Wordless Wednesday: The Giving Tree

From the West-End Co-op, on display at Art in the Park on Saturday. (You can click to enlarge.)

Odds and Sods: One damn thing after another edition

My health has taken an unexpected dive, and I find I do not want to blog about this, for a bloody change. This is partly a desire for privacy, and partly a fear that my (seemingly endless) aging problems are just getting boring. (I mean, you know, they bore ME after awhile too.) And chronic illnesses/injuries are part of aging, most assuredly.

As Harry Truman famously said, "The problem with history is that it's just one damn thing after another." Ohhhh, how true that is. And aging is part of history, or IS the process of history, as manifested in each individual.

I am home from work, drinking Kombucha to boost my immune system, wasting time arguing on Feminist Critics, in which I unexpectedly had to defend The Holy Trinity (who'd a thunk it?), downloading purty photos, such as the one above (since I have lots of Flickr space left!), and watching my new fave-rave NeNe on The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

The REAL HOUSEWIVES are exactly the women some of the Feminist Critics posters really HATE: unemployed, fluttering about, spending money, madly lunching before storming every boutique in Buckhead, all while chattering entertainingly for the rest of us. I regard them as an exclusive subculture out of a Jacqueline Susann novel, certainly nothing like the majority of housewives in any locality. Which is why people watch the show, after all. But several of the FC crowd seem to believe this type of rich, spoiled, bon-bon eating housewife represents the majority of American wives.

Not hardly. If so, we wouldn't be watching them as if they are an exotic species, would we?

***

My heart's on fire, for Elvira. Also my new profile pic, for now!

(Note: I simply could not start a story about Emmy without a kitty picture. This was just not possible to do.)

I realized after writing my Proposition 8 piece yesterday, that I had not been specific enough about why I think gay marriage is a crucial civil right, but simply took that knowledge for granted on the part of the reader. And then, I came upon Zan's entry, below, which brings the issue into sharp relief in a very up-close-and-personal way. At her blog, Butterfly Cauldron, Zan misses her partner, Emmy, and wishes she could stay in the country longer:

If our immigration laws were decent, if they let citizens sponsor same-sex partners, if we had a visa for people who were looking for work and had willing sponsors, if if if. But we don't. There's no way for people in same-sex relationships to bring their partners into the country legally. And, when Emmy finds work here and gets a work visa, she'll only be able to stay in the country legally as long as her job lasts.

There is a chance, because she is trans and still legally male, that we can get her here on a fiance visa. A chance. But when it comes out that she is trans, it's likely that the visa would be denied. We could just get married and hope for the best, but it's the same situation. The visa would likely be denied, because it is the policy of the US Government to deny transgendered people the right to immigrate on a spousal visa. So, even if we got married legally (which we could in Louisiana, because Louisiana does not legally recognize transgendered people as their true gender until SSR has been preformed), we would still not be allowed to live together full-time in this country.

How is this fair? How is this even the slightest bit right? And it's so very easy to remedy. Legalize same-sex marriage at the federal level. Extend to all couples, regardless of gender, the legal right to marry. Immigration rights, insurance rights, visitation rights, adoption rights, full and complete equality under the law. If the genders of the people marry did not marry, Emmy and I could apply for a fiance visa and be certain it would be granted. We could know that our separation was not only temporary, it had a definate end date. It wouldn't keep me from crying, but it would help me to know when I could hold her again.

(((weeepsss like old hippie grandma)))))

This is the reason for marriage, people. Love made possible and given a chance, not impeded and made explicitly difficult at every turn. Souls brought together, not kept apart.

Love is patient, love is kind.
Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
Love is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Fluor Field at the West End, baseball stadium sign, home of Greenville (SC) Drive baseball team.


~*~


Does anyone know why YouTube sometimes says "embedding disabled by request"? Must be a pretty important person's request, I figure.

Also, why does it sometimes say "I'm sorry, this video no longer available" when you try to play certain previously-embedded videos? Obviously they don't care about the bloggers and the highfalutin social commentary we are providing to go with the videos, illuminating the far-out corners of Western Civ. Who is going to look up old 70s hit songs and explain the Freudian meanings, if not your humble bloggers? Harumph.

Anyway... the following video has gone through these permutations... I'd save it for a few days, then poof, it wouldn't play and would have vanished from the YouTube archives as well. It's been very hard to find the song, so I was thrilled to find it today. (I wish I'd had it at Halloween, so I could play it alongside HUMAN FLY.)

This is from waaaay back (1971) when songs were forced by radio censors to use oodles of euphemism. Virtually every line of this song has double, even triple meanings, and you just wonder how they got away with a line like "Evil grows in cracks and holes" without the record getting banned. No doubt, it's because of the presentation, which at first listen, sounds very bubblegum. Gotcha! Critic Kim Cooper writes: "The Partridge Family + The Manson Family = The Poppy Family"... even the name of the band wasn't what it seemed at first. They looked hippie-wholesome as the very dickens... yes, the same wholesome kids who took various strange acidhead detours in the late 60s/early 70s... wholesome, Canadian, fun-and-funky kids gone... well, if not exactly WRONG... then, you know, off. Yes, just off.

Some time later, the author of this song recorded one of the worst pop songs of all time, truly the fate of the damned. (Terry Jacks: Seasons in the Sun) But you know, we don't remember all of those bad Partridge Family songs they tortured us with, do we? No, we remember SEASONS IN THE SUN, it's badness is of a truly legendary nature. It's that touch of Manson that makes it morbid and weird.

And without further ado, WHERE EVIL GROWS - the Poppy Family

RUNOFF ELECTION FOR TED!

Left: Ted Christian watches election returns at the Liberty Tap Room last night.

~*~

It was a long day yesterday. We busted major ass.

First, I go to work, and encounter my favorite customer who had a TV show made about him, Tony Della Ventura. I asked him if he voted in the primary and ohhhhhhh, I forgot. (I asked him that before, didn't I?) I was treated to a mini-diatribe about how politicians are all whores, which you should pronounce the way Tony Montana did, whilst sitting in the bathtub: these horsssssss. Della Ventura is the only ex-New York cop I know with a confederate flag tattooed on his leg. He was played by Danny Aiello, which is utterly perfect casting, except that Danny isn't tattooed over every square inch of his body, riding a Harley. (Well, in fairness, this is after retirement and moving south.)

And so, Tony tells me: don't vote for these horssssss.

I take his point, but I tell him how I try to work within the system, yada yada, and with that, we are off on one of our epic conversations. I re-stock the Greens Plus and talk about Ron Paul, who he likes.

~*~

Went to vote in the Thornblade precinct, where they had (this is no exaggeration) only 17 Democrats all day, and 324 Republicans. (This totally explains the golf course in my face, now doesn't it?)

My spies say they saw Jim Burns shaking hands with people, shilling for votes, right on the polling place property, supposedly as he stopped in to vote for himself. Isn't that against the rules? Who's in charge here?

Off to do some quick windshield-leafletting, wash dishes, grab kombucha on the way over to the West End.

~*~

And speaking of the West End--damn, what happened to this place? You ain't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. I arrive at the aptly named Liberty Tap Room, which didn't even exist a couple of years ago. I'm still quite amazed by the whole capitalist enterprise; the pseudo-artsy West End (once the low-class textile mill area of town), the new ball park, the condos atop the ballfield, etc... all the latte-town dreams of the Greenville Chamber of Commerce. I look at the ballfield and wonder how many old millhouses and ancient storefronts died for it's sins. I've still never been to a Greenville Drive game, although I did go to Greenville Braves games in the old suburban stadium, back when we had the Atlanta Braves farm team. I think DRIVE is a DUMB name for a team and I say so at every available opportunity (like right now). The Braves were sold to Mississippi and are now the Mississippi Braves. Damn, I hate that.

~*~

Ted was watching the returns when I arrived after the polls closed at 7pm. The whole crew was there (see photo below) and we settled in to watch the returns on one of those giant restaurant TVs out on the terrace. He joked that at least he had eleven votes!

When approximately 44% of the precincts were in, Ted looked at the TV-screen, somewhat startled, and did Rocket Scientist magic right in front of us. He squinted in deep thought, like Mr Spock, and announced that if Bryan McCanless had X% of the vote and Paul Corden had Y%, with 44% of the precincts? Closes eyes, put hands to eyes momentarily--then he says: Runoff.

"No single candidate could possibly have 50% of the vote," he said, somewhat surprised at what he was saying. "Runoff election between me and Corden!"

What? How did you DO that, man? NO WONDER HE CAN LIVE OFF THE FREAKING STOCK MARKET, with talents like those. I wish I could do algebra right in my head. (Just like they told you in school, word-problems can actually help you in real life.)

Ted looked exultant, well, as exultant as rocket scientists ever get, anyway.

At this point, cell-phones start ringing, and people start handing them to Ted. HE DOESN'T HAVE A CELL-PHONE, PEOPLE. HE IS RUNNING FOR CONGRESS AND DOESN'T HAVE A CELL-PHONE!!! Newspapers and Channel 4 wanna interview him--Ted sprints off to Channel 4, which is, luckily, right down the street. (Sometimes, living in a smallish town has its perks.)

The phones continue going off with various ring-tones, and one campaign-worker says, HEY, TED TOOK MY PHONE!

~*~

And so, it's a Runoff election in two weeks, between Paul Corden and Ted Christian. Ted landed 33%. I attribute not a small amount to those Walmart windshields I littered up!

Ted, on his website:

We're inside the gates, boys and girls.

Here's the deal. Anybody who didn't vote Republican in the primary can vote in the runoff. Corden got the party hard core yesterday, and that's about all he's going to get. We on the other hand have an entire universe of fed up people to tap into. Do the math.

Ted's all about math.

More work, more windshields, I can't pretend this isn't exhausting to think about. But Ted actually in the race against entrenched Republican incumbent Bob Inglis, where he CAN'T BE IGNORED? It's a dizzying prospect. And it could happen! We were all flush with success, woo-hooing our way out of the Liberty Tap Room.

More to come, of course. I will keep you all posted.

Edit, by popular demand: here is your humble narrator doing her Brunhilde impersonation last evening, particularly necessary in heat like this, where my hair threatens to smother me. Photo by Serena.

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Listening to: Grateful Dead - The Race Is On
via FoxyTunes