So, I’ve taken to checking the mail when I come in from walking the dog in the morning, which was fortuitous today because I had a check from cafepress in there. So, thanks to all y’all who bought stuff, because that was a nice surprise (though I’d also, in a completely unrelated point, mention that the Tiny Cat Pants bags can hold a lot of groceries, if you’re looking to cut down on your plastic bag consumption. Though, in another completely unrelated point, the Professor tells me that she’s already started cutting up bags for me to make bags with, so, if you live in the greater Nashville area and you have plastic bags you don’t know what to do with, drop me a line and we’ll swing by and pick them up, so weigh that: save the earth through canvas or wait and save the earth through meta-bags.).
But, I also had a newsletter from the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition and it is chalk full of pictures of the cutest kids. I don’t know who their photographer is, but I about went and woke the Butcher up just so he could “Aw” along with me. Also, there’s some handsome dude (not you, Stephen Fotopulos, I know who you are) leaning against a wall all casual and good-looking-like AND a beautiful picture of a dancer kneeling down to talk to, again, some adorable little girl.
It’s worth it to give money to TIRRC just for the pictures in the newsletter.
But, they also have a nice piece from Daoud Abudiab from the Islamic Center of Columbia, Tennessee, which you may recall was burnt to the ground by racist assholes, who is giving an update on what’s going on with the Islamic community in Columbia. It turns out that the First Presbyterian Church has been giving them space to meet.
Oh Presbyterians, you warm my heart. In honor of you, I’ll even refrain from telling the story of my dad walking in on me and AF wrapped around a young Presbyterian minister’s son wearing nothing but his white briefs, though, honestly, it wasn’t much more of a story than that description right there so, really, Presbyterians, it’s the best of both worlds. I still get to tell my story and you still get to feel like you’ve won a small battle against the hated (ex-)Methodists. (For those of you not up on your inter-Protestant rivalries, that’s a joke. We love the Presbyterians. Their ministers’ sons are easy.)
Speaking of ministers’ sons, here’s an actual conversation that happened in my house yesterday.
“Hey, you have to move your money to a different bank.”
“Ugh, um, you woke me up for that? I don’t have a bank.”
“Yes, a place where you keep your money safe?”
“Not in this economy.”
“I want you to find a different bank. Yours smells like pee.”
“I don’t have a bank.”
“Did I not just get the shit scared out of me by two hundred bucks falling out of your yearbook? I’m all trying to see what Chris and Hiedi looked like as youngsters one minute and the next I’m Pacman Jones’s stripper.”
“Ha, did you just actually make a funny reference to PacMan Jones?”
“I’m just saying, it’s startling when money falls out of places you’re not expecting it.”
“Most folks would find that to be a good thing… Hey, wait a second. Why does my old yearbook smell like pee?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to your evil cat.”