Astrodon Johnstoni

Skateboarding is not a crime; but biking is

2010-07-08T21:09:00.010-07:00

I have been meditating on guy culture a lot lately as Jones has taken up extreme biking. Due to parental dereliction, he only just learned to ride this year, but he went straight from insisting I was trying to kill him if I let go of the seat to wanting to jump stuff.

So I've discovered this bike park called the X court, where bikes and scooters and skateboards mix comfortably in a concrete wonderland built expressly for that purpose.

I try to be catcher in the rye in places like this. I don't really want to be a presence, just be there in case he needs spotting. Occasionally there will be some other boys my son's age. Their dads will be trying to coach them. This is not about you, dads. You need to step.

At eight, Jones is definitely one of the newbies and might be considered sort of a pesky little brother, but the guys are good-natured, give him his space, offer condescending but constructive criticism. "Don't do it, little kid," they mutter to each other as they see him teetering on the perilously steep edge of the bowl. They let him flounder around in there for a while before they override his insistence that he's got this and yank him out.

My reaction to them is, of course, much more about me than about them. I ache with ambition for them, as the mother of a boy, but also as a former girl (grrrl?). I vividly remember eyeing up the adolescent boys in my trip and pondering what it would mean to throw my lot in with any of those unlikely characters.

I think about these guys, growing up in the wake of The Atlantic's declaration of "The End of Men," and wonder, seriously, how are boys doing? Their nihilism, their entitlement, their compulsive homo-baiting can send me into fits. Yet I cannot help but find them endearing, how they preen, how they risk life and limb trying to outdo each other, how disputes are settled with a "my bad" and concern is invoked with a "You good?"

I can't make out any factions, although I am constantly having to re-set my calibrations for how much body art and piercing signifies youthful high spirits versus actual malice. They all seem to be variations on the same scrawny, scruff-dog in skinny jeans; what ethnicity there might be obscured by spiked hair and the occasional protective helmet. The thing with the pants belted below the butt and the boxers in full display persists, even where you would think it would get in the way of the athleticism (an impressive level of commitment, in case you were hoping that trend was dying out). There is not one girl in the park itself, although there is a loyal triad of studiously indifferent girls at the picnic tables in the shade.

So this one kid hands me a leaflet. Calls me ma'am. It reads, in its entirety, as follows: "July 17th. Protesting. If you guys want to go to the protest be at the 51 st union hills skate park at 11:30AM and it will start at 12:00. Why are we protesting is because we are sick of us getting kicked out or getting billed for a lot of money. So what we are going to do is protest and get this law throw. If this goes throw then we have a bike park." Do you love that?

I guess the story is that there is another park, the Sk8 court, and bicycles are banned from this park. If you are there with a bike, apparently the rangers will fine you. The glaring injustice of this is clear to any kid who has "been to the mountaintop" and seen bicycles, scooters, and boards co-existing. So they have collectively decided, clearly without benefit of parental direction or spell-check, to take it to the streets. Well, good for them.

I don't know nearly enough about these parks to have an opinion on the issue at hand, but I will say this. I hope the powers-that-be recognize what they have in this ad hoc community of earnest slackers. They are like Prince Harry in Henry IV -- the first act, when he's just hanging out in the tavern with Falstaff. If you squint really hard you can almost see the king, the leader of men, that he will become. He's in there (He needs a haircut and a belt, but he's in there). It may very well be that these guy spaces, these places of cushioned danger and sanctioned subversion, these last bastions of guy culture may be what it takes to bring that out.

Obviously I think so, because you'll see me there at the x-court, dutifully outfitting my prince in helmet and pads and hiding behind a magazine as he makes his first cringe-worthy attempts at tricks and trash-talk. "The kids are alright," my former punk rock self reminds me. And yeah. They really are.

Christmas Letter: Hopelessly old-school or charmingly retro?

2009-12-04T10:38:00.002-07:00

I wrote my first paper on a word processor in 1986. It was my senior year in high school. Although the PC, such as it was, sat in our home in suburban Columbia, the printer was at my father’s office in Baltimore. This necessitated a mad dash into the city on due day to transport the floppy disk, print, and then drive back.

Deadlines were very dramatic in those days, children. There was none of this clicking and sending. Oh there were squealing tires and home-run slides into the classroom. Students would arrange their schedules to avoid the teacher who required footnotes, rather than endnotes.

When I got to college. True story. I had to quick find a boyfriend who could type so that he could format my humble offerings, hand-written on loose-leaf. He was small, trim, furry, and bestowed with the magic of logging onto our school’s internal vax system. For shame, I would wake this poor hobbit up from slumber if I had a deadline.

Years later, when conducting my first job hunt, I had a similar relationship with a guy who worked at Kinko’s. He road a motorcycle and looked like Kiefer Sutherland. But the thing that got me was his way with bullet points.

I am not, what you’d call an early adopter. I was wooed by a man with good penmanship and a mastery of the mix tape. When we married in 1995 was the first time I owned a CD player. My beloved’s i-pod, which trickled down to me when he upgraded, and which he lovingly pre-loaded with prog rock and dreamy girls just for me, sits idle in my glove compartment. And don’t get me started on the proliferation of remote controls.

So, as the curtain closes on the first decade of the century in which I have never felt at home, I contemplate the custom of the Christmas letter. Is there any utility to wrapping up the year’s news in one self-aggrandizing epistle, when it won’t be news to anyone who follows my blog or stalks my FB? Is it ecologically sound to send so much mail? And who should have the honor of receiving it, now that the line between friend and “friend” has become so blurry.

What do you think? If I wrote one, would you want a copy?

Just sayin'

2009-01-20T11:07:00.000-07:00

The secularization of a football hero

2009-01-09T11:22:00.008-07:00

Beloved sent me this article about Kurt Warner's Christianity, about how it's such a sports cliche -- this deflecting praise onto a higher power -- that this obviously significant driving force usually gets cut out of stories about him. The article made it sound like this editing is frustrating to him and to his Xian fan base, because it goes beyond negligent to -- well, the article doesn't go this far, but I'll go ahead and say "censorship."

Enough so that he's become quite a student of the media and how to wedge the God reference into the soundbite. Can't imagine that's very rewarding, but you gotta respect the effort.

Now, I mean, it's not like I think the post-game show is the place to have a meaningful forum on our place in the universe. And I'm not joining the ranks of those drawn to any spiritual practice -- whether it's that old-time religion or Scientology or Kabbalah -- on the recommendation of a celebrity.

And I'm aware of the danger of waving red meat at the Christian partisans who insist on their persecution by the liberal media. This is particularly offensive to me because I have had the privilege of representing asylum seekers who were tortured for their religious commitments. And their blues ain't like your blues.

But all that being said, I'd just like to say that it's not just Warner's Christian partisan fans who would like to see him succeed in having this conversation with the American public. I think all of us seekers out here might just be the richer for letting the man speak.

Or I'm kidding myself. I mean, if my "ultimate dinner party" scenario ever did come true and I got Kurt Warner, my undergrad philosophy prof, Angelina Jolie, W.B. Yeats, and Harvey Milk in the same room, would we all be glowering silently at each other by the cheese course? Maybe. Probably.

But the God-blocking bothers me. Why?

I am reminded of something
Patricia Willams wrote in The Alchemy of Race and Rights about Pushkin -- or was it Beethoven? About how these men were, in their times, proud and insistent on their African heritage, but that to bring up this aspect of their lives now seems so anachronistic that it calls into question the educator's motive. Williams writes of her despair in contemplating that if she ever manages to create something as monumental as did these multi-racial luminaries, "[T]hen the best reward to which I can aspire is that I will be remembered as white."

This thing that's bugging me -- I think that observation begins to get at it. It's just the streamlining effect, the "dumbing down." I mean, It's too bad -- isn't it? -- that the media can't seem to distinguish the obligatory shout-out to Jesus in an acceptance speech from a man's earnest desire to testify. It's interesting -- isn't it? -- it IS! -- that Warner the triumphant QB is also Warner the humble seeker?

So when he gives the invocation at outspoken Muslim Muhammad Ali's Celebrity Fight Night, doesn't knowing that about him make you wonder what that party was like? Might make me revise my ultimate dinner party guest list...

How much do I love?

2008-11-12T18:11:00.001-07:00

"1-800-GOOG-411"?

Obamanos!

2008-11-02T20:33:00.003-07:00

Don't Just Stand There

2008-10-24T09:26:00.000-07:00

Palin's Wardrobe Malfunction

2008-10-23T14:48:00.003-07:00

"All of my descamisados expect me to outshine the enemy, the aristocracy. I won't disappoint them." -- Eva Peron, as imagined by Andrew Lloyd Weber

I believe I've mentioned, I'm a proud Goodwill shopper, myself. So you'd think I'd be the last person to defend Palin's extreme makeover. But it's precisely because I dress like a nun from a liberal order that I defend Palin's astronomical clothing budget.

Because I don't want her job.

And a lot of the reason that I don't want her job -- and most of our nation's best and brightest don't want her job -- is because the scrutiny is way over the line. Especially for women. Especially on appearance.

I have a daughter who is smart and well-spoken and I don't tell her she could grow up to be president because I DON'T WISH THAT ON HER. No more than I would wish her to be a spokesmodel or newscaster or any other job that is contingent on remaining free of zits, panty lines or quadro-boob.

Much though I hate to admit it, I think it speaks to the sincerity of Palin's working class roots, and to the seriousness of the effort to ready her for world leadership, that she needed the Eliza Dolittle treatment. If we believe in meritocracy, if we don't want to be ruled by independently wealthy hobbyists, but by people who know what it is to live off their income, then we have to be willing to accept that the "packaging" of a candidate is a legitimate business expense.

Call her facile. Call her provincial. Call her a race-baiter. Call her a hate-monger. But don't tell me you'd like her better if, like Marge Simpson, she went home every evening and fashioned a new outfit out of the same Chanel suit.

Hey Nineteen, That's Steely Dan

2008-10-18T00:03:00.005-07:00

The other day, the very young receptionist at our office mentioned they were going bowling. "Take the skinheads bowling," I replied.

This response was greeted with a big fat nothing from the receptionist.

You don't know what I'm talking about, do you? I said. Oh, I feel so old. I'm like the guy in that song, "Hey Nineteen."

Again, nothing.

Right.

You don't know "Hey Nineteen." [Oh, the irony.]

Culture Warriors Hijack AZ Elections AGAIN

2008-10-06T10:56:00.007-07:00

A recent article regarding Prop 102 counters an earlier article in which certain AZ Catholic bishops come out for the amendment. Glad though I always am to see the faith community staking out a claim for the straight but not narrow, this proposition is such a tar baby that I'm glad my own congregation is out of it.

My objections to the amendment are legion, but let's start with how cynical a ploy it is. Say I'm a fatcat -- one of these silver spoon, golden parachute types who can't remember how many houses they own. You know -- who get into trouble and then call in a personal favor to get bailed out. Now, say my goal is to stock the White House and Congress with as many people as I can who are giving away corporate welfare and bailouts like candy. Well, I'll give the usual to the Republican candidates, but what else can I do?

I'll give to the right-wing religious groups who are sponsoring ballot measures. Why? Because I want the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth? Because I could care less about gay marriage? No, because I know that when the culture warriors get involved, then they can really turn out the vote for the GOP.

So, lots of well-meaning Christians -- my dear friends and neighbors -- who have swallowed the "assault on family" kool-aid, vote like lemmings for these Republicans, against their better judgement and definitely against their interests. It pains me to contemplate the strategy sessions where my community's deeply held religious convictions are pimped out for lower capital gains tax and drilling in Anwar. I was so proud of my state for being the only state to stand up to these people, the last time (Even if it was only so seniors could double their pensions).

Being myself a participant -- nay, an enthusiast -- in a heterosexual marriage, I am presumably someone who needs to be rescued from the assault. So, to quote Sarah Palin, "Thanks, but no thanks."

Y'know what's "assaulting" my family? Since you asked. That our children are going to be the first generation going way back on either side of our family tree to grow up in a house that's smaller, in a school that's more overwhelmed, in a neighborhood that's more crime-ridden, and with less prospect of getting out of college without crushing debt than the generation before them. This despite the best efforts of my husband and myself, who are working harder for less, and at the same time getting far less from our government, in terms of police, fire, education, or any of the other functions that help ensure quality of life. Not even talking about the bridges and wars that go nowhere.

I make no apologies for the fact that these issues are just a little more pressing for me than the culture wars.

SNL is on a roll.

2008-10-05T08:35:00.003-07:00

We were over at the home of a fellow UU last night. The party was over, but we stuck around to watch the first part of Saturday Night Live. SNL has become stop-what-you're-doing appointment tv.

Arrh!

2008-09-21T21:34:00.000-07:00

My pirate name is:

Dirty Bess Bonney

You're the pirate everyone else wants to throw in the ocean -- not to get rid of you, you understand; just to get rid of the smell. You can be a little bit unpredictable, but a pirate's life is far from full of certainties, so that fits in pretty well. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Spaced out on sensation

2008-09-20T22:34:00.003-07:00

Tonight, our church held an "Oscar Night." Among more sophisticated numbers, the choir did "Time Warp." A member had won the right to this command performance at the church's auction. I wanted him to get his money's worth, so I tried to rally the troops a little. And so, as always happens, I was volunteered for the lead. Volunteered, which is to say, everyone else took a step back and I was standing there. Which occasioned my buying fishnet thigh-highs at our local sex shop "for church." A great recruitment tool, that.

Girl stayed behind to help us clean up. Driving back home, I imagined other mothers recapping the night's experience for their daughters. I imagined that some of them were telling their daughters how pretty they were, how poised, how accomplished. And I told her, in my life, it is quite possible I have never been the most polished person in the room, the best dressed. I'm not saying I haven't had my moments, but I'm not beautiful. I'm not saying I don't have pipes, but I'm no musician. I'm not saying I'm not clever, but I don't have a well-honed intellect.

But what I have been, what I will own, and what I hope to pass on to her, is I have been game. Our people -- our family -- I think that's what we are. We're game.

I am content...

2008-09-14T08:58:00.002-07:00

always to have Tina Fey give the last word on issues of sexism in the media.

"Ask this one about dinosaurs."

Is it just me?

2008-09-04T22:21:00.002-07:00

Or does Palin look like Bessie Busybody from "Lazytown"?

That's no PUMA; That's a HOUND!

2008-08-31T17:43:00.005-07:00

It has been a great contribution to our family's political perspective having belle-mere around. First of all, she watches the news. I mean, hours and hours of it. So, she's up on things.

But, more important, she's a real-life example of these boomer women everybody's been talking about. She worked for Head Start before Reagan choked it to near-death. Though a college grad, she accepted preposterous under-employment because she was on point with the kids. Even working two jobs, she never rallied financially after her divorce. She saved what she could, but she doesn't have a pension. In short, she is precisely the type of pink-collar, old-school, Great Society liberal you would think would be a PUMA, a hold-out for Hillary.

And, indeed, I think it took some doing before she was comfortable with Obama. The choice of old stand-by Biden may have been a turning point. But, the PUMA turns out to be nothin' but a HOUND dog, after all.

Here's the thing. When I hear her and her peers talk. Oh, they'll vent over how the press did Hillary wrong and they'll shake their heads at how Obama needs some more years on him. But, I don't know how the press keeps finding these weepy boomer women sitting vigil for Hillary. My experience of boomer women is they don't base their voting decisions on whether they personally feel dissed by the process. This is not their first dance and they are not looking for love. They will get on board with the Democrats, not because Obama inspires them. Not because of Obama at all. And no, not really because of Bush either. But because, duh, they've been around.

What? You think they've never seen a fat-cat Republican masquerading as a maverick cowboy before? Never seen a Democrat leading light dismissed as a pretty-boy celeb? They can't decipher the code words? Can't follow the money trail?

Watching the press scrutinize Hillary's wardrobe choices may have been condescending, but y'know what else is condescending? Tokenism. Stunt-casting a woman who was not on anyone's shortlist as your running mate? They've seen that play too. So, it should come as no surprise that early polls show them unimpressed with McCain's choice.

I'll be a monkey's uncle

2008-08-29T17:01:00.003-07:00

Seriously? It's gotta be another creationist for president?

Stuffed Animal Olympics

2008-08-28T19:56:00.002-07:00

At our house we are having the stuffed animal olympics, featuring events which start out recognizable, but, when modified to suit teddy bears, take on a Calvinball vibe. Tonight's event was allegedly beach volleyball. Only without the skimpy suits and with rules such as "If the ball goes out of bounds and into the kitchen, one point." After getting beaned enough times, Girl instituted the "If you get hit, that's a point for you." rule. Jones thoughtfully considered this turn of events, and then pitched the ball straight into his own head, yelling "I win!"

Mystery Science Theater Thanksgiving

2008-08-23T20:34:00.003-07:00

While at the Con, Beloved procured for me a poster signed by Joel Hodgson. I'm a fan of his work, but that is not what made this token so dear. He had signed it "Happy Thanksgiving!" Y'see, what my dear spouse knows and perhaps did not share with Joel, is that MST3K, while a fine show, is also a reminder of my personal rock bottom.

It was Thanksgiving. My law school break was so short and I was so deep in a hole that I was staying on in Iowa City. I was boarding in the house of my college friend's mom. It was usually just us in the house. We had settled into a quiet rhythm together. I cleared out as she prepared for the onslaught of kids and grands, and sought out the other Thanksgiving refugees. There were two candidates -- both men I had some history with. One was sort of dodging me. So that left James.

James looked and acted just like Kiefer Sutherland's vampire bad-*ss in "The Lost Boys". Our relationship centered around my need to carpet the legal world with my resume and his job at Kinko's. He was ostensibly taking classes, but more notable were his achievements in horticulture -- of those plants one cultivates with a growlight in one's closet.

James and his buddies were settling in for the MST3K marathon. I thought that sounded like a kitschy way to spend Thanksgiving until I realized that that was the sum total of what we were doing that day. Not eating. Not conversing. Just sitting in rapt silence punctuated by that swallowed laugh, that "h-h-huh" characteristic of stoners. I thought I might leave this pathetic scene until it occurred to me, Where would I go?

Police State

2008-08-21T20:15:00.002-07:00

Now, I'm not saying we live in a police state. Mind you, I'm not saying we DON'T live in a police state. I'm just saying that the only time I hear anybody claim that we're living in a police state it's when a White guy is indignant over Homeland Security's treatment of his wife. Or his son's wife. Oh yeah, our immigration policy is all fun and games until it's your kin in the slammer with all those unclean Mexican border crossers. "Why, they're treating her like a... like a common immigrant." And then, and I am not kidding, this is what always comes next... "What about MY rights?"

Rights to what? To a foreign hottie? That must be somewhere in this penumbra I've heard so much about.

Who you calling Sandy?

2008-08-18T09:04:00.005-07:00

I think it is fair to say that, as a group, culturally, Arizonans don't privilege professionals. This is true across all professions. We consult osteopaths and chiropractors before we'll go to MD's; "document preparers" before lawyers; charter schools before district schools. And we all think we're landscapers and construction engineers.

This is frontier living. Don't let the smarty-pants elites come in from the coast and get rich off of making things more complicated than they need to be. Here we've gotten this far with horse sense and cash on the barrel-head.

I'm sympathetic to this mindset. On the East Coast, where I'm from, it would have been unthinkably flaky to send my children to a charter school or to an osteopath. Then again, on the East Coast, I might not have had the courage to go into business for myself.

But, as an attorney in business for myself, I also see the limits of this thinking. I can sit down with a client and explain to him the limits of his options and inevitably I'll see him later in very different straits after he's paid three times my fee to some unlicensed notario who's promised him the moon.

So I feel for Robert Pela in his confessions of a blog snob. (I like him already because he's a scholar of Baltimore native son John Waters). I feel for him, but with reservations.

As a journalist, he likened his experience of the usual blog fare to that of a chef going to a bakery and finding only "pecan sandies." That comparison is not apt. If I understand him right, I agree with his generalization that most bloggers are unschooled, unedited, and undisciplined compared to real journalists. But then the appropriate comparison is not to "pecan sandies" but to home-made brownies, no?

To further torture the analogy, I think it would be fair to say that lots of home-made brownies, like lots of blogs, are just plain bad. I would even go so ahead and say "toxic." But, ok, SOME home-made brownies, like some blogs, are quite good and, even if not so polished, maybe at least have a charm that comes of being fresh? local? authentic?

And Mr. Pela will surely concede that lots of journalism isn't exactly artisan craft either. It is carelessly re-packaged PR releases and staged puffery. And surely that's your "pecan sandies." (Not to pick on sandies. I rather like sandies.)

Mr. Pela, you are fighting the good fight over at our feisty alternative free weekly, where your investigative reporting fights for attention among the singles ads and "The Angriest Dog in the World." So I know your quarrel is not with my home-made brownies, but with the hegemony of that stale flavorless junk journalism.

You should eat beans with every meal

2008-08-14T22:09:00.003-07:00

In case you're wondering what we do for amusement when my husband is on travel. Tonight I got out a bag of lentils I had bought during an ambitious run of pot-lucks and went rifling through the cookbooks trying to find some use to which they could be put. The hippie recipe for which they had been intended turned out, upon second reading, to be way too weird. Plus, it involved dates and other exotica that we don't keep in the house. I turned to a classic and they had a lentil dish served with Italian sausage that was to die.

I do fondue

2008-08-12T19:27:00.001-07:00

When Beloved is on travel, we often experiment. He and Jones are meat-and potatoes men, but Jones is out-voted when Dad is away.

Tonight, we had gorgonzola fondue, which I bought in bulk from the Harry & David's outlet on the way to pick up the kids from camp. Fondue seems not to have been a big seller for H & D, judging from the big tower of the stuff. More for me, then.

The Lanyard

2008-08-08T20:01:00.004-07:00

And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift--not the archaic truth

that you can never repay your mother,

but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hands,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

--------
Excerpted from The Trouble with Poetry: And Other Poems by Billy Collins

Blood on the Saddle

2008-08-07T20:34:00.005-07:00

As Belle-mere and I were off on a business trip to Flagstaff, Beloved was on point with our two little angels. And it is no comment on his parenting skills that we returned to a scene that evoked a bloody mass-a-kree worthy of "The Country Bear Jamboree". Oh there was blood on the towels, and blood on the walls and, in the words of that celebrated balladeer, Big Al, "A great big puddle of... buh-lood on the ground."

Y'see, Jones used to have asthma. So we moved to the desert for the dry air. And now he has nosebleeds.

Big epic nosebleeds. Entirely my fault, really. Well, or my father's, truth be told. His father's, I shouldn't wonder. Asian nose. Teeny Asian nose. Tinse. It's exacerbated by the fact that he's not very cool about it. Despite our protests, he can't help but hork the whole nasty back up his nose until forced to sneeze a blood-booger-bomb the size of an everlasting gob-stopper onto innocent passers-by, such as, for instance, his mother.

We are comforted by the fact that, alarming as these attacks might be for the innocent passer-by, such as, for instance, his mother, there is no loss of any real volume of blood during a nosebleed. And it's just as well Jones face these inevitable occurrences with good humor.

So, apparently, he got one of these monster nosebleeds during an otherwise uneventful bath. And, being the delightful scamp that we know and love, he decided to make a, well, is there any other word for it than "bloodbath"? Oh, just when you think you have seen everything, that surely there can't be any undiscovered territory of gross and disgusting yet to be explored, "Eureka!" shouts your son.

Church Shooting

2008-08-02T21:57:00.003-07:00

On July 27, 2008, during a children's musical performance, a man entered the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church (TVUUC) and began shooting. He was reportedly intent on killing "liberals."

He killed one TVUUC member, Greg McKendry, 60, an usher and long-time congregant who stood in front of the gunman to protect other church members. Linda Kraeger, 61, a member of Westside Unitarian Universalist Church (located in Farragut, Tennessee) who was visiting TVUUC for the performance, died in a hospital later. Six adults were also injured but no children. The gunman was tackled by congregants and eventually taken into police custody.

In the wake of this horrific event, Unitarian Universalists have rallied to offer ministry and support to the affected members of both congregations.

Our kids are making origami paper cranes in Sunday school.

Comic Widow

2008-07-27T19:49:00.002-07:00

So, apparently there's a word for me and it's Comic Widow. A great moniker, that. Sounds like a bunch of hilarious women yukking it up at the wake. But no, the comic widow is merely the spouse you deposit poolside with the kids while you get your geek on at the con.

Yes, my beloved and our dear friend NiceGrl made the rounds while the kids and I took in San Diego's museums, beaches and pool.

We reconnected at dinner. They'd be all exhausted and freaky, loaded with swag, dumping all of the information from their crania at once, their eyes all bugged out with over-stimulation, and a little moony over some of the celebs. There may have been squealing.

Unclear what impression this is having on Jones, who went with them on one of the days. He likes him some comics and cartoons -- the usual super heroes and such. Beloved turned him on to Avatar, and he is frequently to be found practicing his "air bending skills". Time will tell whether he manifests into a true fanboy.

I think next year I will venture inside. I do think I'd like some of the panels. And I could be more of a helpmate, standing in for him when two events are happening at the same time, bagging more freebies, fending off wookies, or Japanese schoolgirls, as the situation demanded.

My Dad, the Dmn Hll *ss King

2008-07-09T20:53:00.004-07:00

My father's really done it. Just like he said he would. He's moved back to Jamaica.

Me, I never knew Jamaica.

Jamaica came to me in oily packages, carried in an auntie's suitcase. "Bun" an' cheese, hard dough with guava jelly,ackee and saltfish. It was in the patois that would sneak into my father's speech when talking cricket smack to his countrymen or exhorting me to "Comb your hair, you look like a rasta." In the hackneyed double entendres of his calypso records and the smell of petroleum, allspice, and clove.

Every few years, when I would visit, the nearest referent that came to my suburban mind was of Tommy and Annika accompanying Pippi Longstocking to the island where the natives have made her father a king. Later, "The Simpsons" would capture the zeitgeist completely...

BART
What's everyone's problem? I'm glad we're stranded! It'll be just like the Swiss Family Robinson, only with more cursing! We're gonna live like kings! D*mn, h*ll, *ss kings!

[As "Under the Sea" plays, a fantasy sequence is imagined with the kids living in a wonderful tree settlement. Martin takes a shower. Wendell uses a water slide. Sherri and Terri drive a bamboo and grass car. Ralph pigs out on food and a monkey butler brings Nelson a drink. Back to reality.]

BART
And every night the monkey butlers will regale us with jungle stories.

NELSON
How many monkey butlers will there be?

BART
One at first. But he'll train others.

[All the kids marvel at such a great future. Bart climbs down from the rock.]

BART
Good, let's get to work! Me and Nelson will build the treehouse. Martin, draw up plans for a coconut radio, and if possible, a coconut Nintendo system...

My father was no reality check. Despite all evidence to the contrary, his persistently romanticized memories of his island in the sun wooed everyone around him, including two American wives in succession. And then alienated two wives in succession when they realized he wasn't kidding about returning.

The mania to go home again infected many in the extended family. A cousin living in the US on a green card, when his legs were injured in a car wreck, got a big fat settlement, left his wife, and built a big house in Jamaica where he lived like a damn hell ass king, tended to by a fleet of cheap labor nurses. When the cheap labor nurses stole his money and burned his big house to the ground with his paraplegic behind still in it, and he had to beg his wife to sponsor him again, we all thought that would cure my father. But no, his dream lived on.

By all accounts, they've welcomed the native son, killed the fatted calf, and so on. He might not be living like a d*mn h*ll *ss king, but he's got a manservant and a driver and belongs to the club. He'll never have to pour the condensed milk into his own tea again. Now he's on us to move there. He'll get us all cush jobs and the kids will attend the finest boarding schools. what do I know? He's probably got it right.

The Toa of Chandler

2008-06-29T20:04:00.004-07:00

Our long-awaited Lego pilgrimage was a hit! Jones got Bionicles.

The store is actually just a small boutique, but the
experience with the master builder was the real draw.

Laveen

2008-06-28T23:05:00.003-07:00

You ask for La Madeleine's and they give you *^&#%^ Walmart Marketplace. [Sigh]

Ethan?

2008-06-28T22:33:00.002-07:00

Apparently, the fire that's been blazing just down the street from us has a name, and it is Ethan? It's on the Gila River Indian Reservation. There have been conflicting reports about the scope of the thing and how much they have it under control. There've been some evacuations, but so far, it seems not to have done any harm to any people or property.

It's just alarming to us because, being from Maryland, we don't know what to expect from a wildfire. Is it ok that, four days in, the thing is still billowing black smoke that can be seen in Scottsdale and "snowing" ash? Somebody's on that, right?

The Drive-In

2008-06-22T00:08:00.003-07:00

Just saw "Get Smart" at The Glendale 9 Drive-In. It was cheap. The kids could run around. And best of all, the snack concessions included Jamaica (hibiscus) tea AND bubble gum ice cream. Really, what more could anyone ask?

Mawwiage. It's what bwings us togethow.

2008-06-18T21:28:00.004-07:00

This is a picture of Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin when they first began to live in commitment with each other, though they would pass their Golden Anniversary before California would recognize their right to marry.

When putting together our wedding, lo these many years ago, I discovered this poem from Dickinson:

Of all the Souls that stand create –
I have elected — One –
When Sense from Spirit — files away –
And Subterfuge — is done –
When that which is — and that which was –
Apart — intrinsic — stand –
And this brief Drama in the flesh –
Is shifted — like a Sand –
When Figures show their royal Front –
And Mists — are carved away,
Behold the Atom — I preferred –
To all the lists of Clay!

I rejected it in favor of the better-known Browning sonnet. Little did I know that our beat poet friend Marty would render that little bow to tradition irrelevant with his offering -- a howling epic rant of love not soon to be forgotten by any who attended.

Anyway,...
My little two cents in this discussion the nation is having about gay marriage is that the old spinster Dickinson had her finger on it. If marriage is something more than the title transfer that it was in the Old World, it is this; this most American of sentiments from this most American of poets; “Behold the Atom I preferred/ to all the lists of Clay!” The right of a person to pledge her troth to that Soul that she elects is sacred, … well, because it is. Because it is essential to her person-hood, to the living of a free life; an American life; a full and complete life. It is a right for the same reasons and in the same way that freedom of religion is a right.

Sure, there are benefits, social stability, or children that might issue from such a union, but they are beside the point. An undocumented alien can marry. A post-menopausal woman can marry. A terminally ill person can marry. A convict on death row can marry. A bankrupt debtor can marry. We feel the rightness of this. It is not for argument. It is not for pros and cons. It is simply a right.

The government might arguably have an interest in promoting or supporting marriage for these ancillary reasons (Although as a married person, I must add that I’m not feeling the love here from my government.) But these interests do not open the door for the government to judge or sanction the act of choosing itself.

My stepfather is a DJ and I used to help him sometimes. At weddings, he does this thing where he gets all the married couples out on the dance floor, and then he asks the ones who have been married less than a year to sit down; then the ones who have been married less than five; less than ten, and so on, until one or two couples remain. Then he’ll ask them to give advice to the newlyweds. Oh c’mon, it’s cute.

Anyway, at this wedding, the remaining couple were a pair of women. And the poignant thing was, there was no poignant thing. They were just the longest married couple at the party. They didn’t have any answers (Their advice, for the record, was “Fight. A lot.”). But still.

A good wedding is a meditation on marriage and this one really was.

Righteous Mom # 5 Mom Racer

2008-06-17T21:10:00.000-07:00

Mom: [catching Spritle playing with his chimp in the living room] Hey, what are you two doing?
Spritle: Nothing.
Mom: Was that the same nothing that broke my last couch?
Spritle: No, that was a totally different nothing.

Don't let her psychadelic fashion sense fool you, Mom Racer is as sensible as her pancakes. She is the PB&J that holds the Racer family together when the champaign and caviar forces of this world try to break them apart.

Tony Tony Tony

2008-06-17T10:01:00.000-07:00

I thoroughly enjoyed this year's Tony's. Girl was pleased to see Daniel Radcliffe presenting. I was glad he kept his clothes on.

Congrats to Patti LuPone for her first win since "Evita". Her performance in that opera will always hold a special place in my life, as it is the longest continuous piece of music that I know by heart and so became the go-to song for getting Girl to sleep as a babe. I am curious if she went to see "Evita" now, whether she wouldn't just conk out.

Congrats also to Lin-Manuel Miranda, for "In the Heights", and most of all for delivering the acceptance speech by which all other acceptance speeches shall henceforth be measured.

Finally, kudos to host Whoopi Goldberg, for not going snarky or political -- just playing it like the campy goof mug that she is.

2008-06-10T21:39:00.001-07:00

As a 1930s wife, I am
Average

Take the test!

Whereas my beloved is very superior. Hmmph.

I would no doubt lose him to a paragon such as Dino Mom. St. Louis wo-oman, with your di-amond ri-i-ing....

Point-Counterpoint with A-Plus

2008-06-08T17:02:00.000-07:00

Once again, A Plus and I are going to have a back-and-forth discussion. When it's me, I will be brown like coffee.

I'm A Plus. I will blog in pink, my favorite color, like uh..... I don't know.

Uh, girls 'n stuff.

Today's topic is, When is it OK to cuss? Sometimes you and Jones bust me out cussing.

I don't think so, unless it's a line in a movie or play. Also, I think too many cuss words in movies and plays go UN-bleeped. There shouldn't even be one there, anyway.

Yeah, it is jarring to the ears. Plus, totally lame. You have the whole English language at your disposal. A good writer could write something interesting for the actors to say. So if you always go straight for the cuss word it's like it's too easy. It's like taking a shortcut.

It's never too easy for me. I never even feel comfortable saying or writing them. I even feel uncomfortable reading or hearing them. I think some people feel the same way. So, why even put them there?

Well, I will say that I can think of one time when I thought the cuss word really got the point across where nothing else could. Can you think of the one I mean?

uh....... no, not really. Arguments?

I'll give you a hint. It's a scene that's already upsetting because it's a battle. And the cuss word is used to show that even though the character is a very sweet and nice, she can be fierce if provoked.

who's "she"? I still don't know.

Oh dood. She's like my fave character ever, because she's this righteous mom, but when her girl is attacked....

.......She defends them. I know, it's Molly Weasley!

That was an effective use of a cuss word. I'm sure any mother would think, "Yeah, that's what I'd say in that situation."

Maybe. I wouldn't do that.

Well, I'm glad you think that way. But, on the other hand, it's just words. As you get to be a grown-up, I think I wouldn't want there to be any word that was so shocking to your system that you couldn't handle it. Like, if somebody said that word to you, you wouldn't be able to rally.
Maybe. OK, but it's not OK for kids in my opinion.

Yeah, that's fair. I can't think when it's ever OK for kids. When you're a kid, you're only doing it to look tough anyway. And then it becomes a bad habit. That's why I cuss, I'm afraid --bad habit.

So, I guess our conclusion is; Yes, if you're an adult trying to defend someone, No if you're not, and Definitely not if you're a kid. Right?

Well, I guess I'd say it more like if you're an adult then hopefully you have a healthy respect for those words and you only use them as a kind of a last resort. What if you're a kid singing a naughty song, "We all went down to Amster[bleep]..."?

Well, if it doesn't have a silent "n", then it's fine.

So, beavers are fine then?

Yes. Other than that, do you agree with my conclusion?

Yes. What do you think of spelling it if you just want to tell what somebody else said?

If it doesn't hold water back, involve animal breeding, or complete the name of a place, then it's not fine.

Dag, you're pretty absolute. Ok, I'll try to be a good example.

Leggo my Lego

2008-06-07T10:50:00.000-07:00

Sometimes after church, while we are in the area, we lunch at the Chandler Mall, which they insist on calling the Chandler Fashion Center (wha eh-vah). What, ho! What is this I see? We are getting alego store. Bless my Barraki, we're so there!

Jailhouse Rock

2008-06-02T21:09:00.000-07:00

Spent the whole day in jail today. You wouldn't think that would be good news, but it means that my law practice has turned a corner. I finally have a critical mass of immigration detainee clients large enough to justify a day's travel to Florence and Eloy.

Wheeze my lemon

2008-05-27T20:18:00.001-07:00

The best jokes are the ones told around the dinner table that whiz over the heads of the children. Extra points if they are also lost on belle-mere. My beloved had cut a lemon wedge for his tea and, thinking it was fair game, I wheezed it. He began to protest and then, catching what he'd said, began to croon "Wheeze my lemon..."

Melancholie-ie-ie

2008-05-24T23:39:00.000-07:00

I am no longer the angriest dog in the world. But I do have the blues. Oh, for every reason and no reason, like that time Lisa Simpson jammed with Bleeding Gums Murphy.

I guess I'm probably where I belong -- being in business for myself, I mean. I have a little bit of a problem with authority. And the arrangement gives me the flexibility to do stuff with the kids. But business is slow. So, that's great that I can take time off every now and again, but I'm scowling and preoccupied when I do. Girl has caught me a few times having arguments under my breath with people who aren't there.

Plus, with money tight, we're looking at a backyard sprinkler summer break for the kids. In another time, this would bring out the pioneer spirit in me -- Oh good, then we'll have time to go to the program at the library and finish that latch hook! But in my present mood, it just brings into sharp relief the limitations of our transient neighborhood and the kids therein.

So it was no good my checking in on the blog of my college bud Jenn. Jenn has real problems. She'll break your heart telling you about her real problems, because, unlike me, she's a real writer. I mean it. Check out her writing. Guarantee, it will @#$%!# you up. She is, to me, the Baudelaire of the mommy blog.

Reading her, I feel like, what I'm going through -- I've been telling myself it's PMS or anger or stress -- something that resolves or diminishes -- but it's not, is it? It's the times. I mean, our generation, but also our stage of life, but also where the country is -- it's hard. I mean it may be 100 degrees on my thermometer, but I'm here to tell you, it's winter.

Illegitimi Non Carborundum

2008-05-23T12:10:00.000-07:00

I am ordinarily a zen person, but have been giving in to self-doubt and self-pity lately b/c I have a client in detention with very actively involved family. They expect progress and nothing I'm doing for her is working.

So, this season of end-of-the year recitals and awards ceremonies, which should be celebratory, has felt to me only like more obligations. Oh, let these kids just finish up already.

And then there is paperwork due on the girl scout troop that I lead. Not rocket science, but I chafe at too much paperwork (I'm in the wrong field, obviously), so I am pretty much perpetually in the doghouse with these people.

So I was planning to cram together my paperwork to turn in at this meeting when my beloved took me under receivership and redirected me to the Jonathan Coulton concert at The Brickhouse. This was just what the doctor ordered. A little beer. Some nerdy, snarky goodness. Stare my husband in the face ever... It's all good.

Nihilism pisses me off

2008-05-23T10:23:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, for a variety of reasons having to do with being on point and everybody being sick, I was especially raw when suiting up for battle with the beastie boys of the UU church. I've taught UU Sunday school before, and faced a lot of cheekiness. I've told myself, UU parents are anti-authoritarian, and that's a good thing. You can expect the kids to be high-spirited, but they grow into the kind of teenagers who give punk concerts to raise money for Darfur, so it all works out in the end.

Well, this day I faced outright declarations of war on me and the other substitute and I lost it, rooting the kids out of the bathroom where they were hiding out, confiscating skateboards and physically shoving them into place. I finally cracked and let them out, not because we were done but because short of actually locking them in the room I didn't think I could hold them any longer.

So then I went back over to the church to catch the tale end of the coming-of-age service, which is like UU bar mitzvah where early high schoolers develop their spiritual bearings. The one girl was up there saying that her philosophy was why be a good-goody. Why, for that matter, spend her days participating in a church program. Why think about money. After all, if you spend your time studying to be a doctor or something, you'd get to be a rich doctor but you'd have missed the best years of your life. Just have a good time. [Polite applause].

I was the angriest dog in the world. After all, the main argument for us even joining this smarty-pants church is to give the kids a respite from the nihilism that reigns in their lawless school. And then to find it rampant here. I was sputtering.

And then Jones threw up in the Sunday school room. Shoulda just. stayed. home.

Did I say "overlords?" I meant "protectors."

2008-05-09T10:47:00.000-07:00

It is the year 2020. Aliens have taken over. They have decided your constitution gives you too many rights. Pick five of them to keep. If you are all unanimous, then you may keep those five rights. If not, then you lose all of them. What rights do you keep?

This is the task put before Girl's 5th grade class yesterday. I was the special guest lawyer. So it was cute that "right to a lawyer" was one of the first things to go. One girl said, well, if you're guilty, you should go to jail.

So nobody goes to jail just because they're too dumb to be able to say the right thing? That never happens? (Crickets) Let me put it this way -- have you ever been in a situation where somebody could out-talk you? Like, they always win just because they're older than you and it just seems like they can always say the right thing and you're there all shy, going, "Um, shaddup."

Can you think that maybe when a regular guy is talking to a cop or to a judge that maybe that guy would feel like that?

Or what about Ernesto Miranda (Of "Miranda Rights")? He was guilty as sin, but we didn't send him to jail (Not for that particular crime anyway). Why? Because -- write this down, children -- rights are not a reward for good behavior. They're rights. We have a "right" to them. That's what makes them "rights."

Three rights were absolute no-brainers for them:
Right to bear arms
No cruel and unusual punishment
Freedom of religion

Why those three? Hot topics, I guess. Especially I can see where they would think that the one about God was the "right" answer.

They were less clear about peaceful assembly. One boy said, well, Martin Luther King already did that, so we don't need that one any more. (Excellent.)

So, it's all good now? Nobody ever abuses their power? Nobody ever needs to stand up to anybody in government now?

But of course it is difficult for kids this age to question authority. Frankly, that's probably appropriate for 5th grade, so this is where it was nice to have alien overlords to be the heavy.

Say the aliens decide that we all have to pay for the air we breathe from now on. We might want to say something about that? In a group, maybe? Should they be able to arrest us just for meeting?

They weren't hearing me about privacy, either. But again, as kids, I don't think they're really feeling the "My home is my castle" thing. With kids, it's a process of "unlearning" that respect for authority.

We had the same problem in high school when teachers would try to point out something racy in a novel. We'd spent so much time getting our minds out of the gutter, we just couldn't believe that the innuendo really was there. I distinctly remember our Great Gatsby teacher practically heaving over the desk, announcing, "Come on, guys. This is hot stuff!"

That's how I felt about our little experiment. I just wanted to shout, come on guys, our founding fathers were some radicals and heretics. Get feisty here!

Oh Goody! A Meme

2008-05-07T22:32:00.000-07:00

I been tagged. I do love a meme. With this one, the idea is to:

Pick up the nearest book. [Mine is Persepolis]
Open to page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the next three sentences.
Tag five people, and acknowledge who tagged you.

Here goes:

"When they let him out, my brother started going to counter-revolutionary demonstrations. He told me that the chief of the new executioners was his torturer in The Shah's prison. He saw it with his own eyes."

I tag Desert Ramblings, Nicegrl, Mamie, Librarian's Rant, and Plausible Fabulist.

Rip Rop Rippidy Doo

2008-05-07T22:16:00.000-07:00

What gives shape to my weeks is that Wednesday is choir practice. Because our church and my office are each prohibitively far from our house, it is also my late night at work. I work late and then I go straight there. So we're rehearsing with the other church's choir for this big cantata, and the finale is this big rap number. Our spoken word artist was not at rehearsal, so we just played through the orchestration to get the count right. Well, so naturally I burst into Hip, hop, hip, hip-a to the hip-hip- hop-a, you don't stop-a rock-a.... The uncanny thing is that my hippiechick counterpart in the other choir had exactly the same impulse at exactly the same second. So we ran through the whole lyric together. A magical moment brought to you by the Sugar Hill Gang.

Socks

2008-05-05T20:53:00.001-07:00

Have I hit on something universal? In his life, does every boy have to pull an Anthony Kiedis?

Too Much Information

2008-05-04T21:07:00.000-07:00

I was opining aloud to My Best Beloved that Girl was at that point where she needed a proper bra when I thought, is this one of those marital TMI moments best kept to myself?

My Darling has no dog in that fight, as the gender roles are rather rigid in this particular domain. The integrity and maintenance of Girl's business is ceded entirely to me and likewise My Sweet owns the controlling interest in Jones's.

However, if this arrangement is demure, well, that is sheer coincidence. I cannot say it is because we're so very classy. Not as much as Jones delights in working the word "booty" into every conversation. (Also, dam. He'll pretend he's a beaver so he can say he's building a dam. Or he'll sing "We all go down to Amsterdam. Amster, Amster dam-dam-dam.")

No, our arrangement owes nothing to diffidence and everything to the birth order of the parents. My Love and are both reeeaally bossy. It's just a good thing for our union that we have one of each.

So, it occurred to me that Light-of-my-life might appreciate an accounting of my stewardship, but what's the rule?

I mean, when I came of age, my mother reported the news to my father, who, being the more ceremonious parent, made several awkward gestures at celebrating the event. Y'know what? Probably doesn't need to be a beautiful bonding moment with your father, actually. (Especially as, once, when I was laid up with cramps, my sire consoled me with the wisdom that all of this could have been avoided if Eve hadn't sinned in the garden. Yeah, thanks for that.)

I think that I probably need to hold back. As much as I have to fight the tendency to treat my daughter like a girlfriend, I should probably also fight the tendency to treat my husband like a girlfriend. But, Dear Reader, I can still blab to you, can't I?

The time is now

2008-05-03T16:11:00.000-07:00

The joke about UU's is that they are such bad singers because they are too busy reading ahead to see if they agree. Well, now we have a cantata that Jason Shelton wrote just for us.

Tomorrow we debut it with one of the two other valley UU congregations. We're doing it at theirs this Sunday and at ours on Mother's Day. The songs are different genres and different aspect of the UU experience. At our church, I have the solo on the humanist anthem, "No Other World." I love this, because it is my fave song in the program, maybe in the world right now. It just really speaks to me.

Dig these lyrics by Kendyl Gibbons:

I would live simply, and bravely, and nobly;
Let no illusion remain;
I would seek wisdom in human reality,
Even if wisdom be pain.

Sing me no pious amens and old canticles,
Let doubts and questions arise;
Tell me no providence hidden in prophecies,
But welcome the future's surprise.

The time is now, the place is here;
The good we know, the earth we share;
This day we have, this love we give;
No other truth; no other joy; no other life;
No other world.

Weave me no fairytales frosted with miracles;
Give me a light I can see;
Spin me no promise of heavens and saviors,
Teach me the truth that makes us free.

Create my salvation in earth's endless wonder;
Everything nature provides;
Let me be honest, and wise in compassion;
Make reason and conscience my guides.

The time is now, the place is here
The good we know, the earth we share;
This day we have, this love we give;
No other truth; no other joy; no other life;
No other world.

Beautiful universe, fathomless energy,
Myst'ries we struggle to know;
This is our paradise; dust is out destiny;
Cherish the years as they go.

The. time. is. now.
The place is here;
The good we know, the earth we share;
This day we have, this love we give;
No other truth; no other joy; no other life;
No other world

It was a star before it was Harry's godfather's name

2008-05-02T19:48:00.000-07:00

Last night we attended a demonstration about star-gazing and, when it was dark enough, we all went out and looked at Saturn, Mars, Sirius, and Betelgeuse through some really great wide telescopes. I am personally so blind to the distinctions among any of them thangs up thar that I can't find the big dipper without help. So, I am always amazed that anyone actually can.

The evening was sponsored by our school district's gifted program. And I am grateful for it, even while I am increasingly embarrassed that our gifted program is the worst kind of gifted program.

A "gifted" designation should be handled like a handicap, by which I mean, high IQ should be accomodated in the same quiet, mainstreamed manner as another challenge. As much as possible, there should just be a subtle shading of complexity and volume without a lot of fuss. It's not a reward. It's not an honor society.

Here's what a gifted program should not be -- a chance for elite parents to perpetuate their own privilege by gobbling up the resources of the school.

Here's what it should not be -- carte blanche for kids who aren't necessarily any better behaved than their peers.

Here's what it should not be -- a chance for parents who spend a lot of time, energy, and money giving their kids a leg up to congratulate themselves on the native intelligence of their well-coached sweeties.

It should not be fun field trips that basically send the message you're so far ahead you can afford to coast.

And it should definitely not be your career track or the pool from which you are encouraged to choose your friends.

I remember at the orientation for my step-brother's gifted program, a student asked what should I tell my friends who have not been invited to participate. The man replied, "You could say, 'You're good at other things, like sports.'" Well, now, as my step-brother was one of a handful of Black students in a really old-school burg, h*ll if we were going to turn down the chance for him to stand out in a positive way. But it sure didn't feel good to perpetuate all that rot.

A good deed punished

2008-04-30T16:45:00.000-07:00

I went with a neighbor to a naturalization interview today. This was a favor, as we are moms together. Her girl is in my scout troop. Girl has slept over at her house. Jones has gone to her daycare. I often sit with her at PTA and community meetings. I know her and her husband to be block-watching, whistle-blowing, field-trip-attending, cookie-baking, carpool-driving parents of the highest order.

There was an embarrasing moment when she had to answer questions about a "hit" that came up when the FBI ran her prints. Seems she was a foster parent and her ward presented with a broken bone. When she brought the child in she was questioned as a routine matter but exonerated and charges were presumably brought against the perpetrator.

The computer print-out merely says that she was released. You have to have the actual court records to see that she was exonerated and that in fact she is the one who reported the problem. There was a scramble through all the papers, but we did have the court records, so it didn't hold her up.

The interview went well and she burst into grateful tears. When she apologized for blubbering, the officer demurred. No, she said, it is gratifying to see someone take citizenship so seriously. So many people take it for granted.

I always find these scenes of gratitude a little bit uncomfortable. Because often the person has had to tolerate a lot of indifference and bureaucracy to get to this point, and the humility just emphasizes that power differential.

I was still dwelling on the FBI "hit". Why is the burden on her? How begrudging, how indifferent, how bureaucratic was the investigating officer not to simply make a note in her computer file that she is the good guy here? She is the person whose impulse to mother, to volunteer, to speak up, to advocate for a child brought the abuse out in the open and the perverse result is that she gets stuck with a "child endangerment" label for the rest of her life?

It makes me think back to all of the times that as an involved mother I have had to agree to a background check -- volunteering at the school, as a girl scout leader, as a camp chaperone. I fully support the background checks, of course, but how awful would it be to have to explain the alarming note on my file every single time?

My hope for her, as for many of my naturalization clients, now that they are citizens, is that they prove their American-ness by getting a little more uppity.

Chromosomes

2008-04-29T13:52:00.000-07:00

Being an immigration lawyer, I work all day with people for whom absolutely everything is alien, and so it is no surprise that they do not suffer from (don't have the luxury of)the insecurity (complacency) that I see so often in the native-born. They are some opinionated (decisive) folks.

I'm not going to say that this is always good news. Life in the US is super super complicated and expert advice is often necessary, else my job wouldn't exist. But I have a healthy respect for the Shoot-first-ask-questions-later school of decision-making, especially when compared to the decision-making paralysis that I often hear from my neighbors.

I especially loathe when somebody armed with a handful of soundbites and statistics can just shut up a whole room of smart people. This just slays me. Americans are supposed to be so feisty, so revolutionary, and we are so easily intimidated by even the intimation of authority.

It makes me glad that, as a lawyer, sometimes I get to counter authority with authority. I have a friend who is clergy and we have the same speak-softly-carry-a-big-stick orientation toward our respective titles. I won't strike first, but I will whip out the law degree if provoked.

When I was at college I studied under (crushed on) a wunderkind bioethicist whose one-word name Magnus could not help but command attention. It seemed then that he was always off picking fights with creationist school boards, which is how I got started thiking about these things. Well, that and I think every public policy type secretly wishes she'd gone into lab science.

Creationists, sick of looking like know-nothing yahoos, are organized now. They are often armed with zingers -- questions that take the discussion out of the shallow waters of don't you think monkeys kinda do look like us straight into the depths that give even the practicing biologists pause. Most people are so ill-educated on the matter that they will bare their neck to the alpha dog who whips out a couple of these.

One that used to absolutely shut my mouth is that for evolution to happen there would have to be a change not just in the quality of DNA but the quantity. I have to admit that my primitive monkey brain had no answer to that objection.

But now that there are science blogs in the world, there can be such glories as this accessible explanation of how chromosome numbers can change. Oh brave new blogosphere, that has
PZ Myers in't.

Quiet Time

2008-04-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

Stepmother's coffee bean of the day puts me in mind of the wisdom of this furry zen master to his mouse student.

Bear: Well you're tired
You're feelin' kinda low
Put down the cheese
You don't have far to go
It's time for some quiet time

Tutter: But time is exactly what I haven't
got - Bear
I'm busy, busy, busy
Can't stop to chat!
I gotta push this cheese
Across my welcome mat

Bear: Just take some quiet time

Tutter: But Bear

Bear: Time for some quiet time

Tutter: Now how can I possibly take
quiet time?!

Bear: I can see you're out of breath
You barely drag yourself along

Tutter: But I'm not even tired, Bear!

Bear: If you just take
some quiet time
I know you'll soon be feelin'
strong

Tutter: Now that you mention, Bear
I think that I'll just rest my head
here for a little while
And take some quiet time

Bear: Quiet time

Tutter: Time for some quiet time

Bear: Quiet time

Tutter: Time for some...snores

Bear: Quiet time (Shhh!)

Circle Supper

2008-04-26T22:14:00.000-07:00

Well, I hope that I read everyone else right, but I think the circle supper was a success after all. Americans spend so much of their time breaking into age-appropriate groups that there isn't hardly ever any real inter-generational give-and-take. And it's too bad, because I do think that something is lost.

I think the retirees got something out of having the kids around. They were mostly well-behaved, although Jones spilled some sauce on the carpet. I really got a lot out of seeing people enjoying their well-planned active retirement. For me, where I am in life, I need to feel that there is a pay-off.

I feel like this was a milestone for Girl because she really held her own in the grown-up conversation, piping up at more-or-less appropriate lulls in the conversation and inserting more-or-less relevant tidbits. She doesn't completely have the feel for it, but the crowd was an awkward mix anyway, so there wasn't really an established rhythm for her to throw off.

Beloved and I pride ourselves on our timing. We hardly ever make the rookie parenting mistake of if the party's fun now, it'll be even more fun in an hour. But we did miss the witching hour by about fifteen minutes, staying for coffee when we should have bolted after the cake. Still, I think we escaped any major bad behavior. We made to leave and he said, "Finally," but I don't think anybody heard.

Kids say the darnedest

2008-04-25T21:31:00.000-07:00

I had the girl scouts over tonight making fake sushi out of pound cake cut in circles, iced, with flaked coconut for rice, green fruit roll-ups for seaweed, and swedish fish. Sour starburst microwaved for ten seconds and pressed with thumbs were our wasabi and pickled ginger. They turned out really darling. Will post photo when it's e-mailed to me.

Beloved fled to Sonic to procure burgs and Route44-sized beverages for all.

Munching a tot, Jones queried "Why does that say Happy Whore?"
"Um, what?" choking on a fry. "Where?"
"There," he said, pointing to Beloved's cup.
"Happy Hour, son. That says happy hour."

Circle Supper

2008-04-23T22:20:00.000-07:00

Today I was explaining to an ICE officer some aspects of my client's case that were not very flattering to myself and he praised my honesty. I am often praised for my honesty, which to me is a little like praising a recovering alcoholic for being abstemious.

Because the thing is I'm a pathetic liar. By which I mean, both, my lying makes me pathetic and also I'm pathetic at the business of lying. Bathetic. I've had some experiences in my life where I've panicked and lied and the lie grew into something hideous and destructive. There was wailing, lamentations...

So recently I have been trying really hard not to lie. Like not even little white lies. Not the mere abstinence, but really trying to be aware of when I'm saying something just out of momentum or going with the crowd or because I feel the need to explain myself. To keep me on the straight and narrow, sure, but also out of pride. I fancy myself a wordsmith. As such, I feel that even the most quotidian contents of my cranium, if I can just transmit them unadulterated straight into my listener's head, are worthy.

This battle rages in my head alone. I am aware that the nuances I obsess over are completely trivial to everyone else. To give an example of my struggle, at the church they're doing this "visioning the future" thing that involves a lot of making lists on giant pads of sticky paper and putting colored dots on them. I hate that stuff. Hate. that. stuff. And a bunch of different people approached me about it, like, hey, I know you'll be there. Nope, sorry, says I. I have this thing.

And I did have a thing. But I still came away cursing what would it hurt for me to say Nah, can't stand that stuff. Hit me up for the pledge drive or something. So, after a couple of encounters like this I was really annoyed at myself and this brutal truth resolution was much on my mind. So, of course I was brutally honest the next chance I got, with repercussions most Seinfeldian.

See, the church puts together these "circle suppers" which are groups of members who take turns hosting that month's potluck. This ends up being more complicated than you'd think, because for some unfathomable reason, it's not the same people. The people rotate. Somebody's got the master list. Seems like chaos to me, but we haven't minded because whether through chance or orchestration we've always ended up with out favorite couple, Linda and Ann.

There are many other wonderful people -- don't get me wrong. But if it were just them and us in the kitchen, that would already be a party. The rest is gravy. Anyway...

So this month's there were going to be slim pickin's because everyone was going to this retreat. So they just sent this e-solicitation around asking did maybe just one person want to host the stragglers. This lovely woman L stepped up and we were all to send our names to her. I put Beloved's and my name in to her, thinking, if I thought about it at all, that the kids were implied. Well, come time to firm up plans and and she said oh, she wasn't really planning on children, which is of course perfectly reasonable. So I said oh, then thanks very much for the offer, but I think we won't come after all. I mean, I could have said "can't come," and that would have felt different, maybe, but I deliberately said won't, on account of my resolution.

Not said, though. E-mailed. Which is where the problem started. When I dashed off the e-mail, it sounded like the perfect balance of gracious but mercifully final. Like, so great of you to offer, but don't mind us. We're good. But in e-form I think it just came off terse.

So then L e-mailed back how did she, who had, after all, been a school teacher, end up sounding like a Sun City resident, and, really, the kids are welcome some other time. Well then I wrote back something about how I don't question her kid cred, and sure, that would be nice, but don't go to any bother. Then she, no really, and I, no really. Thus ensued a whole back-and-forth of proposals and counter-proposals, which sort of fizzled out.

Lots of people aren't set up to host kids. It's all good. Meanwhile, we made plans with Linda and Ann for that night.

Well, she's had a cancellation, so she came up to me after choir and asked in a most solemn voice, if we would please do her the honor of coming after all. Well, what am I going to say? She is such a lovely person and this is such unfinished business. Yes, of course, we'd love to. So then, sorry, Linda and Ann, how about Sunday?

Whither the coffee beans?

2008-04-22T14:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers, I have moved my stepmother's sage wisdom. You may find your beans at their own blog.

Be Monkeypenny for me

2008-04-19T22:57:00.000-07:00

It seems that in Phoenix large stretches of road are closed more frequently and abruptly than anywhere else. And, as I am relatively new to the area and to city driving generally, this usually throws me for a loop. Just today I was taking a carload of kids to a museum when I was re-routed out of my depth. I managed to right my ship, but still had to call My Beloved for back-up, just to be sure.

In our house, this is called monkeypennying, so-called for MonkeyPenny, the voice of reason down at HQ for Spy Fox, the kid-friendly, all-animal send-up of "Get Smart".

It is one of the great perks of married life to have my own personal MonkeyPenny.

Gravity Hurts

2008-04-18T21:49:00.000-07:00

Caught Jones singing the Bionicle anthem. Mark my words. That's my singer there.

Forget Norway (More like Snoreway)

2008-04-17T19:08:00.000-07:00

Of course, then Jones reminded me of this primer on Kenya, which we used to play all the time. Slightly less charming, I'm afraid. I swear, they're going to stop inviting me to chaperone these trips.

Welcome to the zoo, zoo, zoo

2008-04-17T18:51:00.000-07:00

I am an enormous fan of all things humongous and wish there were more brainy, clever, games like those. On a field trip to wildlife world, I had the whole bus singing this nifty tune from Putt Putt. Wipe off your windows so you can see, the elephant, the monkey, and the chimpanzee...

I am Tess Coleman

2008-04-14T15:53:00.001-07:00

Which Movie Mom Are You?

My Result: Freaky Friday's Tess Coleman

So you might not be a psychiatrist...and you most definitely haven't switched bodies with your kids (right?), but when it comes to parenting, you've got a lot in common with hardworking Tess Coleman. You're passionate and driven about your family and your career, and you do everything in your power to make sure that your family has it all.

Even when you're juggling a million responsibilities, you take most things you do very seriously. But you can certainly find that kid inside and cut loose when you need to. You just have to remind yourself every once in a while that doing cartwheels in the backyard can be just as educational as homework. Give it a whirl!

What are you?
http://web.tickle.com/jumpto?test=moviemomogt&c=50652

Righteous Mom #4 -- Elastigirl

2008-04-14T01:14:00.000-07:00

[to her panicking children, having just survived a plane crash] Stop it! We are not gonna die! Now, both of you will *get a grip*! Or so help me, I will *ground* you for a month. Understand?

Righteous Mom #3 -- Morticia Addams

2008-04-14T01:09:00.000-07:00

And our credo, "Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc" — "We gladly feast on those who would subdue us". Not just pretty words.

Laveen Wishlist

2008-04-12T10:31:00.000-07:00

A favorite pastime in Laveen whenever ground is broken on a new shopping complex is to speculate on what is coming. The point of this exercise is not that it's realistic. I mean, usually this is knowable information. It would be breaking the rules of the game to say, Oh, I know exactly what's going in there. It's an auto parts store, a chiropractor, a nail salon, and an insurance agent. It's an exercise in comparing visions of where the community is going.

The trick of this game is not to be so practical as to remind us that we live in a struggling community. I mean, what we need, really need, is a medical clinic if not full-on hospital and all-night pharmacy. What we need is a police sub-station. But aiming too high would also be a faux pas, because, well because that would also remind us that we live in a struggling community. I mean, we're not getting a wine bar. we're not getting an antique shop.

It's not that we're so very remote. There's a big box park about 12 miles to the west and an outlet mall about 12 miles to the east. The problem with those is that they are far enough away to qualify as destination shopping. I mean, you have to really set out to procure that particular item. Like, as opposed to ordering it from amazon. It's not like, oh, let's have lunch over at that place and then poke our heads in the card store and maybe get the kids a cookie at the bakery.

First on my list and Belle-mere's is a Hallmark store. A Hallmark store with a little post office in the back, because our real PO insists that it is rural, when of course it is not. Really, Hallmark, are you listening? There is money to be made here.

Belle-mere also votes for a fresh produce place. I mean, there's the Tesco, and a little fruit stand about five miles down. I wonder if we couldn't pull off a farmer's market.

First on my beloved spouse's list is an electronics store. There's a Fry's Electronics 12 miles away in one direction and a Best Buy 12 miles in the other and not so much as a Radio Shack in between.

Jones's number one is a comic book store, like Atomic Comics. Girl would probably second that if it were also a regular book store -- new or used. When spouse and I lived in Iowa City, many evenings out began or ended with a reading at the charming Prairie Lights. When we lived in Columbia, the kids and I used to wile away the hours at Daedalus outlet. No events, but bountiful and warehouse-y.

In Phoenix area, we are tremendously fortunate to have Changing Hands in Tempe. It's a world class bookstore with a full calendar of readings and other events. Even if we had a serviceable bookstore by us, we'd still make a point of going there, but it is even more of a pilgrimage because there is not so much as a Waldenbooks nearby.

I wish there were a breakfast place. Starbuck's is serviceable as a gathering place, but I yearn for some good bagels and even a bakery. I grab a dozen every time I pass Einstein Bros., but alas, I am usually on my way somewhere and have to make arrangements re: the cream cheese.

That's ok, but I feel that my pastry problem is more intractable. I do not think that the good people of Arizona know from pastry. Mexican food has its merits, but the pastry is these dry, heavy, sweetbreads. Yet, there is no European alternative -- no Au Bon Pain, no La Madeleine's, no Vie de France, no Le Baguette. How can this be?

I wish we had a proper deli, like Jason's would be nice. And a proper Italian place, like Babbo's. The list could go on and on. It's a fun game we play while we're waiting in line at the Carl's Jr., hoping that developers see in this community what we see.

Columbia = Middle Earth

2008-04-12T08:39:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the writer's strike, I recently happened on the documentary "Darkon", which chronicles the lives and game-lives of the participants in The Darkon Wargaming Club. This club started in Balto-Wash when I was in high school. I was involved with the faerie realm during that time. At least, to the extent that I was a RenFest carnie. The Festival was held in Columbia's Symphony Woods back then. It was like a pilgrimage for the D & D gamers, girls with closets full of bodices, and other assorted artsies who would assemble there.

Back in the day, I went to a Con or two, and a few role-playing games, though none of the foam fighting variety. I'd heard tell of Dagorhir and I guess Dagorhir begat Emarthenguarth. I knew of them. And I guess Emarthenguarth begat Darkon. So I watched intently, thinking I might recognize someone. I didn't, but the movie did immediately transport me to that time in my life and those people.

The movie's been accused of exploiting its subjects. It's true that it's hard to watch, when real-world friendships start to unravel over game alliances, or when it seems that some of the gamers have more important life issues to tend to than the game. But, and now maybe this is my sick sensibility, I came away feeling nostalgic. Watching "Darkon," like watching "Hairspray" (the real one, with the incomparable Divine in the mom role), makes me proud to come from such weird and wonderful people.

The Jefferson's as Epic Saga

2008-04-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

For that brief moment in there when the nation was having the hard discussion about race, I renewed my yearning for the Black epic saga. I have a pitch to make -- "The Jefferson's" re-imagined as period drama with Will and Jada Pinket-Smith as George and Weezy. The Jimmy Smits vehicle "Cane" is a good model. It has everything. Smits plays a Cuban refugee, so there's a little history lesson in every episode, about Castro, Pedro Pan, etc. but it's painless b/c it's woven into the story. Likewise, 70's Black New York could give us lessons on Black enterprise in racially isolated communities. Smits has made good, so the plot is generally driven by ghosts from the past and struggles with exactly how much solidarity he owes his unwashed fellow Cubans and their old-school power rings. The dynamic is essentially the same in 70's Black New York. The Duque family in Cane has entertainment holdings, so it is a natch to have a new Latin star on every week. Likewise, The Jefferson's could have today's hip hop artists on as "Soul" stars, perhaps doing advertising spots for George's laundromat empire.

Righteous Mom # 2 -- Chicha

2008-04-10T11:01:00.000-07:00

Another in the "Don't mess with a brooding mother" strain. She is Pacha's constant, affectionate, compulsive wife, mother of his two kids, keeper of his idyllic moutain home. But even with number three on the way, she manages to give the usurping empress what for. You go girl!

Righteous Moms in Kids' Movies

2008-04-09T12:12:00.000-07:00

In the run-up to Mother's Day, I am creating my dream line-up of kid or kid-friendly movies (made-for-tv ok) where the moms are not dead (e.g., "Hannah Montana", "Jump In," "Little Mermaid", "The Rescuers"), otherwise absent, (e.g. "Chronicles of Narnia,") self-absorbed/ overwhelmed to the point of incompetence (e.g. "Zach and Cody," "The Spiderwick Chronicles") or horrid, (e.g. animated "Cinderella", Brandi "Cinderella"). Step-moms and grandmas will be considered case-by-case. Non-human moms ok. Movies must be watchable. By grown-ups. Extra credit if mom is married to dad.

Seriously, I can only think of one -- Molly Weasley from "Harry Potter." She scrimps, she putters, she worries, she scolds. But when necessary, she shows that she is not just the washerwoman to the resistance, she is its conscience and its kick-*ss warrior. A big "You go girl" to Molly Weasley, and to J.K. Rowling, who knows a little something about parenting in harsh circumstances, for writing her.

Daily "coffee bean"

2008-04-08T11:29:00.000-07:00

Daily affirmation from my stepmother:
Leadership experts have made a discovery about the relationship between GROWTH AND LEADERSHIP. Leaders have the capacity to develop and improve their skills through feedback. This capacity is what distinguishes leaders from followers. If you take leadership in this vain, then all of us are leaders if we have the courage to learn from our mistakes. All too often, when our mistakes are pointed out to us, we become:
defensive;
insecure;
angry; and
passive aggressive.
The characteristics defined above are the characteristics of winners or leaders. Each day you will have the OPPORTUNITY to learn from a mistake. Embrace the lesson and you will find that your life will take on a different trajectory—a trajectory toward SUCCESS! Have the COURAGE AND CAPACITY to learn from your mistakes today!

Reluctant

2008-04-08T10:47:00.000-07:00

One unexpected consequence of this OWL curriculum that Girl is working, is that she has come away determined to dam up the floodgates of her oncoming puberty. The whole business of what lies ahead must seem messy and unseemly and not worth the trouble, from where she sits. She is about the age of Anne Rice's vampire girl and it constantly puts me in mind of the tragedy of that character, forever frozen at that stage of development. She allows as how she might want a little more privacy at this age, but she is adamant that that is all the privileges of growing up she will avail herself of, for now, thanks anyway.

How weird and perverse that I am the one watching the pot, watching for the bubbles, thinking I might add a pinch of salt. What's the name of that one boy in your class that you said was hilarious?

I am channelling Erma Bombeck, which is hip nowadays, haven't you heard? We worry that our kids are developing too fast and we worry that they aren't developing fast enough. Yeah, howzbout I leave that pot alone?

MLK's dubious legacy

2008-04-07T21:14:00.000-07:00

So, today's nugget of wisdom from the back-back seat of the van, is "Thanks to Martin Luther King, $4,000 and I can be friends. Because he's Black and I'm White!"

Um... where to begin?

You're so gay

2008-04-06T08:45:00.000-07:00

Now it begins. Jones has this friend $4,000 who is very street. He tries in his own dorky way to keep up with him. Up until now, it's meant that he's taken to saying "ain't" a lot. But yesterday I overheard him taunting $4,000 saying "You're so gay." (Sigh) My own boy.

So, OK, teachable moment. But I was hoping that I would be able to lay these matters of sex and gender and whatnot out for him in some sort of coherent manner. I mean, the kid is still basically at the "Mommy swallowed a watermelon seed" level of birds and bees. I have busted out the graphs and charts on him, but I don't think it "took."

So, you mean to tell me that he's getting anything out of my "Gay is when a man wants to make a home with another man" lecture?

Leave Dr. Seuss Alone

2008-04-04T20:53:00.000-07:00

I'd tell you why I'm not taking the kids to see the new Seuss movie, but I'd rather let Dr. Seuss tell you himself.

admiring feelings of a gentle lady

2008-04-03T14:28:00.000-07:00

I am soliciting suggestions for a neologism to describe that poetry that comes of a bad translation on the label from an Asian consumer product. Example, my very favorite confection in the worl is Muscat Gummy, brought to World Market by Kasugai, and described thus, "Its translucent color so alluring and taste and aroma so gentle and mellow offer admiring feelings of a graceful lady."

Zimbabwe

2008-04-02T14:20:00.000-07:00

"Algeria, Bulgaria, Cambodia, Dominica, Egypt, France, the Gambia, Hungary, Iran, Japan, Kazakhstan, Libya and Mongolia, Norway, Oman, Pakistan, Qatar, Russia, Suriname, Turkey, Uruguay, Vietnam, West Xylophone, Yemen, Zimbabwe"
-They Might Be Giants, "Alphabet of Nations"

I've never experienced this phenomenon before, because Zimbabwe is not often in the news. But lately, that last triumphant "Zimbabwe-e-eh" from "Alphabet of Nations," has been ringing in my ears.

Zimbabwe will always hold a special place in my heart. It was the locus of my last and greatest overseas adventure. It was the summer of 1992. I had left a relationship suspended right at the thrilling uncertain moment just before it is declared. Thus ensued an epistolary courthsip the likes of which may never be seen again in this cyber-world.

The world was likewise suspended. Just across the border, Mandela had been released, but what then?

Even more, I saw Zimbabwe at its zenith, in the company of expat Black Americans who everywhere we went were exclaiming how much improved everything was. Nkosi Sikeleli was a low hum heard everywhere. The fierce revolutionary pride was palpable.

In Victoria Falls, I ran into George Drake, recently retired from the presidency of Grinnell College. And why should I be surprised? It seemed like the center of the world.

That's how I want to remember it. It tears me up to see Mugabe gone mad and the farms lying fallow and the Zim dollar not worth the paper it's printed on. But I didn't dare hope that the people could defeat Mugabe. Now I dare.

It reminds me of Joseph Asagai, the African intellectual in "A Raisin in the Sun", who even in expressing his hopes for his country, and for his own role in bringing about the revolution there, includes a premonition of his eventual corruption, and wishes that a future patriot will slit his throat in the night.

Food Court Musical

2008-04-02T13:52:00.000-07:00

This brilliant number asks the musical question, "Can I get a napkin?" How I wish we'd thought of it when I was in theater at school.

Wiggedy wiggedy wiggedy

2008-04-01T22:34:00.000-07:00

Your DJ Name Is:

DJ Master Squirrel

What's Your DJ Name?

Expelled!

2008-03-30T01:43:00.000-07:00

Have you seen what that Ben Stein's been up to lately? What is THAT about? I will leave the recitation of the arguments against creationism to more able minds, such as that of my dear friend Glenden Brown.

I will only add that it does seem right-wing academics very much enjoy feeling that they are a persecuted minority and especially like the parts where they get to liken themselves to Martin Luther King.

MLK! I've just finished watching "Boycott", so you'll have to forgive me for being a little touchy on the subject. (Darn fine movie, that, but a little trippy.)

I propose a corollary to Godwin's Rule of Nazi Analogies that states that as a right-wing screed grows longer, the probability of a comparison with Martin Luther King approaches one.

Girls Gone Mild

2008-03-28T13:51:00.000-07:00

Girl's Our Whole Lives class starts tomorrow. Hogwarts afficionado that she is; she has taken to referring to the class as her O.W.L.'s. The state of Arizona has punted on sex ed altogether, so I look to this class to innoculate my dear fifth grader in the dreaded Reviving Ophelia years to come.

Speaking of which, I am pleased to note that we as a nation seem to have entered a second level of discussion about spring break and the "Girls Gone Wild" culture. I'd say that the first wave of objections was mostly practical -- along the lines of "If you've got it/ You're only young once," but warning about excess, e.g.
"Carry protection!"
"Have a designated driver!"
"Consider the impact of the MySpace posts of today on the doctoral program applications of tomorrow." Which is all very well, as far as it goes.

But with articles such as "Raunch is Rebranded as 'Confidence'" we might finally be talking about what spring break culture is doing to our psyches (or, if you like, our souls). Which is crucially important for me as a mom trying to raise a confident, kick-*ss daughter. And son. Who take (calculated) risks, make (redeemable) mistakes, and get(curably) hurt. Who dive headlong into life (with a helmet).

The observation is this: Where once we played "Beach Blanket Bingo" our nation's youth are now binge drinking shots out of their butt cleavage and girl-on-girl jello wrestling. And they are talking about it in this language, this "Sex and the City" brand of frank, taboo-shattering raunch and it's a language of power and choices and not being a victim. So, what to make of it?

I have to admit that in theory I can see where it's seductive. In college, I posed nude for art classes, which I found "empowering" despite evidence that the subversiveness of the gesture may well have been lost on my horndog peers.

Seduction -- the theater of it; the accomplishment -- is thrilling. And why shouldn't it be? I must admit that I did experience my humble explorations on the subject as yeah, ok, I'll say confidence-building. I'll say a rite of passage. My hope for Girl -- and Jones -- is not that they grow up neutered of this power, but that they use their power for good.

This is in contrast to their daddy, who sees nothing in it but trouble; who, if he weren't such a gun control advocate, would be in the parlor cleaning his gun when the suitor comes to call.

But the reality of spring break really calls my bluff. All that Third Wave, Riot GRRRL stuff I may be on record as spouting in Women's Studies class about how anything goes as long as it's "chosen" seems meaningless when you hear these girls talk. I mean, there just is some new level of degradation going on here and it is not just because I have some kind of nostalgic delusion about my own chaste beach blanket summers.

Great balls of fire!

2008-03-27T21:31:00.000-07:00

Went to Jones's coach-pitch baseball game tonight. He's out-classed by many of the other kinder and 1st graders who have clearly been working on their games for years. They are very cool, with their trademark stances and equipment personalized with their monikers. Having watched them slide into the bases for many weeks, he stepped to the bat determined to do the same. Next thing we know, he slides into home on both knees like Jerry Lee Lewis! Great balls of fire! He'd ripped his knee all to h*ll, but he was quite proud of himself.

On hyphenating

2008-03-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

I have been reading the SWPL complete list and am definitely having one of those "It's true. We're so lame." Homer Simpson moments of embarrassed recognition.

I need to be busted out every day for something on this list. But I was hyping the virtues of hyphenating just this very day. The selling point? It makes you easier to find on search engines. Else how would anyone you knew from high school ever look you up? Which is another thing, apparently, that White people like.

I am here because of Ashley

2008-03-27T11:24:00.000-07:00

At the end of his famous race speech, Obama tells the story of Ashley Baia.

“She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.

And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that's when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.

She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat…

Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they're supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who's been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he's there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, ‘I am here because of Ashley.’.”

Now, I generally don’t go in for real people anecdotes, because they’re usually just cheap applause lines. But I like that story because it gets at something that I think is really important and, like a lot of crucial observations, really hard to put into words.

There’s a couple of things at work here. Obviously he was after the juxtaposition of the elder Black man, who is supposed to have a monopoly on grievance, on history, on moral authority, taking inspiration from or feeling solidarity with the young White woman. But I also took away from it support for my own cherished belief that folks might come for the ideology but they stay for the people -- a person. And it’s not always or often the leader.

In my life, I allow myself to become responsible for and to many groups of people. I say it’s for my kids, my family, but there is the perverse result that I am persistently called away from home and family in order to participate in these groups. And my willingness to put into those groups is directly proportional with the personal connection I feel to the other people there.

In the end, I show up for them.

Earth Hour

2008-03-18T21:12:00.001-07:00

Have you heard about Earth Hour 2008? It started in Sydney, Austrailia in 2007 and has spread worldwide this year. To participate all you have to do is turn off your lights for 1 hour at 8pm on March 29th. Simple! Please join in this effort and get as many family members and friends to participate and help send the message! You can show your commitment by signing up at Earth Hour's website and then send this link to as many people as you can, the more the merrier.

In Praise of the Humble Beefy-T

2008-03-16T23:01:00.000-07:00

Although I've got nothing but love for my Baltimore homies at UnderArmour, today's rant is going to have to be against the fashion they spawned -- these silky, clingy, thin poly blends for men. I cannot begrudge My Beloved the softness and cool wicking action of this garb, yet it nips him out and hugs his butt such that he looks like he stepped out of an International Male catalog.

Here I must part company with my SWPL brethren. Much though, I believe I've mentioned, I love my husband's frame. Still, as we live in Phoenix and not Key West, I confess I'd rather see it in a beefy-T and some Levi's , as God intended.

I fear the ecologists are exacerbating the problem. Come summer, the fashion-forward eco-warrior will be wearing bamboo fibers under his army jacket. It's going to take more than a screen print of your revolutionary of choice (Is it still Che Guevara?) to butch up that chemise. What is to be done?

Tres Rios

2008-03-15T22:37:00.001-07:00

Girl had her first performance with The West Valley Youth Orchestra today at the Tres Rios Nature Festival. Orchestra was an odd choice for this dusty venue, but it was a thrill to see her so confident and in perfect time with her section. She has come a long way. The festival was really well run. There was a girl scout badge if you went around to the different booths and did all the stuff. My badge-happy know-it-all wasn't about to miss that. As for Jones, he made a walking stick. And that boy loves him a stick. Didn't even put his eye out.

Fruit Salad for Derek Walcott, Part 2

2008-03-11T12:57:00.001-07:00

Preparing for the meal, we decided the music would have to be kinda worldbeat. So we put on Paul Simon's "Rhythm of the Saints", thinking we'd introduce the old guy to something really novel. But as the strains of "The Coast" began, "A family of musicians took shelter for the night/ In the little harbor church of St. Cecilia/ Two guitars, bass drum, and tambourine/Rose of Jericho and Bougainvillea," he remarked, "This song is dedicated to me, you know."

Of course he'd been working with Paul Simon on "Capeman."

Fruit Salad for Derek Walcott, Part 1

2008-03-11T11:18:00.000-07:00

It's spring break and Girl is feeling very sorry for herself because her neighborhood friends are all under weird home school or latch key arrangements that keep them from capitalizing on this rare week of freedom. Spouse and I are at work, and while Belle-mere gamely consents to being on point, she is not so ambitious for their entertainment that she is willing to drive them anywhere. And she only just tolerates hosting friends in our home.

Adding to her despair is her mother's admonition that she use this time to concentrate on her neglected science fair project and violin. How is that an answer?

My hope for her is that she learn early on -- much earlier than I learned it -- the work hard; play hard credo -- Arrange your life so that you don't let your friends intrude on your work; but don't miss the part where you're also not supposed to let your work intrude on your friends.

To illustrate my point, I told her one of my favorite OWLSS stories -- In Which We Thieve Derek Walcott Away from the Writer's Workshop. Now to appreciate this tale, you have to feel the young English major that I was, having pimped out my muse and enrolled in law school; what facility I may ever have had with the literary theory of the day growing fainter; at the same time spectacularly failing at the drill-and-repeat exercise before me.

Imagine now a woman living a parallel life, but uncompromised, enrolled across the river at the Writer's Workshop. That was Meredith. We had gone to high school together, had sat at the same smarty-pants/ artsy table at lunch. Only she's living the dream and I occasionally get invited to parties where I can no longer keep up with the references.

I was a big fan of Derek Walcott, and, around the time that he was being considered for the Nobel Prize, he gave a reading on campus. The OWLSS women went along to humor me, and to REPRESENT for all of the law school drones. We were a regular Fox Force Five -- one Asian, one Cablinasian, one Cuban, one Arab, and one blonde.

Meredith let us in on the exclusive after-party at the home of one of the workshop people. When we got there, Derek was immediately attracted to us. Could have been our sunshine, our calendar-girl diversity, or merely the fact that we weren't trying to hand him a manuscript and/or treat him to our critique. But he motioned us over to him, and then had us all sit down, criss-cross apple sauce, ON THE FLOOR. This gesture created such an awkward spacing between us and the other attendees that it might as well have been an invisible force field. Thus we passed the better part of an hour until he really did have to return to his duties. But he invited himself over to one of our apartments for dinner the next night.

Well, I believe I've mentioned that I am nobody's idea of a cook. So that is how it happened that I made fruit salad for Derek Walcott.

April Fool's Day Sermon

2008-03-10T00:12:00.000-07:00

This brilliant sermon was posted by the Terre Haute UU pastor's wife. I think I am going to have to celebrate April Fool's as a religious holiday from now on.

Jihad declared

2008-03-09T23:46:00.001-07:00

Inspired by Jon Carroll's column in the Chronicle, and after reasoned and lengthy discussion, the committee reached a consensus that my Unitarian Jihad Name is:

Sister Logging Chain of Looking at All Sides of the Question.

Get yours.

Christianity/ Atheism Matrix

2008-03-06T15:23:00.000-07:00

Got a real kick out of my dear friend Ben's Old/ New Christianity/ Atheism Matrix. As someone who bounces all up and down the left side of the column, at least I feel in good company.

Great Blacks in Wax

2008-03-06T14:32:00.000-07:00

Dinomom's timeline of Black History Month projects gone awry made me suddenly aware of its complete absence from the curriculum out here. I believe the reasoning is that we're just libertarian cowboys out here on the lone prair-ie not hurting anybody and don't bother us with anything that happened before we joined the union.

I had high hopes for Girl's wax museum project, wherein the 5th graders were supposed to portray animatronic replicas of figures from early American history. Visitors would hit a button and they would recite their bios and then return to a frozen position until the next person hit the button.

Girl went all out. She had even worked up a rap -- "I sent my bro Leo to M-D."

Although she was going for Caecilius Calvert, Lord Baltimore, her robes made her look the spitting image of Hermione Granger. But at least that takes care of her Hermione Granger costume for Halloween.

Alas, few of the students dressed up and even fewer researched their parts. Next to my Lord Calvert stood John Smith, dressed like Huck Finn and insisting that he was on the Underground Railroad.

No, sweetie, you weren't. Are you perhaps thinking of John BROWN?

No, I freed the slaves.

What slaves, pray, were you freeing in the 1600's?

The slaves on the plantations.

All right then.

It reminds me of when I did a research project on Kenya in fifth grade and listed Kwanzaa as a national holiday. Noone called me out either. Sigh.

Teaching Darwin in Sunday School

2008-03-05T14:10:00.000-07:00

The UU's have me teaching about Chas. Darwin
to the Sunday School classes. Last week, I had the 2d through 4th graders. We did this very clever exercise that I got out of this clever book. The book had you doing it with pennies and nickels, but I found it much more satisfying to do it with coloring pages of peacocks and with an actual picture of the predator.

I had seven kids, so I gave them each 7 coloring pages with peacocks on them and told them to set one aside and color the rest. If I'd had more time, that would have been enough of an activity for one day, but I only had one class.

I had the kid who finished first also color in a picture of a fox. I made it a fox to keep it fairly true to life. I looked it up. Foxes ARE natural predators of peacocks, albeit eggs and chicks, mostly.

Then I lined up eight uncolored pictures and said, imagine that this is a group of plain colored birds, but then (adding two colored pictures) a few birds are born to the group that have a little mutation -- they have colored feathers. So now I have eight plain birds and two colored birds lined up on the floor. Lined up on a blackboard with masking tape would probably be easier to follow.

Now, why might colored feathers be good news for a bird? Attract a mate (Some giggling from the girls.) Why might colored feathers be bad news for a bird? Easier for predator to find.

OK, so let's have our fox eat 1/4 of the plain colored birds and 1/2 of the brightly colored birds (Fox comes and grabs two of the uncolored pictures and one of the colored pictures.) But then let's have each plain male have only one baby and let's have each colored male have four babies. Bring each of the remaining six plain pictures down to the next row, bring the remaining colored picture down and add three more colored pictures. Now you have six plain and four colored.

Now, let's have our fox eat 1/4 of the plain males and 1/2 of the colored males (Fox comes and grabs 1 plain and two colored pictures.) But then let's have each plain male have only one baby and each colored male have four. Bring the five plain down to the next row. Bring the two colored pictures down to the next row and add six colored pictures.

Repeat until the point is made. Obviously, this is only a model. It's not really all THAT close to real life. But it shows a couple of really important points about evolution.

1) Individuals don't evolve. The bird himself doesn't change. The composition of the group changes.
2) The change is not necessarily progress. In our example, colored feathers are often bad news (Mo' color, mo' problems?).
3) Even if a trait is bad news for the individual, if it is good news for the group, it will still get selected for.

I love this lesson. I wish someone had taught it to me when I was little. I think most mainstream American kids are little Lamarckians who can easily be shouted down by any home-schooled kid with a pamphlet about how the earth is six thousand years old.

Next week, I have the kinders and 1st graders. I think we'll just look at fossils.

Phantom Tollbooth rawks!

2008-02-27T21:50:00.003-07:00

I am devastated to find that The Phantom Tollbooth is not available on DVD. You can get the VHS version used for about $40, but no DVD. What up?

D'ya s'pose that if everybody goes onto amazon.com and signs up to be notified when they come out with the DVD, then maybe they'll release it? Try it and let's see what happens.

Off the Internet, Everyone!

2008-02-24T19:16:00.001-07:00

Thanks to Dino Mom for turning me on to the word glurge. What a very useful word.

I will admit to feeling a twinge of left-wing elitism in calling PF out on the glurge. I probably wouldn't have if I hadn't just that very day overheard PF explaining to her child that the dinosaur exhibit we were attending illustrated but a theory of the earth's history, for surely dinosaurs would have coexisted with humans in the garden of Eden.

I just really wanted someone to SEE WHAT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH IN ARIZONA!

Netiquette question

2008-02-23T22:14:00.001-07:00

So, here's a question.

Say you have a friend. Not a friend, exactly. More like a probationary friend. Friend enough to have your e-mail address. And one of the first things PF does with your e-mail address is forward something to you and twenty other of her closest friends. In this particular case it was this maudlin poem.

Well, I have a pretty high tolerance for forwards of this sort, but this particular one bugged me. Perhaps it was the presumption on our very new acquaintance, or the bathos of the text, or the fraud of making people believe that signing a chain petition is accomplishing something.

I hit "reply all", linked to the hoax-slayer site, and explained that if anybody wanted to help MADD in real life, they could click on its actual action center. Was that overkill?

The House of Black

2008-02-23T21:50:00.001-07:00

The Unitarians have organized us into circles of a few households who take turns hosting potlucks for each other. Tonight was the first of these. It was altogether lovely -- for the grown-ups at least. These things are always sort of awkward for kids.

We got on to family histories. Spouse and I were telling the story of the reunion where he and I had unveiled a genealogy and the aunties all set to editing-- cousins marrying, unacknowledged children, etc. Another of our party, said, Oh, like Sirius Black's mother burning holes in the tapestry -- Bzzt, Bzzt! An apt analogy, and we had only just read that chapter last night.

Shutupious Curse

2008-02-21T10:37:00.001-07:00

Beloved has undertaken the reading of Harry Potter to Girl (mostly) and Jones. So, lately they've been barking orders expectantly at household objects and waiting for their powers to manifest. Jones has invented the "shutupious" curse, which I think quite ingenious, even though I've had to outlaw it. I would give a lot for a shutupious curse.

A School Like Costco

2008-02-17T23:40:00.000-07:00

J'adore me some Sandra Tsing Loh. Once more, she has written exactly the words I would like to think I would write if I had her forum. I happened on her critique of Kozol's latest book, which appears in the March 2008 issue of "The Atlantic". In it, she describes how she learned to stop worrying and love her children's poor, urban school, discovering that it can be like "A giant Costco -- overcrowded parking, gray lighting, but replete with buried treasure."

She describes how her "pushy, whitish, Type A, middle-class poor" family, decided to throw their all into the depressing neighborhood school -- I love how she put it, "Play[ed] Lady Bountiful," to said school -- not because they are so all-fired principled, but because it's what there is. She freely admits, "We tried to flee to the white suburbs, but we failed." Because, even though she is obviously a person who can, for instance, get herself published in "The Atlantic," the good school zip codes and/ or private schools remain way out of her price range.

And even though it exhausts me just to read what it took for this quasi-celebrity to secure, in this case, a Vh1 Save the Music grant. And even though I have more and more often experienced my own neighborhood school as a sink-hole that shows little return on my investment. Still, it is heartening to know that Sandra shares and has given a name to my own "Pushy whitish Type A middle-class poor" experience.

Jump Rope for Heart

2008-02-12T22:42:00.000-07:00

It's Jump Rope for Heart time and Girl selflessly sat this one out so that Jones could earn all the good swag. Check out Jones's fundraising webpage

Astrodon Johnstoni

Skateboarding is not a crime; but biking is

Christmas Letter: Hopelessly old-school or charmingly retro?

Just sayin'

The secularization of a football hero

How much do I love?

Obamanos!

Don't Just Stand There

Palin's Wardrobe Malfunction

Hey Nineteen, That's Steely Dan

Culture Warriors Hijack AZ Elections AGAIN

SNL is on a roll.

Arrh!

Spaced out on sensation

I am content...

Is it just me?

That's no PUMA; That's a HOUND!

I'll be a monkey's uncle

Stuffed Animal Olympics

Mystery Science Theater Thanksgiving

Police State

Who you calling Sandy?

You should eat beans with every meal

I do fondue

The Lanyard

Blood on the Saddle

Church Shooting

Comic Widow

My Dad, the D*mn H*ll *ss King

The Toa of Chandler

Laveen

Ethan?

The Drive-In

Mawwiage. It's what bwings us togethow.

Righteous Mom # 5 Mom Racer

Tony Tony Tony

Point-Counterpoint with A-Plus

Leggo my Lego

Jailhouse Rock

Wheeze my lemon

Melancholie-ie-ie

Illegitimi Non Carborundum

Nihilism pisses me off

Did I say "overlords?" I meant "protectors."

Oh Goody! A Meme

Rip Rop Rippidy Doo

Socks

Too Much Information

The time is now

It was a star before it was Harry's godfather's name

A good deed punished

Chromosomes

Quiet Time

Circle Supper

Kids say the darnedest

Circle Supper

Whither the coffee beans?

Be Monkeypenny for me

Gravity Hurts

Forget Norway (More like Snoreway)

Welcome to the zoo, zoo, zoo

I am Tess Coleman

Righteous Mom #4 -- Elastigirl

Righteous Mom #3 -- Morticia Addams

Laveen Wishlist

Columbia = Middle Earth

The Jefferson's as Epic Saga

Righteous Mom # 2 -- Chicha

Righteous Moms in Kids' Movies

Daily "coffee bean"

Reluctant

MLK's dubious legacy

You're so gay

Leave Dr. Seuss Alone

admiring feelings of a gentle lady

Zimbabwe

Food Court Musical

Wiggedy wiggedy wiggedy

Expelled!

Girls Gone Mild

My Dad, the Dmn Hll *ss King