maternity clothes, and I got some others from friends who handed them down. Of course, what I got were mostly autumn/cool weather clothes. And it is 90 degrees in Sacramento, and I have discovered a problem. I already need the clothes.
The pants aren't a problem, because I can comfortably wear pants in warmer weather. But the shirts are a problem. I already have a little belly, and all my regular shirts ride up over it, exposing not only the panel of the maternity pants, but also my belly! I can't wear most of the maternity shirts I bought, because even the lightest ones are 3/4 sleeves and heavy cotton.
Well, last night I got my eyebrows done, and between a combination of a slightly later appointment than usual and heavier traffic than usual, I missed ballet. So instead, I went to Target, where I bought four new maternity shirts, including two tank tops, one of which I'm wearing today under a Hawaiian shirt. It's perfect, because it covers the belly and the panel pants. Yay for executive decisions!
The pants aren't a problem, because I can comfortably wear pants in warmer weather. But the shirts are a problem. I already have a little belly, and all my regular shirts ride up over it, exposing not only the panel of the maternity pants, but also my belly! I can't wear most of the maternity shirts I bought, because even the lightest ones are 3/4 sleeves and heavy cotton.
Well, last night I got my eyebrows done, and between a combination of a slightly later appointment than usual and heavier traffic than usual, I missed ballet. So instead, I went to Target, where I bought four new maternity shirts, including two tank tops, one of which I'm wearing today under a Hawaiian shirt. It's perfect, because it covers the belly and the panel pants. Yay for executive decisions!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Crazy serial killer story.
Suzanne of the Campaign for Unshaved Snatch and Other Rants posted the "serial killer question" the other day (go see her post for details). It reminded me of this story of my mom's from her tenure at the coroner's office.
Jack Barron's wife passed away first. At the time, it was somewhat suspicious, but not so suspicious that it was ruled a homicide. Some of Jack's friends knew he was a big Wynona Judd fan, so they wrote her, and she sent him a card.
Shortly after his wife's death, his girlfried, a co-worker, moves in. One night, his 2-year-old has a cold, and he hires a babysitter and goes to work. The next morning, the child is found dead. He was at work all night -- a rock-solid alibi, right? The babysitter didn't want to admit that she hadn't checked on the kids, so it didn't immediately come to light that she had not seen the child alive after Jack went to work. Jack's friends alert Wynona again, and this time he gets concert tickets, t-shirts, backstage passes... He gets to take photos with Wynona. The kid's death is undetermined, but they suspect maybe there's some heart defect or other genetic disorder that killed the mom and the child.
The girlfriend becomes suspicious and moves out. Finally, the third child dies in a nearby county. The coroner calls my mom and says "Listen, I know these other two cases weren't yours, but if this were your case, what would you do?" Mom says she'd start looking for patterns. And out of curiosity, she does. She pulls the other two cases and notices that two of the deaths were on a Sunday the 7th. The third was a Monday the 8th... But wait! That was the kid that died the night before he was found -- on a Sunday the 7th. Mom called the other guy back and shared the information. She and others called the Sheriff's department to ask them to re-open the old cases and to give them the information they'd found. The Sheriffs were dismissive (although later, that Sunday the 8th thing turned out to be a hufe piece of evidence in his trial). Jack Barron was STILL a free man.
He was apparently a real OCD neat freak who saw his family as a burden -- didn't like the mess and anarchy of having a family, and enjoyed the attention of Ms. Judd. Munchausen syndrome is when you hurt yourself or make yourself sick for the attention. Munchausen by proxy is when you do it to your kids. Apparently that's what he had.
Oh, so wait, I mentioned a trial? Yep, they finally caught him -- after one more murder! He moved into his Mom's house after his wife and kids were dead, and was keeping quiet there. Until one morning, the mom turned up dead. The coroner in that county actually decided it wasn't a coroner case and released the body. But then some neighbors said they thought there might be something going on in Sacramento with Jack Barron, something about his kids. That county called Sacramento and asked whether they should know anything about the son. What's his name? They asked. "Jack Barron." The answer was "Open that case, and get the body back!"
He is serving three consecutive life sentences.
There's a book about it:
http://www.amazon.com/Dying-Daddy-Family-Martins-Library/dp/0312966326
Jack Barron's wife passed away first. At the time, it was somewhat suspicious, but not so suspicious that it was ruled a homicide. Some of Jack's friends knew he was a big Wynona Judd fan, so they wrote her, and she sent him a card.
Shortly after his wife's death, his girlfried, a co-worker, moves in. One night, his 2-year-old has a cold, and he hires a babysitter and goes to work. The next morning, the child is found dead. He was at work all night -- a rock-solid alibi, right? The babysitter didn't want to admit that she hadn't checked on the kids, so it didn't immediately come to light that she had not seen the child alive after Jack went to work. Jack's friends alert Wynona again, and this time he gets concert tickets, t-shirts, backstage passes... He gets to take photos with Wynona. The kid's death is undetermined, but they suspect maybe there's some heart defect or other genetic disorder that killed the mom and the child.
The girlfriend becomes suspicious and moves out. Finally, the third child dies in a nearby county. The coroner calls my mom and says "Listen, I know these other two cases weren't yours, but if this were your case, what would you do?" Mom says she'd start looking for patterns. And out of curiosity, she does. She pulls the other two cases and notices that two of the deaths were on a Sunday the 7th. The third was a Monday the 8th... But wait! That was the kid that died the night before he was found -- on a Sunday the 7th. Mom called the other guy back and shared the information. She and others called the Sheriff's department to ask them to re-open the old cases and to give them the information they'd found. The Sheriffs were dismissive (although later, that Sunday the 8th thing turned out to be a hufe piece of evidence in his trial). Jack Barron was STILL a free man.
He was apparently a real OCD neat freak who saw his family as a burden -- didn't like the mess and anarchy of having a family, and enjoyed the attention of Ms. Judd. Munchausen syndrome is when you hurt yourself or make yourself sick for the attention. Munchausen by proxy is when you do it to your kids. Apparently that's what he had.
Oh, so wait, I mentioned a trial? Yep, they finally caught him -- after one more murder! He moved into his Mom's house after his wife and kids were dead, and was keeping quiet there. Until one morning, the mom turned up dead. The coroner in that county actually decided it wasn't a coroner case and released the body. But then some neighbors said they thought there might be something going on in Sacramento with Jack Barron, something about his kids. That county called Sacramento and asked whether they should know anything about the son. What's his name? They asked. "Jack Barron." The answer was "Open that case, and get the body back!"
He is serving three consecutive life sentences.
There's a book about it:
http://www.amazon.com/Dying-Daddy-Family-Martins-Library/dp/0312966326
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Quickie
Hiya! I went to Drummergirl's bachelorette BBQ on Saturday, which was great fun. Got to see my friend Leafy Greens, who's pretty settled in PDX these days. Also got to catch up with the Gynas and another couple old friends. Good times. Plus, sometimes I forget how funny I am. When we reminisce about funny shit that got said in the past, a lot of it was by me. For example, someone said something about having a "round in the chamber," and we all laughed. Leafy Greens, apparently thinking I was laughing to be polite, kindly informed me that it was their new euphemism for having to poop. "I know," I replied, "I made that one up."
Sunday I went to see "Jersey Boys" with Mom and two friends of hers. It was good -- I can honestly say I didn't know a THING about Franki Valli and the Four Seasons, but it turns out that I know a ton of their music. Well, sure, I mostly know "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" via the Pet Shop Boys' version, but whatever. It was a good show. I noticed especially that the three women who took ALL the female parts really worked their asses off!
Work is fine -- I was observed yesterday and it went well. My principal had some suggestions for me today, but they were of the "You rock already, and here's how to ratchet a few things up" variety rather than the "Whoo, you need help" variety.
All's quiet on the Peapod front (no movement, no new info), but just this week I'm starting to show a little. My waistband, which has been slowly disappearing, is now pretty much gone and my belly is significantly rounder. I kind of like it, and I'm kind of going "Oh my gosh, my figure!" Not that I was a ten to begin with, but I had a waist...
And finally, last but not least, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to MOCKULA'S MOM!! She's the best mom ever.
Sunday I went to see "Jersey Boys" with Mom and two friends of hers. It was good -- I can honestly say I didn't know a THING about Franki Valli and the Four Seasons, but it turns out that I know a ton of their music. Well, sure, I mostly know "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" via the Pet Shop Boys' version, but whatever. It was a good show. I noticed especially that the three women who took ALL the female parts really worked their asses off!
Work is fine -- I was observed yesterday and it went well. My principal had some suggestions for me today, but they were of the "You rock already, and here's how to ratchet a few things up" variety rather than the "Whoo, you need help" variety.
All's quiet on the Peapod front (no movement, no new info), but just this week I'm starting to show a little. My waistband, which has been slowly disappearing, is now pretty much gone and my belly is significantly rounder. I kind of like it, and I'm kind of going "Oh my gosh, my figure!" Not that I was a ten to begin with, but I had a waist...
And finally, last but not least, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to MOCKULA'S MOM!! She's the best mom ever.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Okay, just a little baby stuff
We got the crib! (Thanks, Mom! And thanks Dad, for helping move it.) So here are a few pictures of the crib and the room (there are a few more things to do, like get a file cabinet out of there, so I'm not showing you that view yet).
Friday, September 14, 2007
I'm feeling pissy.
Yesterday I found out (quite unexpectedly) that I am expected ("No, it is not optional. Not in any way.") to teach a curriculum that I think is REALLY beneath my students. I complained about it to a co-worker, and we (and another co-worker) are mounting a campaign against it, which is positive, but nevertheless puts me in the middle of another curriculum battle. Maybe more about that later. Let's just say that as a culminating activity for TENTH graders, they are expected to "free write" about their feelings. Yeah, that'll prepare them for college.
And then today, my brilliant plan to get all my grades online tanked. Geocities pulled my web site because it violated the terms of service by storing data for use by another web site (also mine). Which I totally, absolutely did. Their free web site doesn't have enough storage space for what I need to do. On the other hand I don't want to pay for the upgrade. I wonder if I could write it off on my taxes? Anyway, I had finished all my grades, exported them all to the web format, and uploaded about 80 of them (without an FTP program, so I had to do it one by one!), and then announced to my kids that their grades would be available on the web when I got the message that they pulled my site. Fuckers. So nothing is working out quite as I would want. Well, tonight I get to eat Lebanese with my Sweetie, and tomorrow is Drummergirl's bachelorette party. Never mind that I have a ton of work to do this weekend, too -- we won't speak of that. I hope you're having a better time than I am.
And then today, my brilliant plan to get all my grades online tanked. Geocities pulled my web site because it violated the terms of service by storing data for use by another web site (also mine). Which I totally, absolutely did. Their free web site doesn't have enough storage space for what I need to do. On the other hand I don't want to pay for the upgrade. I wonder if I could write it off on my taxes? Anyway, I had finished all my grades, exported them all to the web format, and uploaded about 80 of them (without an FTP program, so I had to do it one by one!), and then announced to my kids that their grades would be available on the web when I got the message that they pulled my site. Fuckers. So nothing is working out quite as I would want. Well, tonight I get to eat Lebanese with my Sweetie, and tomorrow is Drummergirl's bachelorette party. Never mind that I have a ton of work to do this weekend, too -- we won't speak of that. I hope you're having a better time than I am.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I got tagged for a meme!
This never happens to me.. I'm so excited! Sueb0b at Red Stapler is the culprit!
Total number of books owned: I have no idea. Hundreds and hundreds. I fill a large bookshelf and a half inside the house, and most of two long shelves in the garage. Let's not discuss the bedside mountain, er, stack.
Last book bought: Do people buy just one book at once? I bought eight last time I was at Borders. Of that batch, the last one I read was "How to Read Literature Like a Professor." I enjoyed it, too.
Last book read: Oh crap, I already mentioned that one. Well, the one before that was "Dirty Sugar Cookies" by Ayun Halliday. A foodie-memoir. I like that, too. Gee, I haven't been reading much fiction...
Five Books that Mean a Lot to You:
Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Thoughts on Writing and Life. As always, she's inspirational, moving, funny, and relatable.
Lewis Caroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. As a kid, I liked the story. As a teen, I related to the Alice lost and confused in a crazy world. As an adult, I relate to the Alice who faces the crazy world and basically tells it to shove off because she's doing things her way.
JD Salinger, Catcher in the Rye. As one of the first "adult" books I read (in 4th grade, I think), it helped open my eyes to what literature could be. I still find it poignant that Holden wants to erase all the "fuck"s from his sister's school and I'm still sad when he breaks the record he's bought for her.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby. I know so many people who hate this book, it's not funny. But the sad portrayal of the American dream, the vivid portrayal of the jazz age, Nick's distance, the betrayals, the careless people... I love it all.
(I'm half-tempted, here, to make this a much longer list, but I'll resist.)
Best Five Books You Read in the Last Year:
Amy Tan -- Saving Fish from Drowning (not her best book, though)
Ian McEwan --- Saturday
Jonathan Safran Foer -- Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Salman Rushdie -- Shalimar the Clown
Jose Saramego -- Blindness
(I suspect I read all those in the last year, but I'm not positive. Call it year and a half, and we'll be safe.)
I tag -- wait, no one reads my blog but those who've already been tagged! If you read it, tag yourself.
Total number of books owned: I have no idea. Hundreds and hundreds. I fill a large bookshelf and a half inside the house, and most of two long shelves in the garage. Let's not discuss the bedside mountain, er, stack.
Last book bought: Do people buy just one book at once? I bought eight last time I was at Borders. Of that batch, the last one I read was "How to Read Literature Like a Professor." I enjoyed it, too.
Last book read: Oh crap, I already mentioned that one. Well, the one before that was "Dirty Sugar Cookies" by Ayun Halliday. A foodie-memoir. I like that, too. Gee, I haven't been reading much fiction...
Five Books that Mean a Lot to You:
Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Thoughts on Writing and Life. As always, she's inspirational, moving, funny, and relatable.
Lewis Caroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. As a kid, I liked the story. As a teen, I related to the Alice lost and confused in a crazy world. As an adult, I relate to the Alice who faces the crazy world and basically tells it to shove off because she's doing things her way.
JD Salinger, Catcher in the Rye. As one of the first "adult" books I read (in 4th grade, I think), it helped open my eyes to what literature could be. I still find it poignant that Holden wants to erase all the "fuck"s from his sister's school and I'm still sad when he breaks the record he's bought for her.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby. I know so many people who hate this book, it's not funny. But the sad portrayal of the American dream, the vivid portrayal of the jazz age, Nick's distance, the betrayals, the careless people... I love it all.
(I'm half-tempted, here, to make this a much longer list, but I'll resist.)
Best Five Books You Read in the Last Year:
Amy Tan -- Saving Fish from Drowning (not her best book, though)
Ian McEwan --- Saturday
Jonathan Safran Foer -- Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Salman Rushdie -- Shalimar the Clown
Jose Saramego -- Blindness
(I suspect I read all those in the last year, but I'm not positive. Call it year and a half, and we'll be safe.)
I tag -- wait, no one reads my blog but those who've already been tagged! If you read it, tag yourself.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Brevity is the soul of wit.
I slept 11 hours Monday night -- fell asleep reading at 7:30 and only woke up to brush my teeth and go back to bed.
School is still going well. No big, interesting news there.
No Peapod news. Everything is fine, presumably.
Big weekend -- Drummergirl's bachelorette. I'm going to the BBQ part, not the drinking or the shooting part (just FYI, the shooting is before the drinking, thank goodness).
Last weekend -- AIDS walk was fun. If I was in charge, I'd assign volunteers in shifts to avoid 6-hour-burnout and also the long, boring break in the middle. We met a nice guy named Paul and became a volunteer supergroup. Seniors showed up and were helpful. Juniors showed up and were not (they were so late they couldn't even get to the "cheering stations" before the walkers did).
Bad news -- My mom's good friend passed away Monday. She was only 60, and in good health. She was known for her upbeat personality, crazy stories, hilarious delivery, and being a bit of a freak magnet (or a freakish situation magnet... odd things happened to her really regularly). And collecting elves. I am very sad, both at the situation in general and also for my mom, who has only had a few really good friends in the course of her life. Tragically, Brianna is the third one to have passed before her time. The up side, if there is one, is that the last (or nearly last) thing she said to her husband was that it was the luckiest day of her life. If I have to go out some day, I hope it's in that kind of mood. No suffering, just fast. Feeling lucky.
School is still going well. No big, interesting news there.
No Peapod news. Everything is fine, presumably.
Big weekend -- Drummergirl's bachelorette. I'm going to the BBQ part, not the drinking or the shooting part (just FYI, the shooting is before the drinking, thank goodness).
Last weekend -- AIDS walk was fun. If I was in charge, I'd assign volunteers in shifts to avoid 6-hour-burnout and also the long, boring break in the middle. We met a nice guy named Paul and became a volunteer supergroup. Seniors showed up and were helpful. Juniors showed up and were not (they were so late they couldn't even get to the "cheering stations" before the walkers did).
Bad news -- My mom's good friend passed away Monday. She was only 60, and in good health. She was known for her upbeat personality, crazy stories, hilarious delivery, and being a bit of a freak magnet (or a freakish situation magnet... odd things happened to her really regularly). And collecting elves. I am very sad, both at the situation in general and also for my mom, who has only had a few really good friends in the course of her life. Tragically, Brianna is the third one to have passed before her time. The up side, if there is one, is that the last (or nearly last) thing she said to her husband was that it was the luckiest day of her life. If I have to go out some day, I hope it's in that kind of mood. No suffering, just fast. Feeling lucky.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Kay, or "Why I do the AIDS walk"
I don't tell this story very often, primarily because Kay is the mother of a good friend of mine, and I don't want to tell a story that doesn't belong to me. But this is my part of the story.
When I was 15, life sucked. There's no nicer way to put it. I was dealing with some teenage depression that led to some bad choices, and it all culminated at 15 with a big suck-fest. I had met G during my sophomore year, but we hadn't become close friends until that summer. I first went to his house that fall, probably in September, and met Kay. She was a young mother -- in fact, though she had a 17 year-old son, she was barely older than I am now. She had three younger sons as well, the youngest of whom was only two, and he had long, curly hair, so that at first I wasn't sure whether he was a boy or a girl. Also living in the house was her step-father, Papa, and sometimes her brother Brad. Papa was retired, and Kay was the only one gainfully employed, and she supported the whole bunch, with some state assistance, and some help from Papa. It was his house -- a place maybe 15 blocks from mine. Inside it sometimes seemed dark, but was always bustling with activity. Kay slept in one room, Papa in another, all four boys in bunk beds in a third, and Brad in a room that was added on to the back of the house. Often, the whole place smelled of Papa's fresh, homemade salsa, the recipe for which I never got out of him, but it was the best I'd ever had. (I swore I wouldn't turn this into a novel, and I can see I'm off track. The memories just flood back.)
You all know I had a great mom, and no need for a second mother figure. Nevertheless, Kay became one. I took to spending hours at their home -- watching movies, listening to CDs, playing D&D with G and friends. Once, after I'd only been coming over for a few months, I was in the kitchen getting myself a pickle out of the jar. I was using a fork. Kay came in and said "What are you doing?!" Realizing my mistake -- taking food from a family that probably couldn't spare it -- I began to apologize. She interrupted, saying "Don't use a fork; you're family! You can stick your fingers in there like everybody else!" It was a different kind of hospitality than I'd grown up with, but a genuine and welcoming kind. Kay used to keep a huge rack in the hallway filled with thirty or more blankets, so that if someone wanted to stay the night without notice, they could have bedding. I recall many, many nights that there were more than 15 people sleeping in the house -- the family, friends of G's, Brad's kids... And then in the morning, there would be pancakes and the smell of coffee, and Papa listening to "Three Coins in the Fountain." (Off track again, I know.)
G told me that Kay was HIV positive that fall. She had known for a while -- had likely contracted it before the youngest boy was born, although he was unaffected. At that time (1991-92), HIV was a death sentence. It still is, I suppose, but people are living with it for so long, it sometimes doesn't seem as immediate a threat. Back then, we wondered what would happen to the youngest boys when she died. She insisted that she was going to see them graduate high school. She also said that death didn't scare her -- she was as likely to be hit by a truck any day.
Kay gave me my first job -- babysitting the boys during the summer. I watched them from 6am, when she left for work, to whenever she came home. I spent a LOT of time with them, at the park, the library, reading books, walking to the store, baking cookies, making play-dough... Often when she came home, I'd stay for a while longer to braid her hair into tight French braids and talk. She would insist that I pull her hair hard so that the braids wouldn't come loose at work or overnight. My junior year picture made it onto the vanity mirror that all her kids' pictures were on. On nights that she went out and I stayed the night to babysit, she let me sleep in her bed.
Over the years, I spent less time there. Once I started college and got my first real job, it was harder. G moved away, so I had somewhat less an excuse to go over, but I still did. It wasn't until the last year of her life that she ever seemed sick. She'd be hospitalized, come home with an IV bag, with bruises where the needles had gone in. Her hair got thin, and she cut it into a neat bob. Finally, she got an infection and lost her eye. Her health went downhill rapidly from there as her will and strength seemed to run out, too. I think it was in 1997 that she passed. That morning is burned into my memory, but the months surrounding it are hazy.
She didn't want a funeral. We didn't have a service of any kind. G gave a small amount of her ashes to CARES, an organization that provided hospice care to her in her final months. CARES made them into a brick that is part of their headquarters on 21st street. Every year that I raise and donate money, I ask that a portion of it go to CARES. Although that morning that she died was heartbreaking, it was made so much easier by the hospice workers that arranged everything. We had all said our goodbyes, and we took the boys to the park. When we came back, she was gone. They took care of everything.
I'd like there to be a cure. Until that day, places like CARES need our support, and they will continue to get mine.
If you'd like to donate, you can click here to sponsor me or here to make a general donation.
In memory of Kay Ann Christian.
When I was 15, life sucked. There's no nicer way to put it. I was dealing with some teenage depression that led to some bad choices, and it all culminated at 15 with a big suck-fest. I had met G during my sophomore year, but we hadn't become close friends until that summer. I first went to his house that fall, probably in September, and met Kay. She was a young mother -- in fact, though she had a 17 year-old son, she was barely older than I am now. She had three younger sons as well, the youngest of whom was only two, and he had long, curly hair, so that at first I wasn't sure whether he was a boy or a girl. Also living in the house was her step-father, Papa, and sometimes her brother Brad. Papa was retired, and Kay was the only one gainfully employed, and she supported the whole bunch, with some state assistance, and some help from Papa. It was his house -- a place maybe 15 blocks from mine. Inside it sometimes seemed dark, but was always bustling with activity. Kay slept in one room, Papa in another, all four boys in bunk beds in a third, and Brad in a room that was added on to the back of the house. Often, the whole place smelled of Papa's fresh, homemade salsa, the recipe for which I never got out of him, but it was the best I'd ever had. (I swore I wouldn't turn this into a novel, and I can see I'm off track. The memories just flood back.)
You all know I had a great mom, and no need for a second mother figure. Nevertheless, Kay became one. I took to spending hours at their home -- watching movies, listening to CDs, playing D&D with G and friends. Once, after I'd only been coming over for a few months, I was in the kitchen getting myself a pickle out of the jar. I was using a fork. Kay came in and said "What are you doing?!" Realizing my mistake -- taking food from a family that probably couldn't spare it -- I began to apologize. She interrupted, saying "Don't use a fork; you're family! You can stick your fingers in there like everybody else!" It was a different kind of hospitality than I'd grown up with, but a genuine and welcoming kind. Kay used to keep a huge rack in the hallway filled with thirty or more blankets, so that if someone wanted to stay the night without notice, they could have bedding. I recall many, many nights that there were more than 15 people sleeping in the house -- the family, friends of G's, Brad's kids... And then in the morning, there would be pancakes and the smell of coffee, and Papa listening to "Three Coins in the Fountain." (Off track again, I know.)
G told me that Kay was HIV positive that fall. She had known for a while -- had likely contracted it before the youngest boy was born, although he was unaffected. At that time (1991-92), HIV was a death sentence. It still is, I suppose, but people are living with it for so long, it sometimes doesn't seem as immediate a threat. Back then, we wondered what would happen to the youngest boys when she died. She insisted that she was going to see them graduate high school. She also said that death didn't scare her -- she was as likely to be hit by a truck any day.
Kay gave me my first job -- babysitting the boys during the summer. I watched them from 6am, when she left for work, to whenever she came home. I spent a LOT of time with them, at the park, the library, reading books, walking to the store, baking cookies, making play-dough... Often when she came home, I'd stay for a while longer to braid her hair into tight French braids and talk. She would insist that I pull her hair hard so that the braids wouldn't come loose at work or overnight. My junior year picture made it onto the vanity mirror that all her kids' pictures were on. On nights that she went out and I stayed the night to babysit, she let me sleep in her bed.
Over the years, I spent less time there. Once I started college and got my first real job, it was harder. G moved away, so I had somewhat less an excuse to go over, but I still did. It wasn't until the last year of her life that she ever seemed sick. She'd be hospitalized, come home with an IV bag, with bruises where the needles had gone in. Her hair got thin, and she cut it into a neat bob. Finally, she got an infection and lost her eye. Her health went downhill rapidly from there as her will and strength seemed to run out, too. I think it was in 1997 that she passed. That morning is burned into my memory, but the months surrounding it are hazy.
She didn't want a funeral. We didn't have a service of any kind. G gave a small amount of her ashes to CARES, an organization that provided hospice care to her in her final months. CARES made them into a brick that is part of their headquarters on 21st street. Every year that I raise and donate money, I ask that a portion of it go to CARES. Although that morning that she died was heartbreaking, it was made so much easier by the hospice workers that arranged everything. We had all said our goodbyes, and we took the boys to the park. When we came back, she was gone. They took care of everything.
I'd like there to be a cure. Until that day, places like CARES need our support, and they will continue to get mine.
If you'd like to donate, you can click here to sponsor me or here to make a general donation.
In memory of Kay Ann Christian.
Friday, September 07, 2007
"How do you spell intelligent?"
Wednesday I had the kids do one of those pseudo time-wasters (because you never get all your students settled until Thursday, at least) where they make an acrostic poem of their name with words that describe themselves. So for Count Mockula, it would be like "Cute. Original. Unique. Neat-o. Timeless." Or some bullshit like that. Well all the kids with "i" in their names yesterday asked me "How do you spell intelligent?" Ironic? A bit, but I refrained from pointing it out.
Anything else interesting? My car's in the shop to fix the window, which was fixed in April, too. Luckily, they're only charging me for parts, not labor (since they "fixed" it before).
We went to Espanol tonight out of desperation. Neither of us wanted to cook, and we couldn't decide where to eat, so we went with the closest restaurant to which we had a gift certificate. Espanol is pretty much always a mistake. It's the most supremely mediocre Italian food (yes, Italian) I've ever had. And it's not super vegetarian friendly, although they were accommodating tonight. It's always filled with old people -- I don't know what that means, but we decided it has to do with bland food and the familiarity of having been around for 50 years or whatever.
I fucked up on Netflix -- I always move the films I want to watch to the top of my list, and the two films I can't seem to get in the mood for hang out in the top two positions. I hear that Winged Migration and The Bicycle Thief are good movies, and I guess I'll find out, now that I forgot to change my top two, and now those are sitting at home. Sheesh. I'd rather have more Deadwood.
This weekend we have a BBQ at Mom's with some friends of theirs (who we really like) from the Delta and their son and daughter-in-law. Then Sunday, Sweetie, Monkeygirl and I are volunteering at the AIDS walk (at 5:30 a.m.!!).
That's all to report for now. Hope everyone's well!
Anything else interesting? My car's in the shop to fix the window, which was fixed in April, too. Luckily, they're only charging me for parts, not labor (since they "fixed" it before).
We went to Espanol tonight out of desperation. Neither of us wanted to cook, and we couldn't decide where to eat, so we went with the closest restaurant to which we had a gift certificate. Espanol is pretty much always a mistake. It's the most supremely mediocre Italian food (yes, Italian) I've ever had. And it's not super vegetarian friendly, although they were accommodating tonight. It's always filled with old people -- I don't know what that means, but we decided it has to do with bland food and the familiarity of having been around for 50 years or whatever.
I fucked up on Netflix -- I always move the films I want to watch to the top of my list, and the two films I can't seem to get in the mood for hang out in the top two positions. I hear that Winged Migration and The Bicycle Thief are good movies, and I guess I'll find out, now that I forgot to change my top two, and now those are sitting at home. Sheesh. I'd rather have more Deadwood.
This weekend we have a BBQ at Mom's with some friends of theirs (who we really like) from the Delta and their son and daughter-in-law. Then Sunday, Sweetie, Monkeygirl and I are volunteering at the AIDS walk (at 5:30 a.m.!!).
That's all to report for now. Hope everyone's well!
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Without going into detail...
Today is the first day of my second trimester (by most counts), and I had my second prenatal visit today. I got to hear the heartbeat. It went wooshawooshawoosha. It is beating at 164 beats per minute. I had expected that it might take her a minute to find it, but as soon as the nurse practitioner put the wand thing on my belly, I heard it!
Other items of note -- she mentioned that I have big feet (I don't think that was a medical opinion on the pregnancy, just a random "Oh, you have big feet!").
And she said that "of course" I wouldn't be able to breastfeed because of my reduction. I sat up, crossed my arms in defiance, and was like "ACTUALLY, I've been doing some reading and blah blah lactation consultant and so there!" She was like "okay, we'll put you down for "planning to breastfeed.." I know I may not be able to fully, but I want to do so at least partially.
Anyway, that's all for now. Baby's doing well and everything is proceeding as expected. Yay for normalcy!
Other items of note -- she mentioned that I have big feet (I don't think that was a medical opinion on the pregnancy, just a random "Oh, you have big feet!").
And she said that "of course" I wouldn't be able to breastfeed because of my reduction. I sat up, crossed my arms in defiance, and was like "ACTUALLY, I've been doing some reading and blah blah lactation consultant and so there!" She was like "okay, we'll put you down for "planning to breastfeed.." I know I may not be able to fully, but I want to do so at least partially.
Anyway, that's all for now. Baby's doing well and everything is proceeding as expected. Yay for normalcy!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
She's gone from suck to blow!
Okay, actually backwards. Today they came and "fixed" my air conditioner. It now sucks air out of the classroom and blows it outside. I wasn't sure, actually, that it was really happening until I held a piece of paper up to the vent and it got sucked up to the vent and stayed there.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Oh, two more uglies
I almost forgot two of the most exciting/lame items from today:
When I was entering campus through the gate, I found that the dumpster was blocking the left side. The left side, when you open it all the way, sticks where you put it. The right side, on the other hand, swings randomly back and forth. And as I drove through? That's right -- it shut on the side of my car. So I have a brand-new ding.
And then there was a surprise -- I didn't know I was going to be sharing my class with a traveling teacher. Normally I don't mind, but you do have to give up board and wall space. Anyway, when my prep came, several students came over wondering where Mr. M's class was. Their schedules said my room. But that didn't faze me -- the students' schedules were all screwed up due to the re-numbering of the rooms. So I kept directing them around the corner to another set of rooms. Well, until Mr. M showed up anyway! So we got it sorted out, he came in and his kids (those who weren't still hopelessly lost) came in, and then... Ms. D came in, and her students came in. That's right, they scheduled TWO classes to use my room during my prep. So I ran to our house leader, who was teaching his own class, but by the time I got him, the VP had seen the commotion in the hall, and it was soon taken care of. But that was exciting while it lasted.
When I was entering campus through the gate, I found that the dumpster was blocking the left side. The left side, when you open it all the way, sticks where you put it. The right side, on the other hand, swings randomly back and forth. And as I drove through? That's right -- it shut on the side of my car. So I have a brand-new ding.
And then there was a surprise -- I didn't know I was going to be sharing my class with a traveling teacher. Normally I don't mind, but you do have to give up board and wall space. Anyway, when my prep came, several students came over wondering where Mr. M's class was. Their schedules said my room. But that didn't faze me -- the students' schedules were all screwed up due to the re-numbering of the rooms. So I kept directing them around the corner to another set of rooms. Well, until Mr. M showed up anyway! So we got it sorted out, he came in and his kids (those who weren't still hopelessly lost) came in, and then... Ms. D came in, and her students came in. That's right, they scheduled TWO classes to use my room during my prep. So I ran to our house leader, who was teaching his own class, but by the time I got him, the VP had seen the commotion in the hall, and it was soon taken care of. But that was exciting while it lasted.
First day -- the good the bad and the ugly
Well, school has started, and I managed to get my room mostly in order, despite the fact that I wasn't allowed inside it until Saturday.
The good -- I got to see all my kids again. Today went fairly smoothly. The room is much cleaner and newer than last year. I didn't have to fight in the copy room to make my copies, so I have enough syllabi for everyone tomorrow. I was not as tired as I expected. Oh, and this is probably wrong of me, but those kids that I *know* are troublemakers and recognized their names on my roll sheet? They didn't show up!
The bad -- The sophomores are, well, undisciplined. And talkative. And seemingly unclear on the "don't trade insults in the middle of class" sort of decorum. They are going to need a good whipping into shape.
The ugly -- The air conditioning, which worked fine all weekend, broke today. So it was about 90 degrees in my classroom. Oh, and although I have plumbing, the water from the water faucet tastes as though you're sucking it through an inner tube.
That's about it (or it is if I still want to make it to ballet tonight). More later, I'm sure.
The good -- I got to see all my kids again. Today went fairly smoothly. The room is much cleaner and newer than last year. I didn't have to fight in the copy room to make my copies, so I have enough syllabi for everyone tomorrow. I was not as tired as I expected. Oh, and this is probably wrong of me, but those kids that I *know* are troublemakers and recognized their names on my roll sheet? They didn't show up!
The bad -- The sophomores are, well, undisciplined. And talkative. And seemingly unclear on the "don't trade insults in the middle of class" sort of decorum. They are going to need a good whipping into shape.
The ugly -- The air conditioning, which worked fine all weekend, broke today. So it was about 90 degrees in my classroom. Oh, and although I have plumbing, the water from the water faucet tastes as though you're sucking it through an inner tube.
That's about it (or it is if I still want to make it to ballet tonight). More later, I'm sure.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
What's disgusting?
I was reading about Senator Craig yesterday. Well, I've read a lot of the articles about the whole "incident," (on the off chance that anyone cares for posterity, the staunchly anti-gay-rights senator got caught trolling for gay sex in an airport men's room), but one thing jumped out at me yesterday. Mitt Romney, a Republican candidate for president, declared the situation "disgusting."
And I couldn't figure out what he meant. Did he mean that gay sex in general is disgusting? Because I know a lot of people who would agree, but frankly, if it involves two consenting adults, I don't give a shit. Straight people get up to some stuff that I'm not into, either, but I'm not ready to call anyone "disgusting." (Maybe if they're doing the Chuck Berry's Hot Breakfast, but I believe that's apocryphal anyway. You may not want to click that, by the way.)
So what's disgusting? The fact that he's denying it and lying about it? Well, that's pretty disgusting, actually. I'd rather see him man up and admit what he did.
Is it disgusting that he's cheating on his wife (with anyone) and potentially exposing her to disease? Yeah, that's pretty disgusting.
Is it disgusting that an apparently gay man has been so full of self-hate that he's fought against gay rights his entire life? I can go with disgusting for that level of hypocrisy.
Is it disgusting that the rest of the Republicans have jumped on this like he's the devil for trying to get some, when they ignored Mark Foley's preying on underage pages? Uh, yeah.
Is it disgusting that our culture is such that people still feel they can't just be gay if they're gay, but have to hide under a facade of straight marriage? Yep.
And is it disgusting that anonymous airport bathroom sex is now the gold standard for what homosexual relationships are like? Absolutely. Listen, I am not going to pretend that bathhouses and the like don't exist. I know that within the gay community, there is a certain amount of sexual freedom that the het world typically looks down on (but engages in to an extent, too, hello swingers). But most of the actual gay people I know are like the rest of us -- serial monogamists. They have relationships. They get condos together. They own pets. They have children sometimes. They watch teevee. They're disappointingly, boringly normal. But are they on the front page of the daily paper? No, toe-tapping bathroom staredowns are. And that's why middle America can go "Gay rights? Gay marriage? Well they don't want marriage like the rest of us have -- they want to buttfuck each other in public restrooms. Bubba Junior! Don't you ever go into a public restroom -- they're crawling with predatory fags."
Here's what I'd like to see more often: A young man (or woman) works his way up in the political sphere. He doesn't talk much about his personal life, and the papers refer to him as a "confirmed bachelor." Maybe there's a rumor that he's gay, but he doesn't respond. And then, after a couple years in the Senate, after he's passed some legislation that the people he represents like, he says "Oh, by the way, I'm gay." And then life goes on. And Bubba Senior maybe says "disgusting," but maybe he also says "but he's been doing a good job. I was real happy with that farm bill -- I'll vote for him again." And the world changes in a tiny, positive way. That would be so much less damaging to us as a society.
Well, back to the real world, I guess. It's disgusting sometimes.
And I couldn't figure out what he meant. Did he mean that gay sex in general is disgusting? Because I know a lot of people who would agree, but frankly, if it involves two consenting adults, I don't give a shit. Straight people get up to some stuff that I'm not into, either, but I'm not ready to call anyone "disgusting." (Maybe if they're doing the Chuck Berry's Hot Breakfast, but I believe that's apocryphal anyway. You may not want to click that, by the way.)
So what's disgusting? The fact that he's denying it and lying about it? Well, that's pretty disgusting, actually. I'd rather see him man up and admit what he did.
Is it disgusting that he's cheating on his wife (with anyone) and potentially exposing her to disease? Yeah, that's pretty disgusting.
Is it disgusting that an apparently gay man has been so full of self-hate that he's fought against gay rights his entire life? I can go with disgusting for that level of hypocrisy.
Is it disgusting that the rest of the Republicans have jumped on this like he's the devil for trying to get some, when they ignored Mark Foley's preying on underage pages? Uh, yeah.
Is it disgusting that our culture is such that people still feel they can't just be gay if they're gay, but have to hide under a facade of straight marriage? Yep.
And is it disgusting that anonymous airport bathroom sex is now the gold standard for what homosexual relationships are like? Absolutely. Listen, I am not going to pretend that bathhouses and the like don't exist. I know that within the gay community, there is a certain amount of sexual freedom that the het world typically looks down on (but engages in to an extent, too, hello swingers). But most of the actual gay people I know are like the rest of us -- serial monogamists. They have relationships. They get condos together. They own pets. They have children sometimes. They watch teevee. They're disappointingly, boringly normal. But are they on the front page of the daily paper? No, toe-tapping bathroom staredowns are. And that's why middle America can go "Gay rights? Gay marriage? Well they don't want marriage like the rest of us have -- they want to buttfuck each other in public restrooms. Bubba Junior! Don't you ever go into a public restroom -- they're crawling with predatory fags."
Here's what I'd like to see more often: A young man (or woman) works his way up in the political sphere. He doesn't talk much about his personal life, and the papers refer to him as a "confirmed bachelor." Maybe there's a rumor that he's gay, but he doesn't respond. And then, after a couple years in the Senate, after he's passed some legislation that the people he represents like, he says "Oh, by the way, I'm gay." And then life goes on. And Bubba Senior maybe says "disgusting," but maybe he also says "but he's been doing a good job. I was real happy with that farm bill -- I'll vote for him again." And the world changes in a tiny, positive way. That would be so much less damaging to us as a society.
Well, back to the real world, I guess. It's disgusting sometimes.
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