Woe to Tennessee Conservatives with Reading Comprehension Skills!

Coble gets it, but I see some of the rest of y’all are having a little trouble.

Rob Huddleston says:

While Stacey may be taking it on the chin right now as his bills are shredded by a do-nothing Democratic majority in the Tennessee House, he is positioning himself as a leader of the conservative movement in this state. Articles like this do nothing but cement Stacey as one of our leaders.

Hold up there!  Positioning himself as a leader of the conservative movement in Tennessee?

Y’all, seriously.  Do you read him?  Do you listen to what he says?  Or are you so enamored with the idea that there’s someone in the state legislature who drives the Democrats crazy, you’re willing to anoint him your leader, regardless of whatever fool thing comes out of his mouth?

Seriously.

–Is it okay that he threatened a local blogger’s job just because he didn’t like that said local blogger contradicted him?

–Is it okay that he proposed one of the most egregious violations of doctor/client confidentiality and government interference into medicine just because it furthers your anti-abortion goals?

–What about his willingness to prevent the county election commissions from releasing information they collect about the candidates?  How’s that promoting democracy?

—As I said back in February

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.

How’s us all living under scrutiny square withe a conservative agenda?  Seriously.

–The man thinks “Hitler” is a cute nickname for someone he likes.

–Coble’s point–the man said, in plain English, “What do I have to worry about? […]I might as well speak my mind and speak my piece.” and you didn’t, even in the back of your mind think, even as you were smiling at how much that would annoy some folks, “Well, yeah, but he does have to worry about his constituents, right?”

–And today he told you that he doesn’t mind being compared to Don Quixote.  Funny, I don’t recall devotion to a false belief, even in the face of crushing evidence otherwise, being a great quality in a leader.  But I’m open to hearing how the Republicans are best served by a man who thinks a willful acceptance of a clearly false reality to be a fine compliment.

That’s really what you want in a leader?

Or do you somehow believe him to be different than the man he seems to repeatedly prove himself to be?

Hell Yes! A Song about My Favorite Car.

The Man from GM says there’s a dude out in Arizona who refurbishes Caprices for poorer police forces, but that he might do it for a girl with enough money.

In my dreams, I’m driving around in a 77 Caprice Classic with black and white fake fur interior so that Mrs. Wigglebottom’s fur doesn’t stand out and we’re still challenging all the boys in their babied Camaros to race us down gravel roads, because, even if their cars were faster on the paved quarter mile, I could beat any car on a loose road.

That car was like a tank–you could fit four people in the back, three in the front, and it wasn’t the easiest fucker to park, but I’d still have that car back in a second.

Of course, with as expensive as gas is now, the length of this video is about all the time I could afford to spend driving that car around these days.

Warning: Hokey Heartfelt Blathering Ahead

I had this idea that it would be amazing to see a bunch of women around Mack’s cabin’s awesome kitchen table and Mack was kind enough to indulge me and, yeah, so he made that happen and yesterday a bunch of us all sat around it and ate and talked and did dishes and drank and sang* and basically carried on as we are wont to do.

Y’all it was so amazing; I mean it, so nice that I about couldn’t stand it. At one point I was just sitting on the porch swing watching the light dim along the ridge, listening to laughter echo across the holler and I was just grinning like a fool. I had to take a moment, just to step back and kind of process how awesome it was. Which is the corniest thing, but I don’t care.

I don’t know. I wanted to say a little something about how much it tickled me to find Coble, the Professor, NM and me in the kitchen trying to get everything organized and we all bemoaning the fact that we didn’t have three tables to put up in the other room where we could have sorted and organized food by genre (salads and side dishes, main courses, desserts–of course) and, as we were talking about that very thing, suddenly realizing that it was all the midwesterners calling on our ingrained potluck organizing social skills who were in fact standing there trying to organize things.

I swear to god, I never thought of there being any such thing as “midwestern culture” when I lived there, but it’s funny to me how, now that I’m down here I will find myself being able to pick out the midwesterners by certain things–like who’s standing in the kitchen organizing the food.

Mack bought the four-wheelers down for folks who are not chickenshit to ride, which pretty much was everybody but me. Malia and SaraClark were all riding the four-wheeler like they were born on one and I’m pretty sure were exchanging tips with Mack about how to keep them in proper working order and which native plants work best if you have to rebuilt engine parts out in the wilderness.

Oh, and y’all, Mack’s kids made a sign so that folks would know the right place to turn–it was a giant woman symbol (the circle with the cross underneath) with the tiny cat from the upper right corner there in the middle of the circle. It was so awesome.

And the food… Oh god, the food was fantastic and there was so much, way too much, but it was awesome.

And I have the hugest dog-crush on Mack’s dog, Rocky, who is an outdoor dog, but slowly, one paw per quarter hour** worked his way into the cabin where he helped himself to as much food as he could charm out of folks.

Okay, so here’s everyone who was there–Mack, obviously; me; the Professor; Rachel from Women’s Health News; Kofax-award nominated commenter, NM; Ginger, who made the brief bout of flashing actual flashing (sorry about that–next time we will make the ‘to the bra’/’beneath the bra’ determination before the shirts come up); Newscoma, who is just one of the most awesome people ever; Squirrel Queen, who I feel like I’ve known for a million years (and I better see some of those orgy pictures up on the web); Malia and SaraClark, queens of the fourwheeler; Kate O’, who is totally my hero for being graciously at ease in every kind of situation I’ve ever seen her in; Ivy, who should, along with Heather, have her own TV show, where she just doles out advice about plastic wrap and calls folks ‘bitches’; Kathy T., who almost didn’t get to leave after she started running her fingers through my hair; Coble, (or was she? Maybe it was just me in two places at once! Or twice at the same place. Hmm. Very deep.); and Lynnster, who came clear from Memphis, sat in the back yard with this kind of regal ease that made me smile and somehow I didn’t get a chance, again, to monopolizing her time. Soon woman, soon.

Anyway, y’all I cannot begin to say how much it meant to me that you came and brought food and had a good time and indulged me in getting around that table just to see what would happen. I have to say, I think what happened was awesome and I really feel honored and grateful that you’d all make time in your busy lives to drive clear up to the middle of nowhere to hang out for an evening. Really, thank you so much.

And Mack, I kind of don’t even know what to say to you. You were the perfect host–gracious, charming, funny, and conscientious. I’m sorry I threatened to tie you to a chair if you didn’t stop fretting, but, you must admit, if you had to be tied to a chair, you’ve got some awesome chairs to be tied to. The place looked amazing and you made everyone feel at ease and welcome. And by god, that table was perfect. You have my undying gratitude and loyalty. And, in honor of you and your people, today I will be called Tia B.

*A little Hank Williams Jr., for the benefit of those unfamiliar with the proper response to “Hank, why do you drink?”

**You think I’m kidding, but he really stood at the back door of the cabin and put first one paw inside to see how that’d be received and then another paw and then a third, and finally was like “Well, hey, fuck it. Today, if there’s food and folks to feed me, I’m an indoor/outdoor dog.” and just came strutting in.

Edited to add: Check out the Squirrel Queen’s awesome logo!  And the photos!  I kind of want to frame that logo and put it on my desk at work.

One Man, Fourteen Women

I just got back from the blogger soiree up at Mack’s and I just want to say now, so I don’t forget, up there is a man who is amazingly generous with his time, who let us all come into his territory and take over and drink and carry on and make a huge mess and laugh and tell stories, and, in return, all he asked is that we didn’t get impatient or jealous as he made his way from crotch to crotch; he didn’t say a word but somehow we all knew he would lavish plenty of attention on each of us.  And he did.

It brought me great joy at the end of the night to see him sprawled out naked asleep on the kitchen floor.

Good boy, Rocky.  Good boy.