In Which I Tell Exador the Secret to Truly Combating Feminism

As those of you who read Monosyllabic Pedantry know, Exador is often trying to find the one thing that will finally set feminism so far back that… well, I’m not sure what the result would be… we all die in childbirth after spurting out 18 kids only two of which make it to adulthood while our beloved husbands work in the coal mine until they die?

I don’t know, I’ve got no clear idea what the non-feminist world Exador is fighting for would look like, but, if you read him, you know he’s fighting for it.   Just the other day, he was arguing that we should repeal the 19th Amendment and today he sends me an email titled, “Another Step Back for Feminism.”

Its contents?

Single Guys With Dirty Homes Call ‘Rent-A-Wife’

This, to me, seems like it either has no effect on feminism or moves it forward.   After all, men who want someone around to pick up after them can call this chick.  Men who want smooches can call me.  Men know not to smooch her because she doesn’t want it.  And men know not to expect me to pick up after them because I hate it.

I mean, really.  Again, we feminists find ourselves in the role of Br’er Rabbit.  “Oh, no, dirty-homed men!  Please, don’t go calling someone and paying her to clean up after you so that we don’t have to do it!  No, no.  That will set feminism back at least 25, maybe thirty years.  Please, I’m begging you, don’t pick up that phone!”

I kid, but I can appreciate a man with a goal (though, in fairness, it seems he has two goals–one to defeat feminism and the other to reverse the Council of Trent) and so, in honor of him working towards his goals, I will share with him now the secret to truly combating feminism.

Lean way in here, sweetie.



Mmmm.  That’s quite nice.

Naked pictures of you.  No, really, for every naked picture of you on the internet, two women turn their backs on feminism.

That’s all it takes.  Show us what you’ve got, big boy! 

Eric Clapton, Go in Peace

Today I was listening to Clapton’s “Crossroads” and I didn’t change the channel.  I don’t think that’s ever happened before.  I guess I’ve made my peace with him.

It’s hard for me to put into words what annoys the shit out of me about Clapton.  I’m not opposed to British dudes recasting the blues.  I’m all about the troubled love and theft that fuels our creative engines.  I’m not opposed to his guitar playing.

In part, I think it’s this.  Somehow, Eric Clapton remains a student of the blues.   Just for comparison, I looked up Jimmy Page and “student of the blues” and got nothing.  But do that search with Clapton and all kinds of things pop up, like this article from the New York Times.

Today in, there’s an article about the writer and director of “Black Snake Moan” and he’s talking about the blues.  At the end, he says,  

They don’t realize it’s true exorcism music. These men of the Delta
were not Uncle Toms. They were bad-asses in a time when you could get
hung from a tree for speaking your mind. They were the first to sing
about injustice and pain. And to sing about the injustice of the heart.

And maybe that’s the difference between Page and Clapton for me.  I believe that Page is, if not exorcising, at least wrestling with demons.  I still feel like Clapton is practicing for the time when he may be called on to do that work.

But in the end, I guess, I don’t see the crime in that. 


Ms. Moore, I Beseech You to Stop Digging

Y’all know how much I love the conservative soap opera.  Two installments today. 

First, Terry Frank takes Carter to task for being an elitist.  Be sure to check the comments both places for a subtle strain of “My millionaire can beat up your millionaire.”

But second, Sarah Moore acts like a dinkCoble calls her on it.  And Sarah Moore makes it worse.

Keep an eye out for the meat of Moore’s argument, which seems to be “Fat people don’t make me feel disgusted; they make me feel sad.  See, that’s totally different.  I’m not hostile; I’m patronizing.  And it’s okay to be patronizing; it shows you care.”

My Happy Place

Right now, I shut my eyes and I’m laying in a hammock strung between two palm trees, listening to the Atlantic roll into the shore of San Juan.  I’m swaying back and forth in the slight breeze.

No one knows where I am and my phone is off.

I don’t speak Spanish, so I can’t understand any of the conversations going on around me.

And I’ve got nothing to do all day except lay here in the sun.

You know, pretty much the exact opposite of how my day has actually gone.


I Need a Stern Task Master

I got up early meaning to get into work early meaning to get some shit done.  But let me tell you, I’m not that far ahead of schedule.  It’s kind of depressing.

I just have a lot to do this week and I’ve made no headway into getting it done.

I’m feeling frazzled and bummed.

In a perfect world, someone would come and pack up my whole office, move me to a room with no distractions, and lock me in there until I got it done.

In this world, part of me is already wondering if I can find someone to go to lunch.


Courtesy of our friend and arch-nemesis, Carter, comes the story of a little state senate resolution.

I would just like to suggest that, if this passes, we move next year to have the following resolution introduced:

A RESOLUTION to request the commissioner of education to provide answers to questions concerning Bovinism and public school curriculums in Tennessee.

BE IT RESOLVED BY THE SENATE OF THE ONE HUNDRED FIFTH GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF THE STATE OF TENNESSEE, that the commissioner of the department of education, in consultation with any other persons whether within or without state government, is hereby respectfully requested by this body to respond to the following questions:

(1) Is the Universe and all that is within it, including human beings, the result of a giant being licked out of ice by a primordial Cow? Understand that this question does not ask that the Cow be given a name. To name the Cow is a matter of faith. The question simply asks whether the Universe has been formed from the body of a giant licked out of ice by the primordial Cow or has merely happened by random, unplanned, and purposeless occurrences. Further understand that this question asks that the latest advances in multiple scientific disciplines –such as physics, astronomy, molecular biology, DNA studies, physiology, paleontology, mathematics, and statistics – be considered, rather than relying solely on descriptive and hypothetical suppositions. If the answer to Question 1 is “Yes,” please answer Question 2:

(2) Since the Universe, including human beings, is the result of the licking of a Supreme Being (a Cow), why is Bovinism not taught in Tennessee public schools? If the answer to Question 1 is “This question cannot be proved or disproved,” please answer Question 3:

(3) Since it cannot be determined whether the Universe, including human beings, is the result of the licking of a Supreme Being (a Cow), why is Bovinism not taught as an alternative concept, explanation, or theory, along with the theory of evolution in Tennessee public schools? If the answer to Question 1 is “No” please accept the General Assembly’s admiration for being able to decide conclusively a question that has long perplexed and occupied the attention of scientists, philosophers, theologians, educators, and others.

As a heathen, it would warm my heart to know that kids were being taught another alternative to creationism and evolution–one that struck a happy medium between the total randomness of evolution (since Bovinism recognizes that the earth was created from the body of a giant) and the overdetermination of creationism (since that giant seems to have randomly grown from the energy found in the Ginnungagap).

I hope I can find a brave senator to support it.


Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One

Today Phil Wilson asks:

What if James Cameron produced the bodies of Jesus, Mary, and Mary
Magdalene? Would faith change? If it were conclusively proven that
Jesus didn’t rise from the dead, what would change about life?

I have lots of thoughts. The first one is that I wonder when it became the rage to marry Jesus off to Mary Magdalene.  When my dad was in seminary, the speculation was that he might have been married to Mary or Martha, Lazarus’s sisters, and the speculation that Martha and Lazarus’s Mary was also Mary Magdalene had been put to bed*.

The second is that it seems likely that Jesus would have been married and he knew a lot of women named Mary, so possibly to one of them.  And, if he was married, he had certain duties to his wife, so it’s likely that they had children.

I’m saying that it doesn’t seem like it would be the end of the world or even of Christianity as we know it if Jesus had a wife and kid.  In fact, I think it might be kind of cool.  I haven’t heard many men talk about this, except my dad’s friend, Father Ted, but it seems like the idea of trying to model yourself after Jesus, when you think of Jesus as some perfect virgin sacrifice, and navigating being a man and a father might be difficult.

But what if Jesus were a dad, too?  What if you knew he knew what you were going through when you felt like you couldn’t protect your wife from the things that hurt her?  What if you knew, really knew, that he knew what it meant to miss a kid’s birthday because you had to work?  What if you knew that Jesus also held a little life in his hands and felt that he was something to that child no one else would ever be?

I just don’t see how that could be a bad thing.  Seriously, if finding out for certain that Jesus had a wife and a son is enough to destroy Christianity?  Well, good riddance.

What if that really is Jesus, the Christ, there in that box?

Again, I’m not sure if it matters.  It doesn’t prove that he wasn’t resurrected.  It just proves that he didn’t corporeally ascend into Heaven after the resurrection.

Listen, here’s the trouble I have with literal Bible believers and it’s the trouble folks are going to run into with this story.  At some point, you have to open your heart up to mystery.  Even if Jesus of Nazareth was the bastard son of a teenage girl and whoever, who then went on to be an itinerate preacher, and got married and had a kid or two, and then was executed and his body was stuck in a tomb for 2,000 years only to be discovered by James Cameron, that still would not negate the power of your god.

If you believe that your god works in the world in mysterious ways, Jesus being some dude with a sketchy background, and I mean fully just some dude with DNA from an earthly mom and an earthly dad, is hardly enough to get in the way of your god doing great things with him.

Again, either you’re open to mystery or you’re not.  And it seems to me that the way it works is about teaching us the necessity of being open to ways we’re uncomfortable with.  For most of us, we want an explanation and we want facts and we want understanding.  So, if the Bible says that Jesus was born of a virgin and God, then that better be the by-god factual truth of the matter.

But that’s not how mystery works.

Mystery is about giving us the things we don’t know we need.  We’re taught this in Sunday School** that the Jews didn’t recognize Jesus as the messiah because they were expecting an earthly king who would lead an armed rebellion against the Romans.  Many an atheist can tell you how folks who performed “miracles” like the ones ascribed to Jesus were a dime a dozen back then.  In other words, in a world that seemed to need someone extraordinary, a terribly ordinary man was the one sent to do your god’s work.

And now, at a time when so many Christians are hell-bent on believing in the factual inerrancy of everything in the Bible, here’s some news to shake that up.

I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

Mystery demands, by its nature, doubt and confusion and leaps of faith and misunderstandings.

Even Jesus, when hanging on the cross, expressed doubt and confusion–“My God, my God.  Why have you forsaken me?”*** and the folks around him misunderstood and thought he was calling for Elijah.

Right there, at a central point of Christianity, when the realm of Heaven is so close to us that the curtain in the Temple is torn, what marks it?  Confusion, misunderstanding, doubt, fear.

That that should continue to be a hallmark of Jesus’s story seems to me to be important.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know what it means.

I just know that too much certainty is anti-Christian. 



*Apparently, it needed a drink of water, or maybe to go to the bathroom, because it seems to be out of bed and scurrying around upstairs. 

**Though, as NM points out, what we learned in Sunday School is not necessarily what was going on on the ground in real life, so let’s just all agree that we understand this as inherited mythological understanding and not a history of the middle east. 

***The opening to Psalm 22, where the title from whence the title of this post also comes.

In Which I Say All I Have Left to Say About the Terry Frank Thing (I Hope)

I give "Best Bad-Ass Threat in a Blog Comment Section" to Lynnster, whose smackdown of Stacey Campfield is worth scrolling to the end of this thread for.

And now that you have so blatantly and snarkily addressed the issue in the manner you have, I think you can pretty much guarantee yourself that if there is no apology, the thousands of TN state employees there are will soon be finding out who Stacey Campfield is, if they don’t already know, and what Stacey Campfield thinks of their jobs (that they don’t have “real” jobs, if you need reminding).

I hope you had no political aspirations outside of your current district in East Tennessee.

You think I’m bluffing? Try me.

You have not chosen your battles well, Mr. Campfield. Not only do I have ties to some of the Republican support you likely crave in East TN, but one of your past campaign contributors is personally very close to me.

The next time you choose another tiger to tangle with and think you can safely do so just because it’s some random person on the Internet, I hope you’ll keep in mind next time that that person might have ties and affiliations you’re unaware of.

As for Frank herself, she’s finally come around to posting about the real piece of actual news that she’s been handed–that we’re training Iraqis to test and handle the uranium still in Iraq (Sean Braisted has a nice dissection of all the other stuff going on in the dust-up.  See him for smart analysis.).

I’m still trying to figure out what this means, if anything.  Does it suggest a quicker time-table for our withdrawal than we’ve been led to believe is in place?  Is Iraq really stable enough to turn over that much uranium to their care?  What if the place descends further into civil war (or into civil war, for those of you who aren’t yet convinced)?  What happens if the uranium falls into the hands of insurgents?  Does the fact that there’s still so much uranium in Iraq bolster the argument that we need to stay there and keep Iraq as stable as we can?  Or is it impossible for us to stabilize the country?  Are there provisions in place to keep the Iraqis from selling the uranium to folks we’d rather not have it?  If so, what are those provisions?  Who will secure these facilities?  Will we continue to guard them while the Iraqis work inside or will the Iraqis take over the whole operation?  How well-guarded are these facilities?  How much uranium would a terrorist have to get his hands on in order to make an effective dirty bomb?  What would happen if insurgents bombed this facility?

I don’t know, obviously, but I’d be curious to know what people who do know think.

A la Keith Richards

For some reason, Blogger won’t let me comment, which is too bad, because I wanted to contribute to the intellectual discussion going on over at Short & Fat’s.

All I was going to say is that you know how you see Keith Richards out and about and he seems to have everything that’s caught his eye stuck in his hair–some beads, a few braids, a twig, a flower, some car keys, a tiny puppy, and so on?

I have this overwhelming urge to do myself up that way in the cooterial region* and try to get in the shower just before Short & Fat at various places all over town.


*We strive for medically accurate terms here at Tiny Cat Pants.

Do What Works

The poor tiny cat is suffering from her usual winter malady of scabby crusty grossness.  I think she itches and scratches and licks at it until her butt hair all falls out and then she’s even more uncomfortable because of the crusty scabby grossness caused by her scratching.

I have started to put lotion on my cat.

I can’t believe I’m admitting this in public, but yes, I put lotion on my cat.

I squirt it on my hands and then rub it together a little bit to warm it up, and then I grab her ass and massage it in.

I think she likes it.  It’s hard to tell with cats.  They run around acting all sorts of pissed off about things, just in general.  But she puts up with it, for one, and for another, she doesn’t immediately try to lick it off (which the dog does, whenever I try to help her with her scratchy paws).

But it makes her look pretty funny, like some kind of tiny greaser.  Don’t worry, I’ve got my eye on her and keep her as separated from the socs as I can.

I sent the play off just now.  I’m feeling both anxious and relieved.

I thought I had more to say about that, but I guess I don’t.

I’m Still In My Pajamas

Folks, I am having the kind of morning where parts of you are awake and parts of you are asleep.  I have been up since seven or so, I think, and yet, here it is almost noon and I’m still in my pajamas sitting on the couch, listening to the dog snore.

Every once in a while, I stare off into space and I suddenly realize ten minutes have passed.

What, you may ask, accounts for my bout of decadent laziness?

Because someone decided that the funnest way we could spend the afternoon was by imbibing in the fermented sap of the blue agave plant and someone else encouraged him and I, not wanting to be impolite, joined in. 

For those of you looking for a fun get-away, Mack has a little cabin on his property where you can stay and get away from it all, and, if you ask nicely, he’ll put you in his truck and drive you all over tarnation while you try not to spill your beer on yourself.

Good fun. 

I’m thinking of writing a book about a state legislator who is having a scandalous affair with a Ku Klux Klan member in his district kind of along the lines of A Confederacy of Dunces but with less hot dogs.  I may impose on Mack’s cabin as a little writers’ retreat as I work, should I start work, which will not happen today.

I’m Still Confused About Terry Frank

I’m sorry.  I feel like this is bordering on dumb-ass, but at this point, I am really hoping someone will come along and clarify.  I don’t guess we can count on Frank, because she certainly doesn’t read this filthy blog, but maybe someone who is sympathetic to her position.

Frank says:

Frankly Speaking has obtained unclassified documents showing that at
just one site alone, Saddam Hussein possessed and stored over 1 million
pounds of uranium.

But didn’t we know this?  On July 7, 2004, USA Today reported

In 1992, after the first Gulf War, all highly
enriched uranium — which could be used to make nuclear weapons — was
shipped from Iraq to Russia, the IAEA’s Zlauvinen said.

After 1992, roughly 2 tons of natural uranium,
or yellow cake, some low enriched uranium and some depleted uranium was
left at Tuwaitha under IAEA seal and control, he said.

So were radioactive items used for medical,
agricultural and industrial purposes, which Iraq was allowed to keep
under a 1991 U.N. Security Council resolution, Zlauvinen said.

IAEA inspectors left Iraq just before last
year’s U.S.-led war. After it ended, Washington barred U.N. weapons
inspectors from returning, deploying U.S. teams instead in a so far
unsuccessful search for Iraqi weapons of mass destruction.

An exception was made in June 2003 when
Washington allowed an IAEA team to go to Tuwaitha to secure uranium
after reports of widespread looting when the fighting ended.

The IAEA recovered most missing material and
Zlauvinen said the uranium was put in sealed containers and left for
the Americans to guard.

So, to reiterate, all of the weapons-grade uranium was sent to Russia. Two tons of non-weapons grade uranium was left in Iraq along with an unknown quantity of radioactive items.  In June of 2004, nearly two tons of uranium was taken from Iraq and brought to the United States. 

So, as far back as 2004, every bozo at a hotel in the US who bothered to open his USA Today knew that Saddam had uranium and that we knew he had uranium, but that it was under seal, and then came under the control of U.S. forces.

So, if Terry Frank is saying that she’s learned that there was uranium in Iraq, well, that is old and well-known news.  If she’s saying that she’s learned that that uranium was brought to Oak Ridge, that’s also old news.

The first few paragraphs of her post are written in such a way as to make it seem as if she’s reporting that there had been uranium in Iraq.  If so, that seems to me well and widely known.

Now, if she’s saying that the story is that there is still uranium in Iraq, that’s slightly different, but also, it seems to me, well and widely known.

USA Today, for instance, makes it sound like almost all of the uranium in Iraq was accounted for and removed.  But a Washington Post article from a few days later reports that the U.S. was being criticized for leaving tons of uranium in Iraq.

Nuclear experts yesterday questioned a decision by the Energy
Department to leave in Iraq nearly 400 tons of natural uranium that
could be enriched for a nuclear weapon or used to build a radioactive
“dirty bomb.”

Remember, this is all stuff that was being widely discussed in the news in July of 2004–that there was uranium in Iraq, that we removed some, but that there’s still a great deal there.

So, I’m sorry for being an idiot, but I don’t understand what Frank’s story is–is it that she has a more specific inventory of what kinds of uranium were and are in Iraq than most people?  Because, frankly (pun intended), THAT would be an interesting story, but she needs to reframe it.

But if her story is just that there’s uranium in Iraq, I do not get how that’s exclusive and new.  And the fact that her supporters are all talking about how big a deal this is and how important it is is confusing me.  How is this an important big deal?



Everybody Solo!

My favorite moment in American music last year comes at the end of "Pay Me My Money Down" off of Bruce Springsteen’s Seeger record.  The whole track is fun, listening to folks who play live well.  And Springsteen is shouting out directions throughout the piece, which is a hoot.

 You can’t help but wiggle your bottom when you hear it.

And yet, at the end, after he’s wished he were a rich man’s son, after he’s wished he were Mr. Gates, after every last dollar has been worked out of him, he’s still singing like he’s the luckiest man in the world and the band is playing like joy is a god that can be involked by raucous-enough music.  And, right at the end of the song, he yells, "Everybody solo!" and the whole band goes wild.

Really, is there any better argument for this grand experiment called America?  That contradictory statement?

Everybody solo?

I don’t know what folks who don’t passionately and unreasonably love our art mean when they say that they love this country.  I was thinking about that when we were watching the Pelosi documentary.  What does it mean to claim you love America if you wall yourself off in your megachurch or try to ban books or censor music?

What exactly it is that you love?

I, myself, love those moments we make that split you open and stuff you full of hope, like a Thanksgiving turkey.

"Everybody solo" does that to me.

If I could make art that split you open and stuffed you full of hope, I would be a happy woman.

Just saying. 

If Campfield Didn’t Exist, I’d Have to Make Him Up

HB 768–Non-U.S. citizen pay a 25% tax on checks, money orders, and traveller’s checks.

HB 770–Raises taxes on sexually explicit businesses.

HB 772–Makes it a felony to expose someone to hepatitis B.

HB 783–Bars the state from doing business with any business or individual who discriminates against others based on race, ethnicity, color, national origin, or political beliefs.

HB 796–Prevents the county election commissions from releasing information they collect about the candidates.

HB 981–Prevents people who receive state aid from collecting lottery winnings.

HB  982–Requires the issuance of a death certificate for aborted fetuses.

HB 988–In cases of supervised visitation, the parent required to pay for the supervised visitation gets to pick the supervisor.

HB 990–A person who has an order of protection sworn out against him or her would have the right to depose his or her accuser.

HB 991–Unless there’s a preponderance of evidence otherwise, the best custody arrangement would be shared custody.

HB 992–Violations of restraining orders must be handled more quickly.

HB 993–A defendant may preemptively challenge the judge in his or her divorce case once.

HB 994–If a person is found to have lied about being sexually abused, he or she must pay the court costs of the defendant.

HB 995–If your request for an order of protection is dismissed, you have to pay the court costs of the defendant.

HB 1523–If you are not the biological father of your child, you don’t have to pay child support. 

 It may be wrong to judge a man based on the legislation he brings forth, but, if that’s wrong, I don’t wan to be right.

There are a few things I find extremely interesting.  One is that Campfield (a Republican) seems hell-bent on regulating the shit out of our lives.  Provide proof that you’re a U.S. citizen.  Provide information to the state about your medical history.  Provide information to your abuser when he or she wants it.  Provide DNA so that your father can feel sure that he’s yours.  Provide proof that you don’t discriminate.  Provide proof of your STD status.  Provide, provide, provide.

Your life is up for scrutiny and, if you fail to negotiate said scrutiny, you have to pay.

But check out  HB 796, which will surprise none of you.  While Campfield moves to make our lives more open to scrutiny, he’s moving to make his and his fellow legislators’ lives a little more opaque.

The other is how determined he seems to be to punish people who are sexually active–meaning 99% of adult human beings.  Pay more for sex toys or trips to the strip club or for trips to the Hollywood Hustler.  If you get pregnant and decide you don’t want to be, you have to make your medical information available to the state.  If you’ve made the mistake of fucking a person who turns out to be a controlling asshole, well, guess what?  Campfield wants to make sure it’s even easier for that person to remain a controlling asshole presence in your life.

And just in case you don’t get how much Campfield hates you, if you’re too poor and you win the lottery, he wants to bar you from being able to collect your winnings.  Yes, apparently money is only for the wealthy.

I’ve saved HB 783 for last because I want you to think long and hard about what this means.  You and I both know that, what he’s aiming for is to dismantle affirmative action, to try to force folks who use it in hiring to stop or lose the state’s business.

But how many of you go over to Vanderbilt for medical treatment?  You know they must use some system of preferences somewhere in the university.  Will people who need state assistance to pay for medical treatment no longer be able to go to Vanderbilt?

What about Lipscomb?  They obviously prefer that Christians attend their college.  Will students be forbidden from using state scholarships at Lipscomb or Fisk?

I can’t think of any pithy way to wrap this up, but I think it’s interesting.

I’m curious about Senator Bunch, who is the co-sponsor on a lot of these bills.  What, if anything, do we know about him? 

Mack Makes Me Laugh

I was recounting to Mack how I missed his phone call because I was busy sitting in someone else’s pee over to Noshville (and by god, what has happened to the service?!) and then having to clean myself up as best as possible considering that the stall is only a foot and a half across, at best, when he, I believe, referred to my recounting this adventure as “live-blogging.”

I cannot tell you how much that tickles me. 

When I’m old, I imagine explaining to my grand-whatevers that there was a time back before computers when we would get on the phone and just “blog” outloud to each other, one at a time.

I doubt they’ll be able to imagine such a world. 

Terry Frank, I Have two Questions

You’ve discovered uranium in Iraq.  You say,

In the first national report from the heart of one of the world’s
premier energy capitals, Frankly Speaking has obtained unclassified
documents showing that at just one site alone, Saddam Hussein possessed
and stored over 1 million pounds of uranium.

Is this different uranium than the uranium Newsmax wrote about in 2005, and the Tennessean reported was brought to Tennessee in 2004?

And, if it is the same uranium, then you don’t have an “exclusive” anything, do you? 

Ghosts of Abu Ghraib

Ugh.  So depressing.  Good, but depressing.  And when Rumsfeld sits there on national TV and names a guy who’s been promised anonymity?

You feel like you’re seeing a kind of insidious evil in action.

Really, what has to happen for that man to be prosecuted?

Plus, Addiction–I’m with Coble.


Soul Searching

Am I an asshole?

No, I guess I’m not worried about being an asshole.  I’m worried that my being an asshole is getting in the way of my points. 

In the comments to the thread about how Blogger Day on the Hill is really just Specially Screened Conservative Blogger Day on the Hill, Donna Locke says:

Let’s say — hypothetically, of course, and I can’t imagine where I got this idea — that a male conservative blogger was blogging sexual fantasies involving a female Democratic legislator. If this female Democratic legislator and the other female Democratic legislators did not care to be around this blogger — and who would blame them? — should that blogger be invited to blogger press days on the Hill? Hypothetically, of course. I’m sure you can think of other scenarios.

My point is more broad than that, but it is this: should such events be open to absolutely all bloggers or have some limitations? And who has the right to make the decisions?

So, here we are. 

Clearly that’s in reference to me.

And it makes a girl wonder.  Am I just an asshole or am I misunderstood?

See, there’s a couple of things going on.  

One, I believe that most folks are pretty firmly entrenched in their ways of thinking.  And so, if you want to make a point, it can be useful to unsettle people a little, just to be heard.

The other is that I find Campfield’s position morally repugnant.  It’s not that he’s anti-abortion.  That seems to me to be an honest enough position.  It’s that, in order to get his way, he’s prepared to infringe on my rights as a citizen.  He could support or put forth legislation that, though I find it annoying because it kind of assumes women are idiots, at least it assumes we’re idiots who have to be able to choose what happens to our bodies, even if other people would rather we make different decisions.  He could support or put forth legislation that would insure that teenagers were getting accurate information about sex and how to prevent pregnancies.  He could work to reduce birth defects.

Dude’s not king of the world, but he does have a platform to get stuff done.

Instead, he’s working on chipping away at my rights.  And doing so in a way–by trying to make public the names of women who have abortions–that he’s got to know puts women in danger.

I’m sorry.

He just seems like a bully, and in a way that chips away at my rights.

I find that vile.

So, yes, I’m vile to him in return.

I think that’s what he deserves, to be met with the respect he shows others.

And also, I think that women are expected to be nice, that, if there’s a conflict, we’re supposed to be the ones who smooth things over and put on the happy face in public, even as we seethe and become passive aggressive bitches behind the scenes.  I don’t think that’s what Donna Locke is saying directly, but doesn’t that seem to be the underlying message?

If only I’d behave myself, I could get an invitation to the genteel confines of the state legislature? 

No, you know, maybe I am an asshole.  Maybe I am vulgar and filthy.

But I don’t know.  I don’t see that sitting around nicely waiting for folks to come around to our point of view has worked.  It’s been when we’ve finally put forth our positions and been willing to explain them and defend them that folks have finally started to listen and be moved by what we have to say.

But I don’t know.

It may not be the best route to take, or the only route.

I think what I’m doing is right.  I see my sovereignty being threatened and I’m raising holy hell about it.

But maybe that does make me an asshole, too. 


I was back at Qdoba again today.  Don’t ask me why.  I don’t even really like it that much and yet, I’m drawn to it.  I would not be surprised to find that the lime rice was laced with heroin. 

But this is not a post about Qdoba.  This is a post about the nine men at the front of the line while I was at the back of it.  All young, broad-shouldered, trying to order and pay and help the ones who spoke less English get what they wanted.  Some of the staff at Qdoba speaks Spanish–the little woman with the bright smile and the cute guy and the bald guy with the freckled arms with the fading gang tattoos–and between them and the guys in line was a light, fun chaos. 

The one guy who didn’t speak Spanish asked the kid with the coal black eyes, “Queso?”

And the kid with the coal black eyes looked around for his friends or for anyone who spoke Spanish to make eye contact with him.  Finally, a buddy came over.

“Queso?” again asked the guy who didn’t speak Spanish and the buddy turned to the coal black eyed guy and said, “Queso.”

And the kid with the coal black eyes said, “Oh, si, si.”

And I swear to god, it sounded like the exact same word to me and I was looking at the guy who didn’t speak Spanish and he was looking at me and we were both like, “What the fuck?” and the guy with the freckles on his arms looks at us and starts to laugh.

Apparently, the kid with the coal black eyes was having a little fun with the guy who didn’t speak Spanish.

And we were all in agreement that it was funny.

I wonder what they were–young construction workers?  A gang?  A baseball team?

Anyway, behind them were two women who were dressed much younger than they were, who were convinced that sour cream might be a bit too exotic for their tastes and the woman with the high and tight pony tail, who seemed to be taking the lead in the ordering, was carrying a purse made of a print fabric of Confederate flags*.

And she and I were in agreement that you rarely see that many hot men all horsing around in one place, but that we appreciated it.  Her friend wanted to squeeze one of their butts.

So, there you go.  Who can understand the South and yet, I can’t help but love a place that makes you go “What the fuck is going on here?” at least once a day.




*Sadly, the internet has failed me in my efforts to find you an example of this purse, but if you click here and scroll down to the bikini worn by the woman with the armband tattoo, that’s the fabric.  Imagine it as a purse. 

The Play and Other Things

I think I’ve got my pentultimate draft of my play done.  I want to go through and clean it up and make sure that all the new pieces fit with the old pieces, but last night, I was feeling bad about it, like it sucked and there were obvious things about it that I could fix to make it better, if only I had more talent and could figure it out.

And that really pissed me off, because, as challenging as this has been up until now, I never have not liked it.  And so, I feel like, if I’m at the point where I’m not enjoying it any more, I may be at the point where I’m done with it.  I’ve tried my best and if it’s not what they’re looking for, it was still good to get this far, because, genuinely, I’ve learned a lot from it.

Still, I hope they take it and I hope Plimco plays the lead, because I would pay one gazillion dollars to hear her yodel on stage.  If they accept it, I’m making her a mix CD with yodeling songs so that she can practice.  I’ve got in mind Jimmie Rodgers’s "Waiting on an Train" (which blue yodel that is, if any, I can’t recall), "My Morphine" by Gillian Welch, and "I Asked Him for Water (He Gave Me Gasoline)" by Lucinda Williams, which might be the other way around–"(I Asked Him for Water) He Gave Me Gasoline" but my internet connection is down, so I can’t look.  I’m just hoping it comes back up in time for me to publish this.

I may also throw some Joan Osborne on there.  "Don’t feel sorry for me.  I hate that look on your face."  It’s funny.  I love that album so much and I never have bought another one of hers.  I’m such a shitty fan.

Speaking of things I’m a fan of, I really miss the Animaniacs.  I hadn’t thought of them in a long time, until Mack told me that his daughter’s name was "Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Third."  You can best believe I will indeed be asking Mack if his kids are "zany to the max" the next time I talk to him.

And yes, I do wish that my name was also Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Third, but I would let you call me Besca for short.