Asshole - Part 2

Foiled Goil, over at Big Brass Blog, did a nice pile-on of my earlier Daily Dose of Asshole post. There is also a link to the WaPo story from Mike Goldman in that post's comment thread.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with Rep. Kirk?

In a speech at the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington, Kirk said he told Chinese officials "the budget numbers that the U.S. Government has put forward should not be believed."

[...]

Democratic operatives aren't letting this one go. They're fixated on Kirk's declaration that the U.S. budget numbers "should not be believed." In other words, Democrats charge, Kirk is calling his own country a liar.

"After helping get us into this current economic crisis by supporting President Bush's failed economic policies, Congressman Mark Kirk went to China and told Chinese officials that the American government was not to be trusted," says Ryan Rudominer, spokesman for the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee. "Congressman Kirk's questioning of America while representing our government in China is incredibly irresponsible and endangers the American economy."

Is Kirk the most irresponsible person in Congress? And if not, is he striving for the title? His timing on this is not so great, as if there were ever a good time to rock that boat.

Muskrat Love

txrad and I were just having a discussion involving minks in western North Dakota, and I brought up the point that I just didn't get the whole mink stole phenomenon in the 70s, even though my mother bought one. I think she might have worn it 3 or 4 times.

Money well spent.

And then txrad talked about people shooting muskrats. "You get one shot before they dive," he said.

Naturally, I asked, "Who did that song, 'Muskrat Love'?"

"Captain & Tennille," he said.

Normally I'm the one who answers those questions correctly.

Your Daily Dose of Asshole

Dear readers, I present you with Rep. Mark Kirk, an ILL Republican. Sorry, that's Ill as in Illinois. I just couldn't resist.

Just as we are making some substantive progress in examining our absurd laws concerning marijuana, and the failed War on Drugs in general, this asshole comes along to buck the trend.

And I mean he really bucks it.

From NORML:

Just days after Massachusetts Democrat Rep. Barney Frank, along with 13 cosponsors, reintroduced HR 2835, the Medical Marijuana Patient Protection Act of 2009 in Congress, Republican Rep. Mark Kirk (Illinois) has called for federal legislation to sentence certain first-time marijuana offenders to up to 25 years in prison.

Apparently, this asshole didn't read Nicholas Kristof's op-ed piece in the New York Times only two days ago:

Here in the United States, four decades of drug war have had three consequences:

First, we have vastly increased the proportion of our population in prisons. The United States now incarcerates people at a rate nearly five times the world average. In part, that’s because the number of people in prison for drug offenses rose roughly from 41,000 in 1980 to 500,000 today. Until the war on drugs, our incarceration rate was roughly the same as that of other countries.

Second, we have empowered criminals at home and terrorists abroad. One reason many prominent economists have favored easing drug laws is that interdiction raises prices, which increases profit margins for everyone, from the Latin drug cartels to the Taliban. Former presidents of Mexico, Brazil and Colombia this year jointly implored the United States to adopt a new approach to narcotics, based on the public health campaign against tobacco.

Third, we have squandered resources. Jeffrey Miron, a Harvard economist, found that federal, state and local governments spend $44.1 billion annually enforcing drug prohibitions. We spend seven times as much on drug interdiction, policing and imprisonment as on treatment. (Of people with drug problems in state prisons, only 14 percent get treatment.)

Or maybe Rep. Kirk did read it and doesn't care. Maybe he just doesn't like Rep. Barney Frank and decided to have a childish "I'll show YOU" moment.

Whatever. Way to go in showing the country and the world what a stupendous, self-righteous and out-of-touch idiot you are, Rep. Kirk.

Crossposted at B3

Leave That Woman Alone!

I love Facebook, but I'm getting annoyed at the lack of ad filtering that occurs in that environment. I've made it quite clear I'm a leftist and yet I get pleas to join this and that right-wing organization. And then there's the overhead ads which seem to defy all logic.

I want to slap somebody for sure. And it ain't Susan Boyle. I've never even seen her sing. I tend to disavow all such things related to anything remotely related to judgment calls.. But this is ridiculous.

Click on my middle finger to slap the shit out of stupid people.

If anyone can tell me what the result was from clicking on that ad, I'd love to hear it. I just couldn't give them the goddamn fucking satisfaction.

A Chance Encounter

I have wondered what happens when two celebrities who have never met just happen to bump into each other in public. I suppose the recognition part would be fairly easy if it were say, Susan Sarandon and Mary-Louise Parker. It gets a bit more challenging when it's two bloggers who have never met and are shopping at the same supermarket on the same Sunday afternoon.

txrad was gathering up our groceries and I was stuffing the receipt in my wallet when a woman walked up and said, "I know you! konagod!"

Now I can't begin to tell you everything that was going through my mind in the two seconds between her saying "I know you" and "konagod." It was like 10-minutes worth of thoughts all crammed into that short two seconds.

"Is this someone from high school or my past? No, definitely not. Is this someone I used to work with years ago? Umm, maybe, but... I don't think so. Her eyes... I recognize her eyes and her face."

If she had given me about 3 more seconds I would have nailed it. I was so close to figuring out who she was but my brain was getting twisted up between her blog and her Facebook page.

As soon as she said, "it's BLUEBERRY," I was frustrated with myself for not being able to blurt it out first!

It's so ironic because I've always thought I'd bump into her eventually, probably at a music event. And I have literally had that thought recently, and even went so far as to wonder if I'd be able to find her in a crowd, knowing up front that we were both at the same event, with only her Facebook picture as my clue.

So, having this happen at the supermarket is even more bizarre. And guess what I had bought?

Blueberries. Not kidding. Absolute truth.

Fetch the Probe and Put Your Spurs On

We all like to complain about our fucking jobs from time to time. I may cut back on my complaints now that I realize the occupational hazards of my work are basically limited to headaches and carpel tunnel syndrome. At least I don't need to wear a condom to do my job. And it's only a figure of speech when I say my work is a pain in the ass.

I love sex and I used to joke back in the 80s that I wanted to do porn because...well, it was work I could enjoy. And I heard the pay was even decent. What's not to love?

HIV for starters.

"I don't think there's a problem right now," said actor, producer and director Jules Jordan. "It's like people who do stunts in Hollywood. There's a risk in anything you do."

Jordan said he does not use condoms in filming because "it takes away the whole fantasy."

Some fantasy.

There's absolutely nothing funny about this. It's sad and tragic that 22 cases of HIV infection have been detected in the porn industry since 2004. That we know of.

And yet, I was initially amused when I saw a related piece in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette today. It had something to do with the headline.

I'm not sure if the writer of this deserves a bonus for creativity or the boot for insensitivity:

Seeing the words porn, probe and spurs in the headline of a family newspaper is quite possibly a once-in-a-lifetime event.

The visuals in my mind came about instantly and instinctively. Sometimes my own warped mind makes me uncomfortable. It's my adolescent problem and I suppose I need to work on it.

In the meantime, damn those triggers! I'm now feeling kinky, and it's too damn hot in Texas for leather!

In the same paper today there was a story about a mayor in a small town who just resigned during a "probe." I didn't bother to read that piece for details.

In Hot Pursuit of Veggies and Fruit

For the past month I have been on a health kick. Or I should say mini-health kick. At least during daylight hours. The evenings are another story, like night & day.

For 18 years I have adhered to a vegetarian diet which sounds healthy enough, but I really don't eat much in the way of fresh foods... raw fresh foods. We prepare pizza once or twice a week, we have 2 or 3 vegetable casseroles in our lineup, and then our veggie burgers with txrad's homemade ketchup, homemade buns, and potatoes he slices for the oven fries. Almost everything we eat in the evening is fried or baked!

Lunch is worse. We often take the easy route on weekdays, when I'm working, and have a microwaved frozen veggie entree. There are clearly worse things we could eat, but there are certainly better things as well. The frozen entrees are pretty expensive considering the portion sizes and the ingredients. And they usually have excess sodium.

I started walking 2 or 3 miles a day on May 18th and the end of today will represent four weeks of walking. If I stick to my plan today I will have walked 70 miles in a month.

This walking regimen has resulted in an increased appetite. I've started boiling up some oatmeal for breakfast and topping it with a sliced banana. The first couple of times I think my body -- specifically my intestinal tract -- went into shock. Without going into detail, let's just say I think my body was asking, "what the hell IS this you're feeding me??"

Now that mind, body, and spirit are all getting along better (oatmeal, banana and gut are all slapping each other on the back going "Hey dude, nice to see ya!"), I'm ready to ratchet things up a notch. I keep hearing about the importance of five servings of fruits and vegetables each day and I'm ready to give that a whirl. Ketchup doesn't count as a veggie in my book. Ketchupgate taught me that. If only cheese counted as a fruit or a vegetable -- life would be grand!

Five servings of raw fruits and veggies is my agenda. Now that I have the banana thing under control, that leaves four to go, and this is not as easy as it seems. It's been so long since I have pondered eating anything raw, I'm having trouble naming five things!

Apples! There's an idea. Now three more! Umm...

Leafy greens! The salad I often crave could easily take care of the remaining three veggies. I just need to add a carrot and... what else?

Oh screw it. I'm too lazy too make a salad every day and I know it.

I have a better idea. All this slicing, dicing and chopping is going to take time. Let's just throw all that stuff in a juicer...carrot, apple, beet, celery, and DRINK it.

So, what's on your plate? Do you get your five servings of fruit and veggies each day?

Some Sunday Morning Joni

"Harry's House/Centerpiece" is from The Hissing of Summer Lawns.

Wristwatches Must Go!

I haven't worn a watch since the 1980s. And even then, it was a freebie from Andy Warhol. I subscribed to Interview magazine because I liked all the boy photos, and I got a free wristwatch from Andy on my birthday.

For years I bragged about my birthday gift from Andy.

Eventually, the cheap plastic strap broke (I doubt it was made in China back then), and I quit wearing it, and I haven't worn a watch since.

Now I'm kinda perplexed as to why people are so obsessed about time. We have iPhones. Don't they tell us the time? Hell, my RAZR does. And my computer, and my atomic clock in the kitchen.

I don't really need to know the time THAT often. Just an occasional glance to get a general idea will suffice.

I don't use an alarm clock. No need. I have cats. THEY know the time. And they will tell YOU when it's time to get up.

So, all that being said, I get really pissed when I watch porn and the guys are wearing watches. Take that shit OFF, please! You took EVERYTHING else off! Why not remove the watch? Do you need to be somewhere fast?

Bottom line: remove the watch when you are jerking someone else off for pleasure, and for profit. Especially if you are on camera. For it is most unbecoming, not to mention, distracting. It makes it seem as though you have something better to do at the appropriate time. And clearly you do not.

Let me quote from MY bible.

Give unto others as you would have them give unto you.

And the world would be a much happier place.

Some Saturday Morning Joni

"Fucked Up" Means ALL Of Us

This blog was founded, and has been inconsistently force-fed, by the work of konagod. It is overwhelmingly His vision, voice, energy, work, and determination that has set the tone and maintained the blog we enjoy -- a place on the internet which commenters say, again and again, they treasure as a hilarious, piece-of-shit minuscule blog. Or occasional spammers who say, The way you present your articles is exquisite. Would you mind if we exchange links? Without konagod, konagod would not exist. Full stop.

He wants to make clear that He is speaking as one konagod voice about what it means to waste personal time in maintaining this "exquisite" blog when He should be mowing the yard or scrubbing the bathroom tiles instead of taking cat pictures and throwing up post after post after post. His dedication to speaking up for Himself and occasionally others is represented by countless hours of sleeping, drinking coffee, a little writing, playing records at night, ill communication, and jerk-off fantasies within and without the community. The guidelines and policies that He has worked to create represent His very purple hazily-defined expectations.

What's konagod all about, anyway?

konagod was started in May, 2006 as a place to post cat pictures on Fridays. It quickly evolved into a pseudo-political blog, a brief attempt at running with the big dogs by trying to be the first to cover breaking news before discovering it was never going to happen because his grammar sucks and people don't care, and then a daily tracking of famous people's birthdays complete with YouTube videos, occasionally some serious posts about LGBTQ issues, but ultimately just a whatever/whenever blog covering whatever issues happened to yank His dick, like kids getting arrested for serving pot-spiked muffins at school, or retards being sent to prison in Texas for 100 years. WHO CARES!?

While konagod considers konagod a progressive blog, or at least considers himself progressive in a lazy hippie kind of way, this is also a chafe space. Visitors need not check their privilege at the door (we have no bouncers and somebody without privilege might make off with it) so best you keep it close at hand and just be aware of it. No one is expected to be perfect; everyone is expected to be willing to self-examine and if you want to touch yourself in strange places while here, far be it from konagod to interfere. Focus on the fun. It's a blog. He can't see you.

Cat scratches, masturbation, ISDs (injuries suffered while drunk), bowel movements, enemas, and other explosive bodily discharges, along with left-wing politics, right-wing nutjobs, music and culture, are all woven into the abominable fabric of konagod.

In fact, konagod's key objectives are equality, pervasiveness, perverseness, unlicensed use of AP photos, momentum, derision, growth, pleasure, anarchy, being in the company of butch lesbians for protection, community, blatant plagiarism, laughter, and diarrhea of both ass and mouth.

konagod blogs about domestic politics, presidents behaving like assholes, presidents who are liars, black presidents who lie about being a fierce advocate of gays, gays who think they have been healed straight by Jesus, people who think they find Jesus or the Virgin Mary in a cheesy poof, ugly-ass ridiculous outfits worn by models, ugly-ass ridiculous outfits worn by ordinary people, obituaries (especially people who deserve one; Kim Jong Il's is still saved as a draft ready to post), ethics, atom smashers, music, oppression, repression, depression, recession, religion, philosophy (but only konagod's, not those assholes who got famous from it), marriage (or legal lack thereof), cats, marijuana, alcohol, weed, doobies, joints, reefer, blunts, bongs, pipes, gas prices, ignorant white people, tyrants, Alabama, injustice, civil liberties, racism, bullshit, cat shit, the Brown Menace(TM) which lurks beneath our southern border, dicks, penises, fruits, vegetables, fruits and vegetables shaped like penises, HIS penis (specifically just how long, thick, and lovely it is to behold), why on earth any woman would wear high heels, why temperatures near 0F make the snow squeak and the boogers freeze in your nose, black holes, simpletons, Mississippi, assholes, shopping, cooking, home improvements, shit made in China, jobs exported, butt plugs, butt harps, butt wipes, asshats, Oklahoma, hairy pussy, wet pussy, fat pussy, skinny pussy, lazy pussy, haikus, Kansas, vomit, stinkfoot, yellow snow, Curtis Blow, and anything else that He feels like discussing. And why not? It's His fucking blog. He's the only contributor and He can do what He fucking wants. Whoooot!

All are invited. Whether you have the stomach for it is up to you.

He is speaking for Himself, and his sixteen other personalities, as contributors and moderators, because we He believes that we I He must impose some rules around here to live up to OUR ideals.

We I HE perceives that, over and over again, the choices of some folks in comment threads (or the complete lack of comments in threads) to be ridiculously nice and level-headed have created an environment in which konagod, (let Him remind you again, in case you forgot) the founder and creator of chafe space at konagod, clearly feels unworthy, spaced out, unchafed, unmotivated, and way too horny. In recent weeks, this pattern flared up again, and konagod chose to take a break from the blog and start walking 2 or 3 miles a day, vacuuming the house, tending to his day job, playing too many Facebook games, and removing trapped beetles from the attic ventilation.

This is not, by any means, the first time this has played out, but a summation (with links to specific examples) of the most recent cycle of this pattern can be found here. And here.

We are now calling on every person who identifies as a member of this community to step up and take direct responsibility to help change this pattern -- to take an equal share of the responsibility to maintain a chafe space for everyone in this community.

We call on you to do this in the following ways:

1. Commenting is now mandatory. Ramble on and on, saying whatever comes to mind, making reference to your private body parts, your sinus drainage, your cat's tapeworms, wev.

2. Spice up your own comments in terms of adherence to konagod's demand for a chafe space, and behaving in accordance with what konagod is all about.

3. Don't expect konagod, or his 16 other personalities, to constantly educate and re-educate you on the guidelines of the blog -- respect the time and energy that konagod has put into creating these guidelines by taking the time and energy to educate yourself. And if that's asking too much, well... go give yourself a hot water enema and come back with a fresh perspective, ready to embrace that which is konagod.

4. Be All Fucked Up. Bring your vocal, visible support to konagod (and his 16 other personalities) when you see others failing to chafe, or when they have expressed that they are triggered or distressed by something not happening at the blog. The persistent absence of vocal, visible support from the broad community serves as tacit acceptance of behaviors that we believe are incompatible with our chafe space. Speaking up ONLY when it directly involves you is completely counter to the notion of being "All Fucked Up" -- a primary thrust of konagod Kulture (TM) -- and as kona says: "Man, this shit is like trippin' in a void".

5. Respond immediately (oh, by the way, you are expected to maintain a presence here at all times! New rule!) and defensively to kona's (or his sixteen other personalities) requests that you cease participating in behavior that violates chafe space -- and actually take a moment to stir some shit up.

6. Treat konagod, in all interactions, with the respect that he deserves as the founder, acknowledged leader, only leader, unprofessional writer, and executive mis-director and fornicator of this blog.

7. Open your ears to truly hear, and join your voice in support of konagod, then open your ass and let one rip. Collectively, we should do this as a community.

8. Become an active agent in creating and maintaining chafe space for every konagodian -- including, and especially, konagod, the Almighty Kocktastic King Kona, Lord of The Gigantoid Penis.

9. Know that konagod has a low-threshold for violence, ultra violence, and hate speech. However, trolls and spammers are deposited into the virtual meat grinder as quickly as possible.

10. Beware of using triggering words. konagod even considers the word trigger triggering. You have been forewarned. He will pull the trigger on your ass.

These are the expectations. konagod acknowledges that He, (and His sixteen personalities) have sometimes failed to meet these expectations, even within the confines of this lengthy blatherpost. They re-commit, and invite you to re-commit, to living up to these expectations.

kona, with His occasional work, strong spirits, and cannabis, created this blog, constructed this chafe space, and founded this community within it. Everyone is responsible for maintaining this tripe space and making it chafer for all. That doesn't mean just konagod (and His 16 personalities) are responsible.

This means you.
Yes, you.
Yes, me.
Yes, each and every one of us.
Yes, even every INCH of us. Even if your he-man inches don't measure up to kona's. Give it your best shot.

We are all responsible for our words in this space.

We are all responsible for contributing to the roasting of this space for everyone -- or else the community is boring and frankly, sucks.

It does not work for konagod, or anyone else, to write a post in such a way as to make sure it upholds the ideals of this blog, and then have readers disregard those ideals by failing to comment, or writing nice shit, or worse, not even showing up to trip the goddamn SiteMeter.

A "chafe space" means chafe for everyone and that includes konagod (and His sixteen other personalities). Why people don't grasp this concept is incomprehensible and completely unacceptable to us. Everyone must be stupid or something.

This blog will not survive if people are unwilling themselves to uphold the ideals that konagod demands of konagod.

That is probably not a threat, it is simply a tool to whip you into submission. We must, as a group, allow nothing to derail our quest for chafe space. Or at the very least, chafe-ishness.

Now, everyone hold virtual hands and chant after Him: "I will be chafed! I WILL be chafed!"

Good children! It's the weekend, so go forth and Be All Fucked Up!



please print for your records
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
chafe
  /tʃeɪf/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [cheyf] Show IPA verb, chafed, chaf⋅ing, noun
–verb (used with object)
1. to wear or abrade by rubbing: He chafed his shoes on the rocks.
2. to make sore by rubbing: Her collar chafed her neck.
3. to irritate; annoy: The dripping of the faucet chafed her nerves.
4. to warm by rubbing: to chafe cold hands.
5. Obsolete. to heat; make warm.
–verb (used without object)
6. to become worn or sore from rubbing: His neck began to chafe from the starched collar.
7. to rub; press with friction: The horse chafed against his stall.
8. to be irritated or annoyed: He chafed at their constant interruptions.
–noun
9. irritation; annoyance.
10. heat, wear, or soreness caused by rubbing.
—Idiom
11. chafe at the bit, to become impatient at delay: The work was going very slowly, and he began to chafe at the bit.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Pussy Blog: Feigning Sleep Edition

If there's pussy, it MUST be FRIDAY!!

One thing that truly amazes me about cats is how they can "sleep" and yet maintain full awareness of their surroundings. Obviously these two have the slit eye condition due to my presence with a camera.

Sissy will sleep on the floor under the keyboard in bedroom #2. But after lunch when I go to ease myself onto the bed quietly in bedroom #1, she is immediately aware and will come join me for some headbutting against my hand and some excessive licking.

And this brings to mind something I've wanted to address here. Message to kitteh: must no lick or bite man-nipple.

It tickles and it's kind of gross. Getting real close to bestiality, so stop trying to do it. Please. It disturbs me having to be on guard when I'm trying to relax. The biscuit-making maneouver on my crotch is bad enough!

Tater Tot prefers the bed to the floor, also in bedroom #2. He never gets on the bed with me in bedroom #1, but both of them will be pacing around my bed every morning, grooming, or just hanging out waiting for me to arise. Because they know it's time. 6:00 AM sharp.

Back to this psychic thing, or whatever this talent cats have for awareness might be. Sweet Pea, one of our two outside cats, is very nervous around strangers. He will wander off and hide when someone other than us happens to be in the back yard. What's funny is that when he's sleeping, even if his back is turned away from the gate, he won't move if I happen to be coming in the gate from the driveway, or if I walk out to the patio from the kitchen.

He must know from the sound of my steps that it's me and not some stranger. Or they are psychic on some level.

Fun With Water

What a fantastic ad! That's something you don't hear me say often.

Cher Gets a Double Whammy

Cher didn't take the news so well when Chastity told her mom she was a lesbian a few years ago. Now that "Chaz" Bono is transitioning from female to male, maybe mom will be a little more supportive than she was the first time around.

Seriously though, I'm more concerned with how the media is going to play around with this, and whether they will deal with this seriously, or turn it into a comedy strip.

I agree with Pam's opening statement:

This has to be the highest profile transition in recent memory. Let's see what the MSM does with this story as it unfolds; one can only hope that journalists will be fair and accurate and bring some rational perspective to transgender issues.

One can only hope. But I doubt it. Rational perspective would be nice for a change, on a variety of fronts. And especially when it comes to the transgender issue which rarely gets any seriously informative and educational media coverage. Unfortunately, rational perspective gets in the way of sensationalism, viewership levels and ratings, and all that shit.

We'll soon find out.

Oh, and to what kind of people does the media pander when they feel the need to sensationalize an issue? I'll give you a couple from the Daily News blog comments:





Now's there some intellectual discourse of the highest caliber! And since when did "penis" become a dirty word needing to be replaced with *****? I hope these two people are not over the age of 14. Seriously.

Texas: A Big State But So Few Options

This is just...so damn wrong.

An 18-year-old who has profound mental disabilities was sentenced to 100 years in prison after pleading guilty to charges in a sexual abuse case involving his 6-year-old neighbor. The teenager, Aaron Hart, was arrested and charged after a neighbor found him fondling her stepson in September. He pleaded guilty to five counts, including aggravated sexual assault and indecency by contact, and a jury decided his punishment. Judge Eric Clifford in Lamar County said neither he nor jurors liked the idea of prison for Mr. Hart but felt there was no other option. “In the state of Texas, there isn’t a whole lot you can do with somebody like him,” Judge Clifford said. Mr. Hart has an IQ of 47 and was diagnosed as mentally disabled as a child. He cannot read or write and speaks unsteadily.

"No other option." Let's look on the bright side: at least they didn't go with the death penalty.

Stay classy, Texas!

(I still can't believe this story is for real!)

The Traditional Marriages We Never Hear About

The "Safe Space" Conumdrum

Efforts are underway at Shakesville to improve upon the "safe space" and the list of requirements is starting to make airport security look like a trip to the supermarket.

While it may be a noble effort, I suspect it will meet the same end as previous attempts. That's unfortunate. But so is reality. As I mentioned on my Facebook page recently, you can't have a blog addressing controversial topics with a full-frontal headbutt, with 12,000 daily visitors no less, and expect everyone to be on the same wavelength, minding their manners and their "fuck yous" or occasional slip-ups in how wording is phrased, or whether the imagery of those words might cause someone discomfort.

Good luck with that effort. Let me put it in perspective. I've been seeking my own personal "safe space" since high school. What worked best for me there was simply being a loner, and even that wasn't terribly effective since I was subjected to frequent ridicule from one or two students because I was perceived as weird.

In college, I joined a Green Party group on campus which was comprised of about 12-15 students. Sounds like an ideal safe-space, right? I was out of there after about two weeks when I realized even a dozen like-minded people still can't agree on a damn thing. The bickering was just too much and I felt I had to leave. So pardon me if I'm a pessimist in refusing to believe it's even worth the effort to create such a space in a group of thousands. Although 95% of them might be intelligent and conscientious, and respectful in general, it doesn't take much in a crowded utopia to tip a glass over and that group is in no mood for a carpet clean-up.

Perhaps this is why I enjoy blogging about politics now because I'm not physically in the room with people listening to them argue and disagree. It's bad enough in a comment thread! And I'm not the least bit concerned that I am preaching to the choir, nor am I concerned that the choir might number about 4o or 50 as opposed to thousands. I blog to get things out of my system. I blog to vent. And I like putting it out there. I don't really give a shit about accolades, awards, or how many thumbs up I get. If I put out a bowl of food on the patio, something is going to eat it and enjoy it, even though I might never see it.

If that were my blog, and if I were in the same mental place as Melissa, I'd probably shut down blog comments on all posts except the most benign general interest humor pieces. I would link my posts to my Facebook page and my friends and like-minded acquaintances could comment. It might even work better that way as people, I believe, tend to think about the impact of what they are going to say when dealing with real names, and faces, as opposed to the anonymity of a blog thread with fake names.

But that's just me and how I would approach it. However, that would destroy the "community" feel. And ironically that takes us right back to square one.

Shakesville, or more accurately it was the precursor, Shakespeare's Sister, was one of two blogs I visited on a regular basis when I first started blogging in 2006. That blog spawned many virtual friendships (not to mention an education) which live on to this day on Facebook, and I am eternally grateful for having that wonderful experience and introduction back then to the people I know now. However virtual they may be (I've met a couple), I still consider them friends.

I wish nothing but the best for those Facebook friends of mine who also weather the storm over at Shakesville, moderating what is sometimes irrational madness. I admire their efforts and their determination. I feel that if Melissa shuts down the blog, and doesn't write another word, that would be a sad loss for the planet as she is one of the best, most articulate and interesting writers I've run across in the blogosphere. I would hope she would choose to continue writing somewhere.

As for Shakesville, the blog, even the tension which is evident in the comment thread today makes me uncomfortable to read. As with air travel, I'd have to say I'm "All Out" when it comes to mingling in the community. I'd prefer to watch from afar, in my own "safe space." I already have been for six months.

53 Miles

Since May 18, as of today I'm up to 53 miles in my walking regimen. That puts me about halfway to Waco!

Now wouldn't it just suck if I had a change of heart right now and decided to walk to Mexico? LOL.

Friday Pussy Blog: The Totopotamus Edition

This is one large cat loaf! One of his mid-afternoon rituals is to sit there in the hallway entrance and observe all things. He can basically track our every move from that one spot.

TGIF! What a week!

Ramming It Through

New Hampshire is finally on-board as the 6th state allowing same-sex marriages. The law takes effect on January 1, 2010. However, it required a bit of clever maneuvering to reach the desk of Governor John Lynch, who promptly signed it.

Thanks, Gov!

Republicans have called the committee’s work tainted because the Senate president, Sylvia B. Larsen, a Democrat, replaced one of its Republican members when that legislator would not sign off on last week’s compromise. Under legislative rules, the committee’s decision needed to be unanimous.

[...]

Kevin Smith, director of the Cornerstone Policy Research, a group opposing the bill, said lawmakers “rammed this legislation through” in a way that “reeks of backroom deals and a subversion of the legislative process.”

If we were talking about some controversial piece of legislation, a questionable tax increase or decrease for example, I might have some issues with how this legislation finally wound up on the governor's desk. But given the fact that we're dealing with a long-overdue civil rights issue, and heinous attempts by Republicans and some conservative Democrats to prevent marriage equality, I can only praise these tactics.

How different is this from the Proposition 8 situation in California last year when Republicans and conservatives mounted a fear-based campaign against same-sex marriage, bombarding church-goers with lies and distortions, with the result being 52% of voters passing the measure to strip gay and lesbians of a fundamental civil right, and the constitutional right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Moreover, this was not exactly a "will of the people" given that 1 in 5 registered voters didn't bother to cast a ballot. With only 52% of voters in support of Prop 8, who is to say what the true will of the people might have been. Regardless of whether it might have been 51/49 or 50.1/49.9, civil rights and equality must never be put up for a vote by the people, particularly when the people are so heavily courted by the will of conservatives, who pumped millions of dollars into California from elsewhere to pass the measure by ramming fear and lies down people's throats and preying on religious beliefs. And thus, many people flocked to the polls to support Prop 8 believing society would otherwise collapse.

There's some subversion for you.

If we need to do our own ramming to achieve equality in the remaining states, let's get on with it. If we're expecting to play nice and wait for equality and civil rights to be handed to us without a fight, we might be in for a long wait.

A Bug in the System

For the past two days I've been hearing a scratching noise behind the bathroom ventilation fan on the ceiling. I figured it was a bird building a nest although I've never heard of birds picking such an odd location. I turned on the fan and it sounded like it was brushing against twigs.

Earlier today I turned on the fan and something was completely blocking it from spinning. Then later when I tried it just started whirring away. But I could never drive the critter away, whatever it ultimately was. That should have been my first clue it probably wasn't a bird -- unless it was trapped as opposed to building a nest. And that is what we decided it was -- a trapped bird. And then I was feeling all kinds of guilt for turning on the fan and hoping I hadn't injured it.

I began removing the plastic cover of the fan and light and realized that was no help at all. It was FILTHY up in there but the fan was a tall cylinder which extended up into the box in the attic rather than a fan with several flat blades.

My next step was to go up into the attic. This required removing a few dozen boxes from the closet before I could access the panel into the attic. (I now have to also go try and fit them back in perfectly. Joy.)

Once I was up there I could hear the critter scratching but it was clearly inside the ventilation box which was connected to a long air duct out to the roof. So, a waste of time.

And that pole you see hanging down is a rake. I decided I needed that to reach over and rake the insulation off the fan box which fortunately was only about 2 feet from the top of the ladder.

The fan box was under there...somewhere.

The only way to get in there was to unscrew the fan and remove it. This was pretty scary as I had no idea if the critter was going to fly out, fall out, or slither out. I got the fan removed but could see nothing. Yet I could still hear scratching. We knew it had to be close by because we'd seen it moving the fan before we removed it.

We closed the bathroom door and waited for something to emerge. After about 15 minutes I went to check and voila! Poor thing!

That is one of the biggest bugs I've ever seen in my life.

It fell to the floor and Sheldon gathered it up in a bag and took it outside.

It seemed a little dazed by the outdoor light.

The head on that thing was rather menacing!

What a hassle! But at least that problem is solved and we can easily clean the fan before installing it. That's been on my to-do list for a long time but I never wanted to tackle that project.

Yuck. That is probably a 20-year dirt accumulation.

Friday Pussy Blog: Vintage Jezebel Edition

I don't suppose I'll ever have another Memorial Day without thinking about my dear Jezebel. I buried her on Memorial Day, 2004 which if I recall was May 30 or 31st of that year. It is so hard for me to believe it has been five years since she strutted through our house, tail in the air, chatting with me, and occasionally sleeping on my bed.

Honey, you are forever missed.

23 Miles

On Monday, May 18 I began a regular walking regimen of between one and three miles per day. I usually do one mile in the morning and an additional one, sometimes two, miles in the afternoon.

I want to see how long it takes me to virtually get out of Texas.

After 23 miles, I'm not even out of Austin yet!

From time to time I'll post a map of my progress. Anybody want to place bets on where along the way I'll need a new pair of shoes?

700,000 Signatures Needed

I fully expected the California Supreme Court to uphold Proposition 8. And yet I was infuriated at the decision when it was announced. And yet, I can even agree with their rationale.

In a 136-page majority ruling written by Chief Justice Ronald George, the justices said it was not their job to address whether the ban was wise public policy, but only to decide whether it was constitutionally valid, while "setting aside our own personal beliefs and values."

At the same time, I can agree with the New York Times editorial today which states that the California Supreme Court "got it terribly wrong."

In addition to denying basic fairness to gay people, the court’s 6-to-1 ruling sets an unfortunate legal precedent that could allow the existing rights of any targeted minority to be diminished using the Election Day initiative process.

[...]

The case turned on a reading of California’s rules for changing its Constitution. Essentially, the majority decided that Proposition 8 is an ordinary constitutional amendment, requiring approval only by a bare majority of voters, rather than a more far-reaching “revision.”

Revisions require a more deliberative two-step process: either a constitutional convention or a two-thirds vote of the State Legislature followed by a referendum.

So, even if we got screwed on a legal technicality, I can't allow myself to go on an anti-California crusade nor can I start bashing the California Supreme Court. The problem lies with the California constitution, outside special interest groups who poured millions of advertising dollars into the effort to pass Prop 8, gullible voters who are essentially brainwashed, and even apathy among registered voters who might be our allies but didn't bother to show up at the polls.

The idea that a minority of registered voters can control a civil rights issue and create a 2nd class tier of citizens while calling it "the will of the majority" simply fills me with rage.

We've just got to pick up the pieces and start again. We can start gathering signatures to repeal it, or hope for a US Supreme Court intervention.

Theodore B. Olson and David Boies, two prominent litigators who opposed each other in the Bush v. Gore election challenge in 2000, are challenging Proposition 8 on those grounds in federal court.

The pair filed a lawsuit Friday on behalf of two gay men and two gay women, arguing that the marriage ban violates the U.S. constitutional guarantees of equal protection and due process.

Olson, a former U.S. solicitor general, said he hopes the case will wind up before the U.S. Supreme Court.

"This is a federal question," he said. "This is about the rights of individuals to be treated equally and not be stigmatized."

Meanwhile, gay rights groups are starting work gathering the 700,000 signatures required to place a repeal of Proposition 8 before voters in November 2010.

Frankly, both options scare me. Regardless of the economic climate, the opposition seems to have a bottomless well of cash for their operations. But one would hope this issue has received enough attention now to diminish the impact of those who oppose same-sex marriage.

As for a SCOTUS ruling on the matter, let's just say I believe it would be a 5-4 decision, which ever way it goes.

But let's look for the silver lining. In addition to the 18,000 existing same-sex marriages being allowed to stand, there are still civil unions (better than nothing!) until we can correct this horrible wrong which has been imposed on the state.

The court’s opinion, written by Chief Justice Ronald M. George for a 6-to-1 majority, noted that same-sex couples still had a right to civil unions. Such unions, the opinion said, gives those couples the ability to “choose one’s life partner and enter with that person into a committed, officially recognized and protected family relationship that enjoys all of the constitutionally based incidents of marriage.”

It's going to be long, slow and agonizing. Such is life.

Stand tall and march.

Photo credit: Jim Wilson/The New York Times

Sonia Sotomayor Picked for SCOTUS

Sotomayor is Obama's SCOTUS pick!

Now the fun part begins.

Judge Sotomayor is Mr. Obama’s first selection to the Supreme Court, and her nomination could trigger a struggle with Senate Republicans who have indicated they may oppose the nomination. But Democrats are within reach of the 60 votes necessary to choke off a filibuster, and Republicans concede that they have little hope of blocking confirmation barring unforeseen revelations.

Initial reaction to the selection reflected party divisions and signaled that Judge Sotomayor’s confirmation hearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee would be spirited.

Spirited indeed. Let the Republicans have their rants, their meltdowns, whatever. Go ahead and continue to alienate women and Hispanics in one double whammy.

This should be an interesting evening for tequila, "Hardball," and "Countdown" since a California Prop 8 ruling is also forthcoming shortly.

Memorial Day 2009

Borrowed from The Dark Wraith.

Just to Clarify, Yet Again.

How can "conservatives" govern effectively when they can't even grasp the basic fundamental fact that "liberals" do not control Congress. Democrats control Congress. Big difference. And many of those Democrats are conservatives.

Get the facts right, people.

A Plate Too Full to Embrace Equality?

I am just baffled as to why President Obama can't just come out and say it. Even if he doesn't have time to push for it at the moment. (That's also a bullshit excuse, IMHO.) And it's beginning to get on my nerves.

Frank Rich, in the Sunday New York Times, writes:

Obama has long been, as he says, a fierce advocate for gay equality. The Windy City Times has reported that he initially endorsed legalizing same-sex marriage when running for the Illinois State Senate in 1996. The most common rationale for his current passivity is that his plate is too full. But the president has so far shown an impressive inclination both to multitask and to argue passionately for bedrock American principles when he wants to. Relegating fundamental constitutional rights to the bottom of the pile until some to-be-determined future seems like a shell game.

As Wolfson reminds us in his book “Why Marriage Matters,” Dr. King addressed such dawdling in 1963. “For years now I have heard the word ‘Wait,’ ” King wrote. “It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This ‘Wait’ has almost always meant ‘Never.’ ”

The gay civil rights movement has fewer obstacles in its path than did Dr. King’s Herculean mission to overthrow the singular legacy of slavery. That makes it all the more shameful that it has fewer courageous allies in Washington than King did. If “American Idol” can sing out for change on Fox in prime time, it ill becomes Obama, of all presidents, to remain mute in the White House.

Clocks are ticking.

Three Years Blogging

Three years ago today I started this saucy, brassy blog. I decided to commemorate the occasion by grabbing an old photo of txrad's non-functioning trumpet and jazz up the three valves a bit.

2,396 Blog Posts

111,027 Visitors

In many ways it's hard to believe it's only been three years. Anyway, moving on to #4.

Friday Pussy Blog: The Indoor Kitties Edition

Kick a leg off the bed why don'cha!

The Tot, in all his bulky glory. Cat Loaf.

The Joy of Sex Teabagging Konagod

I happened to click on a link to Eschaton today, a blog I haven't visited in well over a year I'm guessing. Aside from a comment thread party, I guess I haven't missed much.

You know, I got somethin'. I haven't said this in awhile, but I truly enjoy all of you who do visit and comment, even if you visit and don't comment (yes, I'm a SiteMeter whore), you are still appreciated.

And I'm glad I've reached a point in my blog history where I don't give a shit if I've got nothing to say. I simply don't post until I do. And it may be shallow and superficial adolescent humor. But it's me and it's what makes me happy for a moment, just to share something with a few folks.

So.... thanks.

Oh my God.... I just went back and there's a new post...zero comments!

Tiding me over. Just what I need. I resisted the obvious temptation to comment "First!" or "Frist!"

What I need is a tequila shot.

Mike Masterson: Colossal Asshole Award

Mike Masterson, the opinion editor of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette’s Northwest edition, i.e. the most heavily Republican district of the state, got me all wound up this morning with this piece in today's paper.

Ahh, the joys of being a white, heterosexual IDIOT.

I really hope the link works -- it could be subscription only which I have by virtue of piggy-backing on my mother's print copy subscription. In any event, you'll get the gist of it...

By the way, just like Prejean, Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Hillary Clinton and nearly 70 percent of my fellow Americans, I, too, am a Christian, one who believes that institution of marriage is between one man and one woman. The people of other major religions believe likewise.

As with most of that vast majority, I also couldn’t care less what consenting adults do in their own bedrooms. But to destroy the holy and sacred institution of marriage based on the behavioral preferences of one group representing a fraction of our population would be a drastic mistake.

The colossal asshole got it all wrong. This is not about what consenting adults (and make note of his use of "consenting") do in their bedrooms; it's about what rights consenting heterosexual adults have in a relationship recognized by the state which non-heterosexual consenting adults do NOT have. And it matters fuck-all whether we are 7/10ths of 1%, or 6%, or 42%. We are tax-paying, hard-working Americans with ethics and moral values as well. And I'm fucking fed the hell up with "opinion editors" and anyone else trotting out these tired old arguments, and using the most insulting phrases like "behavioral preferences" only adds fuel to my fire.

Mr. Masterson, a "behavioral preference" would be, for instance, one in which a man prefers to pee sitting down to avoid splatter. My own "behavioral preferences" include things like having the toilet paper flap on the top vs. the underside, and always squeezing the toothpaste tube from the bottom. But when it comes to fucking in the privacy of my bedroom my sexual orientation, this is not a preference or a behavioral choice. My route is what is natural for me as a gay man.

But wait, Masterson's reasoning gets even more embarrassing for him.

It would be like cracking an egg that, once broken, would open the marriage door to all forms of sexual behaviors and predilections. Try to visualize pedophiles marrying children, a husband with multiple wives, humans marrying animals. Don’t laugh. Once we fallible human animals choose to erase a moral boundary established by a much higher force than convenient political popularity, where can any meaningful lines ever be drawn in our society?

Trust me, I'm not laughing. Yes, try to visualize pedophiles and sex with animals, you sick twisted fuck. Spread that fear to your readership and continue distorting reality to suit your own theocratic jerk-off fantasy.

Apparently at this point in the scribe, he lost sight of a word he used earlier: consenting.

You see, children are not consenting adults; we already have laws in place to prevent pedophiles from marrying children, and without those we'd already have heterosexual pedophiles marrying children. As it stands now, we have a lot of heterosexual pedophiles simply raping children outside the institution of marriage, as opposed to within it. And this has abso-fucking-lutely NOTHING to do with same-sex marriage. And Masterson has got to know this; if he doesn't he has no business being paid to write opinion pieces for a major statewide newspaper; he should be submitting them as a reader to an editor who actually has some common sense.

But it sure works great as as humor piece scare tactic when you have absolutely nothing else to hang your (ass)hat on.

As if this just simply isn't too over-the-top to fathom, he has to toss in the obligatory visual of humans marrying animals. Again, animals can't consent. And seriously, while we're on the subject of "fractions of our population," how many people would go that route, even if it were legal? (It's a rhetorical question, don't answer it. I have no doubt somebody somewhere, probably one or two of his newpaper's subscribers, would give it a whirl.)

And then Masterson continues with the granddaddy of them all: speak out while you still have the basic right, because Carrie Prejean is living proof that we're about to lose that right.

Even a beauty queen with no ax to grind with anyone is not exempt from personal attacks today for simply giving an honest opinion shared by most Americans. Carrie Prejean and her grandfather are right. It is time for everyone who believes in values and freedom to get off their duffs and be counted-while they still can be.

Mr. Masterson, am I included in your definition of "everyone who believes in values and freedom?" Only to a certain extent? We would like to "get off our duffs and be counted." That's the fucking point of our Gay Agenda. Only people such as yourself just keep shitting all over it with your asinine propaganda and fear-mongering.

If I wasn't such a proponent of free speech, I'd be tempted to tell you to shut the fuck up. But I will not take that low road. You go ahead and make a colossal asshole out of yourself in the statewide press as often as you want. Eventually, you will be on the losing end of this battle. Even in Arkansas.

Eggs are gonna get cracked. And there ain't no demons, pedophiles, or animal fuckers lurking within. Just basic civil rights, and that's some scary shit for many people, apparently.

More on Mike Masterson.

Small Wang Contentment

I despise spam. Really. But once in awhile I'll get one with a subject line that cracks me up. Today was such a day.

Seriously? Why would I want that? That's so... 1950s.

I'm content with a small Wang, but thanks for the huge offer.

Rev. Dr. C. Welton Gaddy on Olbermann

We saw Rev. Dr. C. Welton Gaddy a few months ago being interviewed on MSNBC and last night he was invited to appear on Countdown with Keith Olbermann. For me to have nothing but great things to say about a Baptist minister from the Deep South is surreal to say the least.

I don't know who plucked this guy from an obscure pulpit; maybe he did it himself to get a rational message out there.

Bravo.

Last night I was thinking he is the only minister I might actually enjoy hearing speak from a pulpit in a church. And I did not know until this morning that his church is the Northminster (Baptist) Church in Monroe, Louisiana, a town I pass through when I go visit my mother in Arkansas. In fact, Monroe is only 90 minutes from my mom's house.

I really like this quote from 2003 pertaining to the dangers of mixing religion with politics:

...what we've seen happen is our democracy, I think, is being crippled in its ability to practice healthy debate because of escalating every issue to a kind of transcendent religious moral substantive subject. When you do that you shut down the debate that makes democracy work, honest debate where there is an exchange of ideas and people refine their thinking and together our differences of opinion help us discover a better way.

This man is clearly adept at uncloaking bullshit for everyone to see and smell. I find him mesmerizing to watch, and such a refreshing voice of absolute reason in these frightening times when theocrats are clamoring for the national stage and power.

Left-Wing Douchebags

There's a new Facebook application called "Right-Wing Douchebags" where you select one or more to send to your friends. The list includes such notables as Ann Coulter, Karl Rove, Ben Stein, Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, Boss Limbaugh, Dick Cheney, Sarah Palin, Michele Bachman (whose name is misspelled with two Ls on the app and various sites throughout the web), Michelle Malkin (who does use two Ls), and of course, the granddaddy douchebag of them all, George W. Bush.

There are others, all certifiable douchebags, but who are the left-wing douchebags? There's gotta be a few, right? I can't think of one off the top of my head, so help me out here. There are some centrist douchebags and the right-wing douchebags would like you to believe they are left-wing douchebags but that's not the case, IMHO. The right-wing douchebags are so far to the right that being centrist looks lefty Socialist to them, and that's more evidence of their own douchebaggery.

And furthermore, if I could name a left-wing douchebag, the criteria which would earn them douchebag status would probably disqualify them as being truly left-wing.

Douchebags seem to have one or two things in common: they like to wear their religion on the sleeves, their car bumpers and anyplace else they can get it in the public eye, and they like to use it to stir shit up. And they like to incite an already unstable segment of the electorate prone to lusting after Confederate flags and assault rifles and going on tirades about how Obama is going to strip the 2nd amendment from the Constitution. They continue to predict the complete and total collapse of western civilization if queers tie the knot, and they swear their kids are being prevented from praying in schools.

Please, Obama isn't even enforcing the existing rule of law in the country concerning torture, much less going after the 2nd amendment with a machete. Obama is being about as cautiously conservative as it gets, which is a far cry from many of the scenarios we heard about during the campaign. But I digress.

OK, name me some left-wing douchebags... 'cause I can't think of one.

Friday Pussy Blog: The Totosaurus

We have a table between our two desks where we keep the printer.

The Tot likes to sleep up there.

What's not to love about this cute face!

Thursday Night Tequila Haiku

Bread dough is rising
Japanese Poetry Slam
Burgers coming up

The National Chromosome Dance

This op-ed column in the NY Times is several days old and if Witchay Woman hadn't emailed it to me I probably would never have seen it. This is outrageous.

A 1999 ruling in San Antonio, in Littleton v. Prange, determined that marriage could be only between people with different chromosomes. The result, of course, was that lesbian couples in that jurisdiction were then allowed to wed as long as one member of the couple had a Y chromosome, which is the case with both transgendered male-to-females and people born with conditions like androgen insensitivity syndrome. This ruling made Texas, paradoxically, one of the first states in which gay marriage was legal.

A lawyer for the transgendered plaintiff in the Littleton case noted the absurdity of the country’s gender laws as they pertain to marriage: “Taking this situation to its logical conclusion, Mrs. Littleton, while in San Antonio, Tex., is a male and has a void marriage; as she travels to Houston, Tex., and enters federal property, she is female and a widow; upon traveling to Kentucky she is female and a widow; but, upon entering Ohio, she is once again male and prohibited from marriage; entering Connecticut, she is again female and may marry; if her travel takes her north to Vermont, she is male and may marry a female; if instead she travels south to New Jersey, she may marry a male.”

The USA has a mess to clean up. But I won't hold my breath waiting for it to happen.

The Alanis Morissette of the 70s

Flashback..

Pull Up a Stool and Sit Down

Through the years I have made countless trips back to Arkansas to visit my mother and none of them have been what I'd call easy trips. While living in Los Angeles, such trips required air travel with a change of planes, usually in Dallas, followed with a car rental and a 2-hour drive from the Little Rock airport. Even then it was probably faster than it is now by car from Austin.

I have flown there from Austin and it still requires a change of planes in either Dallas or Houston and ultimately I figure it saves only about 2 hours over driving. Most importantly, I don't have to deal with airport security bullshit, repacking all my hair care products into approved containers, and hoping I don't have a hangnail en route because I don't have my nail clippers.

Regardless of the travel method, the stress doesn't end upon arrival. As with this most recent trip, I usually drive to Little Rock first because it's faster and easier, and I can spend a night with a friend from high school before heading to my mother's house the next day feeling a bit more refreshed.

The older I get, the more uncomfortable I am being away from my own bed, my own bathroom, and my own routine. I did sleep fairly well at my friend's house, despite having her clock radio alarm go off at midnight, and me hitting the snooze button twice before getting up to turn on a light so I could figure out where the off button was located. Then I was up at 5:30 to quickly shower and dress for my trip.

Along with the usual travel anxiety, I was meeting up that morning with Ellen, another friend from long before high school whom I hadn't see in over 30 years. That was also making me feel somewhat apprehensive. Fortunately, that meeting went great and was one of the highlights on my trip! After chatting for half an hour or so I went on to my mother's house.

My mother hugged me, I put my suitcase in the bedroom and returned to the kitchen and sat down. She immediately went on a tirade about Obama and the bailouts, how unfit he is to be leading this nation, etc. etc. It was bad enough when Bush was president, and although she didn't like a lot of what he was doing, she wasn't real vocal in her opposition to it, and she still thought of him as a fine Christian man, and CUTE! (Yes, I always had to suppress my gag reflex on that one!)

I have a hard time coming to terms with the rationale for such vehement opposition to Obama when he's barely been in office for 100 days. I have issues with several things he had done and said, and I have issues with things he hasn't done. But I'm not stomping up and down, frothing at the mouth while murmuring about socialism.

It is one thing to see clips of right-wing Negrophobes on television ranting about Obama; it is quite another to walk into your mother's house and hear a similar tirade coming from her lips. And it's not like I wasn't aware of her racism and her upbringing! It's still a shock to hear.

After that initial outburst from her and my retort, we eased into more congenial conversation of a non-political nature, thankfully. We had lunch and then I made an unsuccessful attempt at taking a nap.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS DOESN'T ALWAYS STAY IN VEGAS

Around 1999, txrad and I made a quick trip to Vegas to visit a friend we'd worked with in the Los Angeles days. If I recall, it may have been the last time we'd see her before she died. txrad and I hadn't smoked cigarettes in at least seven years, and we'd only recently begun having wine and the occasional margarita after seven years being alcohol-free.

Knowing that our friend we were visiting was a smoker and enjoyed a cocktail or three, and with Vegas being what it is, I had already harbored an unspoken thought of sneaking a cigarette here and there while in Vegas. Then once we were there, I was surprised that txrad brought it up by saying he was going to have a cigarette.

And we did. And we drank. And we gambled. And we held cigs in one hand and cocktails in the other. We had a blast.

It was a couple of days after returning home, and I distinctly remember the moment one evening in the living room, when I said, "I want a cigarette." I suppose the reason why I remember that moment so clearly is because I've not stopped smoking again since that night. It was a habit I should have left on the Strip along with the gambling.

Stress has since become a trigger for a nicotine craving. As I was gearing up for my Arkansas trip, I told myself I was not taking cigarettes along. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, so I was going to make the Friday before my departure as smokeless as possible. My goal was to not have a cigarette that morning until after I had returned from my 9:45 appointment to drop the car off for maintenance. That didn't work.

I awoke at 3:30 that morning having travel anxiety and even being nervous about taking the car to the shop. I went to the kitchen for some water and saw my half-smoked cigarette from the night before. Where's the logic in trying to quit smoking when I leave myself half a cigarette sitting out? So I smoked it.

When I awoke again and got up at 6:00, I had already broken a promise to myself so I had another. Besides, I was stressed. I was also starting to realize I was probably going to break another promise and take some smokes with me to Arkansas. But I was NOT going to smoke at my mom's house; I was sticking with that promise.

After my failed attempt at a nap at mom's house on Sunday afternoon I got up to find her sleeping on the porch with a newspaper in her hand. Even opening the creaky screen door didn't wake her. So I slipped back in the house and out the back door for a quick smoke.

After she arose we decided to go for a drive around town which is customary when I visit. I need to hear about who died in that house, who had a stroke in this one, and which house is now vacant and for sale because the occupant is now in the nursing home. We pass by a dozen or more buildings, virtually all of them vacant and decaying, which bring back a torrent of vivid happy memories from my childhood when the town was actually thriving. My mother then pointed to a restaurant downtown which appeared to be busy, and said, "that's a nigger restaurant."

Since almost no one reading this blog has even been to my hometown, let me put this in perspective for you. The town has very few places to eat that are decent. Most of the options are on the highway, not downtown. There's a Subway sandwich joint out there, probably a crappy little pizza place, and there was a new Mexican restaurant before it burned. There used to be a Chinese restaurant on the highway but I didn't notice if it was still there or not.

Downtown has a drug store where they serve sandwiches on the weekdays, but not on Saturday and I think they are closed on Sundays. There's just nothing downtown! The building which houses the "nigger restaurant" was for many years a locally-owned diner which was named the "Ritz." That closed down a few years ago, another restaurant may have eventually opened there but closed. The fact that somebody went in and opened a restaurant which is not only busy and convenient, but open on Sunday would seem to be a matter of civic pride, not shame and disgust because of the skin pigmentation of the owners.

It was probably at this moment when I began to question just how long my visit here would last. Instead of staying until Wednesday or Thursday, I was now thinking Tuesday at the latest.

Once back at our house from the tour of the decrepit little town, my mother began talking about how she is unable now to get out and work in her flower beds and pull weeds. She mentioned that a friend of hers has a beautiful back yard but paid someone to do it, and then came another bomb: "She had a nigger man do it, and I just don't want a nigger in my house."

Funny. It didn't seem to be an issue in the 1960s when she had a black maid come several times a week to clean her house. But I've always though that was more of a "keeping up with the Joneses" attempt at maintaining our level in our social caste since many of her friends had slaves black housekeeping help employed at ridiculously low rates of pay. (This was before the influx of Mexicans and Central American nannies who have a slightly lighter skin tone.)

All kinds of things were now clicking together in my head and I could almost hear the various pieces of the puzzle snapping in place. She knew I didn't want to hear any Obama-bashing so she was getting her racist frustrations out in other ways. She didn't like the "nigger restaurant" being just 2 blocks from her house, she didn't want a "nigger man" cleaning up her yard, and she sure as hell didn't want a nigger president that socialist in the White House.

I heard this kind of language growing up from people in the town, from friends and their families, and from my own. Between the 70s and the 90s it began to temper somewhat. Obviously it didn't disappear, it just became less public and more private. And somehow, the election of Barack Obama has caused people like my mother to crack wide open, throwing themselves back in time; not to the 1970s, but right back to 1957! They are so adamantly racist they are willing to sacrifice just about anything to stake that white power flag in the ground make their feelings known, be it their homes, their yards, their dying towns, and perhaps even more.

As my mother was preparing dinner, I amused myself by walking around the house snapping photos of various nick-nacks she has acquired over the years and displays in her house.

And as we all know, them black folks sure loves them some watermelon!

Ironically, my mother loves it too and could eat a whole one while standing at the kitchen sink.

In all the years I have made a yearly trek back to Arkansas, I have never been as troubled and perplexed as I was on this trip. It is a lot to absorb and digest. And yet, I cannot allow myself to feel towards my mother the way I feel about the Rush Limbaughs of the world.

Ellen, during our brief visit, said we cannot change them right now. This is all they know, and it is normal to them. My mother is but one of perhaps millions of people who grew up white in hundreds of small towns just like this one across the deep South and elsewhere, raised in a Christian religion which never really liked to asked the simple question, "What would Jesus do," and never had the benefit of an education or a work experience in which they developed friendships with people different from themselves.

I refuse to believe that my mother, deep down in her heart, really is this angry, or this racist. She is a kind and loving woman who does not like change, and wasn't really comfortable when black people were invited by the preacher into her church, despite the fact that the church (which was founded by my father, by the way) is located in what was called "colored town" during more civil times than these. And I can't help but juxtapose this with the "nigger restaurant" located downtown which has drawn her ire.

She carries baggage imposed on her from childhood by a father, also a decent and honest man, but one who didn't even like shaking hands with black people. This has been going on for centuries and will take centuries more to run its course, assuming it ever will.

I made the decision late on Sunday to return to Austin on Monday morning. I was feeling confused and longing to be back in my comfortable environs. Besides, it had rained all month and was continuing to rain so I could not have done the yard work she wanted even if I had stayed another day.

Around 9:15 I went to bed, hoping to arise by 5:30, have a quick breakfast and coffee, and then hit the road.

Thoughts were still being processed in my head as I tried to sleep. I was feeling hurt and disgust. And having not only met Ellen earlier that morning, but also her partner, a beautiful and witty black woman, I kept wondering how my mother would react to that double-whammy.

I had slept for perhaps an hour when I woke up. I checked the clock and it was only 11:15 PM. I tossed and turned and finally fell asleep before being awakened again just after midnight by the loudest freight train I've ever heard. After several minutes of that, just as the train sounds were growing faint as it headed away from town, I was jolted by a clap of thunder followed by more pouring rain.

During the night there was another train incident, then another. And another storm. Around 3:30 AM, I got up and had to sneak out into the backyard for a stress-relieving smoke. I managed to quietly find the key to the deadbolt on the back door (there be Negroes in the neighborhood!), and as soon as I set one foot on the back deck the exterior motion-detection lights came on. Thank God it wasn't accompanied by sirens! I lit up a cigarette and paced across the rain-soaked gravel driveway which crunched loudly beneath my feet like several inches of snow during a hard freeze. I crept quietly back into the house, locking the door and carefully placing the deadbolt key exactly as I had found it, and went back to bed. I finally awoke at 5:45 and got up for breakfast.

Another side-effect of travel for me is constipation. I think it has to due with a variety of factors: a change in routine, change in diet, sitting in a vehicle for 8 or 9 hours, stress, whatever. But I had not had a decent bowel evacuation since I left Austin two days earlier.

I visited with my mother while eating blueberry muffins and sipping two cups of coffee, then I loaded the car with my stuff and hit the road.

About 50 minutes later, just as I had crossed the Louisiana state line, I realized I needed to pee. "Like a horse" as the saying goes. I had just passed a couple of 18-wheelers about 2 miles behind me which is no easy feat on a 2-lane road in a rain storm. I didn't want them to catch up to me and pass me so I pulled over and decided to make this a fast one. As I urinated I began forcing it out faster than is natural in order to speed things up; I could already see the headlights approaching behind me. It was at that moment that I decided to let loose with a fart or two. Big mistake.

I quickly returned to the car and sped away before the 18-wheelers had reached me, and I thought to myself, "I might need to check my shorts when I get to a gas station" even though I really didn't think I had done anything serious. You know, just the likely "skid marks" as the kids used to say in school.

It was about an hour later when I reached Monroe, Louisiana where I would hook up with I-20 to take me west to Texas. I stopped at a service station and went to the restroom to relieve myself of coffee again and remembered I needed to check myself. I popped into a stall and lowered my shorts. Oh my God. Let's look on the bright side: I was no longer constipated! I reached into the black toilet paper dispenser only to realize there was nothing there but an empty roll.

I scooted out of the stall for some paper towels near the sink. Again, nothing. No paper products for hygiene were to be found here! I took off my heavily soiled underwear and used them to clean myself up as best I could and then stuffed the offensive garment into a pocket on my cargo shorts and returned to my car as if everything was completely normal. I put the underwear into a plastic bag in my trunk and proceeded on down the road until I could find an establishment which I hoped would have the proper amount of paper products in the restroom.

I grabbed by duffel bag which contained the previous day's attire and quickly headed into a restroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone lest they read my mind. I got myself cleaned up as best I could and changed into the cargo shorts I had worn while driving up the previous day. I mean, come on; did I need to put on anything clean? Cleaner than what I was wearing would clearly be a huge improvement.

Having dealt with that embarrassing situation, I was ready to hit the road again for Texas, and ultimately, Austin.

I'm not sure when I'll visit my mother again, but I hope it's not another year. I really should do this more often, not less. I need to love this woman who bore me, and enjoy what few remaining years I can with her, despite her flaws, and mine. Maybe I can't change her attitudes, but I can certainly set a positive example.

In the meantime, I can honestly say I wish President Barack Hussein Obama nothing but great success. It probably won't alter racism in any way, but it will nonetheless prove a point. In fact, I could argue it already has.

Friday Pussy Blog: Stinky Birkenstock Edition

I guess I should be kind and leave one pair of Birkenstocks on the floor in the living room so the Tot can "be with me" while I'm on vacation in Arkansas for the next few days!

Off to Arkansas

I haven't been to see my mother since January, 2008. Having scheduled the entire week off from work from 5/11 - 5/15, I figured Mother's Day would be a good time to make the run to Arkansas.

Saturday morning I will hit the road as early as possible to Little Rock and should be there by mid-afternoon. I'll have dinner with a friend I've known since high school.

Then Sunday morning I'll make the 125 mile drive from my friend's house to my mother's house. I should be there by 10:00 or 11:00 depending on when I leave Little Rock. The drive from Austin to Little Rock is so much easier than making the trek directly to McGehee, the last two hours of which are on mostly two lane roads which are exhausting after already driving for 7+ hours.

Now comes the fun part. When I decide to leave, the good news is that I get to deal with the two hour two-lane road portion early in the morning and put that behind me. The online maps suggest this route back to Austin. It's about 580 miles and all freeway from Monroe, Louisiana to Austin. That should take about 9 1/2 hours.

I'm always tempted to try an alternative. This route is the shortest in distance, about 535 miles, but according to the mapping software requires about 10 hours of driving time. But that road from Longview to I-35 in Round Rock is one long stretch of lonesome. It's very good for personal contemplation though!

One time I took the nearby route off I-20 going through Tyler and what a mistake that was. I wasted about 45 minutes going through Tyler traffic. This route avoids Tyler but I'm not sure if it makes more sense than just staying on the freeways, as fraying on the nerves as they can be.

Another one of the cons with this route is really bad radio for about 5 hours. Guess I should take some CDs, or just shut off the stereo and ... contemplate.

If anyone reading this has taken that route, let me know what you think. Regardless of the route, I'll be hitting the Austin city limits just at the start of our horrendous rush hour, unless I get a REALLY early start on this portion of the trip. A 7 AM departure -- at LEAST -- is mandatory.

After a few days of hearing Fox News at my mother's house, I don't think a 6 AM departure would be hard to achieve.

RIP Dom DeLuise

This is absolutely one of my favorite scenes from any film by any comic. I can't watch this and not laugh. Thank you, Dom, for years and years of laughing myself to tears.

He was 75 and will be missed.

It's Official: We Elected a Moderate

Forget all the paranoid right-wing racist emails which still litter the internet regarding President Barack Obama. (I still love saying that after 8 years of the previous asshole. PRESIDENT Barack Obama!)

Forget most of the radical change those of us on the far left hoped for with his election. Barack Obama is simply a moderate. And that's still very refreshing after what we've been through.

Now Mr. Obama is preparing to select his first Supreme Court nominee to replace retiring Justice David H. Souter. In interviews, former colleagues and students say they have a fairly strong sense of the kind of justice he will favor: not a larger-than-life liberal to counter the conservative pyrotechnics of Justice Antonin Scalia, but a careful pragmatist with a limited view of the role of courts.

“His nominee will not create the proverbial shock and awe,” said Charles J. Ogletree, a Harvard professor who has known the president since his days as a student.

Mr. Obama believes the court must never get too far ahead of or behind public sentiment, they say. He may have a mandate for change, and Senate confirmation odds in his favor. But he has almost always disappointed those who expected someone in his position — he was Harvard’s first black law review president and one of the few minority members of the University of Chicago’s law faculty — to side consistently with liberals.

An Actual Conversation

konagod: When you see a cat shitting behind the TV it probably means the litter box needs to be cleaned.

txrad: You could clean it.

txrad: They sound like U2.

konagod: Is it the Verve?

txrad: No, it's U2.

konagod: So, U2 sounds like U2. How does that relate to cat shit?

I need pot. More later, I'm sure.

Forrest Gump on Toot

Via Ronnie Walker on Facebook, crazy mother fucker.

Have you ever been on a real shrimp boat?

Friday Pussy Blog: Apathy Edition

Sissy barely opened her eyes for the photo session.

The Tot did the same... briefly opened then shut again. He has spent the entire afternoon in that one spot.

Happy, happy Friday! The weekend is here!

Friday Flora

txrad found a patch of these in our yard and they look like an orchid. There are native Texas orchids and we're not sure if this is one of them. We've never noticed these before now. Beautiful.