Stuffed

Never tell a man that they can't pack everything into the SUV without resorting to the roof rack. They take it as a challenge and will shoe horn so much stuff in that an unexpected brake will slam things into the back of your head with lethal force. And you won't be able to move your seat for 1500 miles.

A Beautiful, Doomed Dream

A beautiful, doomed dream

By Drew Limsky December 30, 2005

ARTHUR MILLER'S ''Death of a Salesman" tells of an ordinary family man trying to stay one step ahead of the bill collector. When Willy Loman dies at the end of the play, his long-suffering wife notes that they've finally paid off the house. ''We're free . . . we're free," she sobs as the curtain comes down. It is a devastating ending, and when I observed the audience after the Broadway revival several years ago, few seemed more moved than the 50-ish men who looked too broken to rise from their seats and go home, as if their secret burdens and fears had finally been articulated.

I'm an urban gay man. I don't go camping or ride horses. ''Will & Grace" is a lot closer to my milieu than the pastures and peaks of Wyoming. Still, ''Brokeback Mountain" is my ''Death of a Salesman." Just as the male breadwinners who saw ''Death of a Salesman" didn't need to be in a situation as precarious as Willy's to be struck dumb by his tragedy, gay men don't need to be closeted cowboys to feel that our most essential struggles have finally found expression on the screen.

My identification with Jack Twist was so complete that his heartbreaking optimism and bitter frustration made me almost physically ill, like I couldn't breathe. So strong was the way I homed in on Jake Gyllenhaal's avid portrayal that the first time I saw the movie I barely registered the anguished brilliance of Heath Ledger as Ennis del Mar, or the reason why he's being compared to Brando, James Dean, and Sean Penn (that took a second viewing).

Much has been made about Ennis and Jack's morning-after denial:

Ennis: It's one-shot thing we got going here.
Jack: Nobody's business but ours.
Ennis: You know I ain't queer.
Jack: Me neither.

In the Annie Proulx story, this exchange seems realistically uninflected, with each character trying to outdo the other in manliness. And that's how Ledger plays it. But what Gyllenhaal does is let the tone of his voice go higher ever so slightly -- he gives the line readings a quality of boyish hurt that deftly conveys his sense of being erased. Later on, listen carefullly to the unsaid monologue in Gyllenhaal's long pause before he nearly whispers the line: ''The truth is, sometimes I miss you so bad I can barely stand it."

With Jack Twist, the movie places homosexuality within the American Romantic tradition, a tradition of dreaming larger than practicality will abide. Jack flows from a line of doomed, beautiful dreamers that begins with Jay Gatsby, and Jack's ambition -- a life with Ennis -- is as impossible as Gatsby's pursuit of Daisy. Jack's embittered widow isn't far off the mark when shee describes Brokeback Mountain as ''some pretend place where the bluebirds sing and there's a whiskey spring."

Gyllenhaal is transparent and charismatic in equal measure: Every emotion not only ''reads," but is elevated, magnified in the tradition of great screen everymen like Henry Fonda. In his final monologue, after all his dashed dreams have come spilling out, watch his dry-eyed resignation as Ennis drives away. In ''The Great Gatsby," we know that Gatsby is through when his lover Daisy makes it clear that she won't dream the same dreams as he does. Like Gatsby's death, Jack's end is pro forma; the spiritual death precedes the physical death.

The praise for Ledger has been so across-the-board, at the expense of Gyllenhaal's equally sensitive performance, that I wonder whether (mostly straight) critics simply are more interested in the character who is perceived as ''straighter."

In an Oprah Winfrey-like lapse, New York Times critic Manohla Dargis claims that every straight woman has had an Ennis in her life, while San Francisco Chronicle film critic Mick LaSalle thinks:''It's possible that if these fellows had never met, one or both would have gone through life straight."

One or both? Probably not the one -- Jack -- who sidles up to Mexican hustlers and rodeo clowns.

One senses straight folks twisting themselves into pretzels trying to make a patently gay story fit their sensibilities: That's what we usually have to do with heterosexual love stories. Their comments are certainly a tribute to the universality of the story, but without understanding the erotic element of romance -- not just in theory, but in practice -- the picture is incomplete. Therefore the experience of ''Brokeback" -- watching the genders on the screen match up to what's in my head -- was a revelation. Suddenly I knew what I'd been missing at the movies all my life.

The Smelly Girl in the Middle of the Cafeteria

Entry no. 5,033 about Message Board idiocy.

What is the payoff for someone in disrupting someone else's party? One of the things that made Wedding Crashers charming, except for the Will Ferrell segment, was that the main characters never crashed to cause trouble. They wanted to participate and often did their best to make the party more enjoyable for the invited guests. Why would anyone go to a place that they're disliked just because they can and they can't be stopped.

Public Message Boards are great because they are open to everyone. It's how you meet new Posters who can be wonderful additions to the group. Unfortunately, it also allows idiots who say things like "I can talk about anything I want. I don't care if the board is for people to talk about Pre-Columbian Sculpture. I'm going to talk about Bubble Gum if I want to. I pay for this service just like everyone else and no one can tell me where I can and can't post. Oh, and just because everyone else here has agreed to not call one another names? That's limiting my right to free expression and I'm going to ignore it all I want you Doody-heads"

I have met five year-olds who are more mature and better mannered.

Shhhhhh!

I've learned a lot about myself over the last couple of weeks. I have developed ways of dealing with insomnia and the panic that strikes in the middle of the night. I write, usually on here where I can pretend no one reads it, I take hot soaky baths, I surf the Internet, I watch TV, I catch up with friends online. I haven't been able to do any of those things for the last two weeks. I've been in a guest house with no Internet access, a shower stall instead of a tub, and an antenna for the TV that manages to pick up one channel, badly.

I even managed to strand myself without paper to write on. I was considering writing between the lines of old newspapers. I have tried writing during the day in Big Mama's house but the illusion of privacy is difficult to maintain in a room full of people especially when they never shut up. I did not realize how important self-expression had become until it became next to impossible.

So tomorrow we leave and I'm going to miss Big Mama but I crave private, quiet time, and the ability to write at 3 A.M.

Arrggghhhh

Needed: some serious alone time where I have to answer to no one, accommodate no one, explain to no one, speak to no one, see no one.

Just a few hours to think, write, slob around, pick my nose, eat junk, and be completely irresponsible.

The Most Wonderful Day of the Year

The day when all Christmas items go on sale for half off!!! So I wake up at 6:30 with the immediate thought of "I'm late..I'm late...for a very important date!", rush out the door, dragging a brush through my hair as I go, and off to the stores.

I restocked the Christmas Cards, got enough lip balms, body butters, manicure kits, and makeup brushes to last me to next December 26th, laid in a supply of mixed nuts for the year, and got Brick his annual Holiday Peanut M&Ms. Extra finds this year: a set of flannel sheets for $9 and a refridgerator/warmer console for the car for $15.

And home by 9 A.M.

Culture Shock

Whenever we visit Big Mama I attend church with her. Maybe it's just the congregation to which she belongs, but I'm starting to think that Methodists are a world apart from Baptists.

The standing and sitting at different times, pledging allegiance to the flag, and singing all the stanzas of the hymns isn't that big a difference. It's all the hugging. People just get up at a couple of points mid-service and wander around hugging and greeting one another. Or maybe it's a Texas thing? All I know is if they tried that in the Deep South women would still be slopping sugar all over each other at two in the afternoon and Baptists, white ones anyway, get annoyed if the Preacher goes five minutes past Noon.

And they talk a lot about helping the less fortunate and the importance of doing good works. Most Baptist churches I've been to seem to view poverty as a moral failing up there with dancing and acknowledging one another at the liquor store. Talk about what one owes to his fellow man is viewed as kind of communistic.

It's a nice place to visit but I find that all that hugging makes me nervous.

Holi-Daze

Yea, I know how cliched that is.

Brick and I decided to start a new tradition since Zack and Zelda are both grown and gone now. This is our first Christmas without kids in a quarter of a century. I figured I'd spend less time missing them if we did something completely different. We packed up the dog and took off for Big Mama's.

Fifteen hundred miles, a couple of breakdowns (one for the car and one for me), and a bunch of rushing around later, I'm still thinking of Zelda and the traditions we had established after Zach left home and what we were doing this time last year and how much I miss her.

It doesn't help that every friend I have seems to be experiencing a tragedy where they're losing loved ones. Most of them have been out of the blue, unexpected, lessons in the fragility of life, the shortness of time, and how we don't always have next year,next month, tomorrow. All too often time just runs out long before we're ready for it to.

Even those of us who are losing people who have lived long lives, there's not enough time. Big Mama's been around 80 years and I can see her getting more fragile, not being the same person she's always been, and I want her back the way she was. If I feel this way as a Daughter-in-Law, I can't imagine how Brick is feeling.

And speaking of next year, next week, tomorrow; I miss Merv.

Merry Christmas Darling

Greeting cards have all been sent

The Christmas rush is through

But I still have one wish to make

A special one for you

Merry Christmas darling

We're apart that's true

But I can dream and in my dreams

I'm Christmas-ing with you

Holidays are joyful

There's always something new

But every day's a holiday

When I'm near to you

The lights on my tree

I wish you could see

I wish it every day

Logs on the fire

Fill me with desire

To see you and to say

That I wish you Merry Christmas

Happy New Year, too

I've just one wish On this Christmas Eve

I wish I were with you

Logs on the fire

Fill me with desire

To see you and to say

That I wish you Merry Christmas

Happy New Year, too

I've just one wish

On this Christmas Eve

I wish I were with you

Hey, You Started It

Let me see if I have the chronology straight?

Person S publicly betrays private emails between Group A, of which she was a member, in which rude things were said about Person M, a member of Group B. Group B erupts in condemnation of Group A, members of Group A protest that Person S had no business disclosing confidences from private emails in public and btw, Person S had said several things in Email Group A that had been confided in her by members of Email Group B.

Person S says it didn't happen, prove it. Several members of Group B say prove it several times, member of Group A proves it and the bad guy isn't Person S for betraying the confidences of both groups, gossiping about things said in private every time she gets mad, but the person who proved it. Group B, which heartily approved of betraying email confidences last week when it benefitted them now heartily disapproves.

What do I get from all of this?
Never trust Person S
Don't trust Groups A or B
Hope and pray my email group never explodes and, just in case it does, always watch what you say.
Never tell anyone about this blog ever!

When Giants Stumble

Brick has always seemed...invincible? Almost always calm, strong, in charge. Even his rage has come out of a need to be in control. Lately I have been realizing just how vulnerable he can be. Has he always been like that and I didn't see it or is it something that's coming with age?

Yesterday, as we were waiting for the wrecker, he was the one who was nervous, dithering, couldn't focus, and was about to shoot the dog just to get him to shut up. That's usually my job!

I was fine. I knew Jim was coming. I was glad we weren't in the middle of Mississippi somewhere. I had the tools to focus on something other than the fact that we were sitting by the Interstate with 18-wheelers roaring by and I also had the medication to take the edge off of the experience. I was calming Brick down!

Lately it's like that moment when a child realizes their parent is suddenly old and frail and they are mortal.

Brick may not have been a husband in the traditional sense of the word but he's been a friend, boss, companion, partner, brother, father, family and I wouldn't know what to do without him.

Speaking of Looking for the Bright Side.....

Yesterday was the start of the big holiday trip to Texas. We got up early, finished the packing, loaded the vehicle, gassed up, got something to eat before tackling Atlanta traffic, and, as we were pulling onto the Interstate, the car died.

Well, if it had to happen, at least it happened when we were close enough to call our favorite mechanic to come get us.

It was a simple problem. An oil line broke and dumped every drop of oil from the engine. Since it sprayed all over the warm motor and smoked it was immediately obvious and no real damage was done but we do get to sit around at home with our suitcases for a few days while we find the part, order the part, install the part....

The worst of it all...worrying that something else will break and it will be far away from home and we'll be stuck in a town somewhere at the mercy of whatever motels and mechanics are there. This has become a month of things that had become safe getting not so safe at all anymore.

But back to looking on the bright side...if I survive, I'll feel like I've accomplished something.

What Heaving Bosom?!

There is good Romance. So why do so many women have a hard time with that concept? Romance still seems to be viewed as Bodice-Ripping, Harlequin throwaways when the majority of books haven't been like that for a couple of decades. And most of the Romance readers I know frequently have rousing discussions of things like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights along with neverending discussions of Austin.

Is there crap? My book club read a Cassie Edwards on a dare one time and everyone still shudders at the memory. But I can go to the 'serious Literature' section and find you some garbage there too (not the stuff that has withstood the test of time but every year there are new books with aspirations above themselves)

I think a large part of why Romance gets a bad name is because it's written by women. There are reasons why the Brontes wrote with male pen names and there are reasons why people admit they read James Patterson or Nicholas Sparks or John Grisham in public but they would be ashamed to admit they read Megan Chance, Jeanne Ray, or Phillipa Gregory. "Women's scribblings" have long been minimized and viewed as lacking value (says the woman who writes under pseudonyms and has to pretend no one ever reads it to put it out in public at all).

Romance, like most things in life, is what you're willing to see. You can focus on the crap or you can search out the good parts.

Paranoia, Paranoia....

After talking about not exposing your underbelly someone got mine.

School has been a wonderful experience for me. It's gotten me back in the world. I got to meet people, have adult discussions, learn things. It has been a safe place.

Brick has a job that pisses people off. He's good at it. It has never effected how any teachers treated me until now. Occasionally there would be a student who would have a problem with Brick and when they found out I was married to him they'd stop talking to me but it was rare and the teachers were always supportive, friendly, and, if they had a problem with him, able to treat me as a separate person who isn't responsible for explaining his actions.

It happened with the teacher I would expect it from the least, one of the ones I respected the most, one I liked a lot. There were occasional remarks about police officers in general...fair game. It's a class about law and I am under no illusions that all officers are perfect, that I am under any obligation to explain them, or that any of them, but one, has anything to do with me. So maybe I should have seen it coming when he jokingly said he wanted to see what it would take to make me angry. He found it.

The last couple of weeks the comments have been a lot more focused on one officer in particular, Brick. I even skipped class half of last week because I just didn't want to deal with the atmosphere that was developing. But this week is finals. I figured I'd go in, take the review class, take the test, no problem.

Near the beginning of class the teacher starts talking about an incident involving someone at the school and Brick. He uses no names but it's obvious to everyone exactly who the officer is. And he says the 'when he was shown to be wrong, the Officer changed his story' so he would still win the case. In other words, he lied, he comitted perjury. Then there was a class discussion, led by the teacher, of the Officer's motives for lying.

Well.... if he was going to go over to the darkside after 30 years I'm glad he did it over something important like a $82 ticket.

It was all I could do to not run out of class. I made it through the next hour+ by writing lines of gibberish in my legal pad and thinking 'Hang on, just hang on.' and managed to get to my car before I started crying. I've been crying for two days.

It's not just the humiliation of having my husband called a liar in front of my classmates, it's the knowledge that school is no longer a safe place, I'm scheduled for three classes with this guy next quarter and I've already purchased the textbooks, he's my advisor, there are no other teachers in my program, it's too late in the year to transfer to another school (where I will have a long commute each day), and I am faced with a situation I have no skills to deal with.

I know how to let things slide and I know how to destroy people. It's everything in between that I have trouble with.

Would the spouses of people in other proffesions have to listen to this sort of crap? Would anyone else have to hear about the 'crimes' of their family member in front of their classmates?

What's really stupid is if the teacher had asked Brick for his version before he shared it with the class as if the accusations were the gospel, he would have heard a reasonable explanation for what he's characterizing as 'changing his story'. I expected better of this guy. I was wrong

Getting Old

Steve McQueen has a grown Grandchild

Bob Dylan has a kid that's on the down slope to 40

I wonder if previous generations felt this way or if this 'Wait a minute. it's going too fast!' feeling is a Boomer thing?

Bully Brats

Message boards are weird little communities where most forms of human behavior seem to get distilled into a pure form. They are impossible to explain to someone who has never been there and quickly recognizable to anyone that has.

All Boards have Brats. There are the cute Brats, sexy Brats, pouty Brats, and, worst of all, Bully Brats. Bully Brats will invade another board because "I pay my membership fees. I can post wherever I want. You can't stop me." If you tell them they aren't wanted at the party they will say "Oh? I annoy you? That'll make staying fun."

Bully Brats try to push people's buttons to provoke a response and, with people who don't have a lot of experience with insane behavior, this works. Normal people aren't used to having people accuse them of wrongdoing, mental illness, doing things they know they didn't, and they respond. They try to defend themselves, prove they didn't do it, say it, are healthy. Which gives the Bully Brat attention, which gives them a sense of power, which gives them a reason for being? Maybe.

What's so funny is how trifling their ammunition is. I grew up in a family that made Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe look like friendly faculty festivities. No one can hurt you that doesn't know your weak underbelly.

I took one on recently (I got irritated at the sheer length of her inanity). I said exactly what I thought and I was done. So now I have the little mosquito buzzing around my head trying to provoke a response. Laughter is a response. Every word off of her fingers shows how irrational, illogial, immature, and sad she is.

What is there within a person that would make them seek out groups where they are disliked by most, tolerated by some, liked by a few? What need is there in someone that they go looking for that kind of rejection? Are they so incapable of healthy interaction that this is inevitable? Is this what their real life is like?

Blast from the Past

I have a family of origin that doesn't talk to one another. We go for years without calling, writing, or knowing exactly where everyone lives. I guess our lives were so disrupted as children we never formed the bonds that most people do with family. We have no habits to fall back on, no traditions, few shared memories.

I have been able to form a strong nuclear family unit but it's isolated, cut off from the Grandparents, Aunts, cousins that most people view as standard. It's a good life, a quiet life but good and I was really thrown when one of the Prodigals just showed up this past week.

He's the one no one has known where he lived for a couple of years. No address. No phone number. Just a vague belief that he was in west Georgia somewhere.

I wish I could say that I was thrilled he's back but I can't. So far my reaction has been anxiety. Do I call the rest of the family and let them know he's popped back up? Well one, none of them called and let me know when he disappeared and two, he's finally emerged from exile, isn't it his place to reach out to the others when he's ready?

I could be worrying for nothing. This could be like most encounters in my family; we were polite and friendly and made promises that we'd get together real soon and that will be it for years.

It's not even him really. I think I just view my family as such a minefield of pain just waiting to explode that I associate anyone from that time with a rueful 'It would be nice but I just can't take the risk.' Since he vanished for 2 years maybe that's a feeling he understands too well.

"They think you're stupid"

Why does every piece of fundraising literature the Democratic National Committe sends me make me want to go find an election somewhere and vote Republican?

They desperately need a Rove. Or someone who knows how to communicate with the American public without insulting some and pissing off a bunch more.

According to mom I should be making pancakes

Does anyone actually make pancakes for breakfast anymore? At least real, didn't come out of the freezer pancakes? Even when I was a kid they were a weekend treat or for when you had breakfast for supper. A couple of generations before me, evidently they were such a bother to make that Pancake Houses sprung up in tourist areas across the country, a tradition that lingers on in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. But there is a Mother and Grandmother out there who is telling her daughter she's a bad mother because steamings stacks of flapjacks aren't hitting the breakfast table before school in the mornings.

Why are our Mothers' opinions of our mothering so important to us? Even when you think your Mother was a terrible parent who should have never had children, it's still a crushing blow to have her say 'You're a bad mother.' Most other people, if you don't respect them, their opinion of you doesn't matter very much.

But Mom? You never want to stop pleasing her even when you realize she's incapable of being pleased. Maybe that makes you want to please her all the more?

I'm a GOOD mother!!!

Watching Desperate Housewives the other night I was surprised to hear the character of Lynette Scalvo (sp?) assert "I'm a good mother!' in indignent tones.

Ummm, no, you're not.

Why is it that people who are bad at things are the ones who proclaim the loudest that they are good mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, bosses, teachers, cops, whatever? Is it that they know on some level just how inadequate they are and don't want anyone else to find out or do they really believe that crap?

When you're really good at something, you don't have to tell anybody. They'll figure it out. Or they won't. Either way it won't really matter because it doesn't change who you are and how you do things. You are based in the reality of what is, not the illusion of other people's opinion.

I can't wait

Emeril...if you can't wait it doesn't take over 3 months. If you value your employees and your company makes huge profits, you take the hit and you don't lay off 2/3s of your people. I think we all know just how much you care about New Orleans and the people who work for you.

In other words, I ain't buying it and I ain't buying you.

Save Tookie?

I'm not a big fan of the death penalty. It's too possible to make mistakes. Mistakes have been made. I'm uncomfortable with the concept of the state putting a guilty man to death. The thought of an innocent man being killed by the governement is unthinkable.

And then there's Tookie.

Every time I hear of what a good person he's become and that's why he shouldn't be executed I think of the 26 years. If he has truly repented and seen the error of his ways, and I wouldn't bet on the sincerity of his behavior, he had 26 years to mature, grow, make his peace with God and the world that his four victims never did.

He wrote some books, books whose primary feature appears to be his face on the cover. I wonder what his victims would have written, done, accomplished with 26 years?

Maybe Tookie should be grateful that the system takes so long he had that extra time to try to do right.

Best and Worst

Oh why not? Everyone else is doing it.

2005

Best Comedy: Wedding Crashers

Best Drama: still waiting....

Best scripted romance: Zach and Kendall, All My Children

Worst scripted romance: Nick and Jessica, every tabloid on the planet

Best Celebrity romance: Brad and Angelina

Worst Celebrity romance: Tom and Katie

Tackiest Celebrity romance: Britney and KFed

Best Reality Show Contestant: Rafe, the Gay Mormon from Survivor

Most Hated Reality Show Contestant: The Weaver Family, The Amazing Race

Lucky famous baby: Zahara Jolie-Pitt

Pray for DFACS famous baby: Sean Federline

Best new TV show: My Name is Earl

Most recovered TV show: 6 Feet Under

Biggest Train Wreck: Kimberly Stewart

Most in need of a good meal: Nicole Richie

Most in need of a new family: Lindsey Lohan

Most in need of a break from the spotlight: Tom Cruise

Snatched Away

I seem to take special notice of stories about people who find each other after a lifetime then lose each other too soon. Today the remains of a woman were identified. She was kidnapped and murdered months ago leaved behind a new husband who adored her. This being the age of Scott Peterson, the husband was investigated and cleared at the time of her disappearance.

Around the same time, a guy walked into a court room and blew away, among others, the Judge. The Judge, who was loved all over the community, was especially loved by his new wife.

The stories seem to be everywhere. Some are taken by violence, some by illness, some by driving down the Interstate at the wrong moment. Whatever the cause of these 'soulmates' absence it seems especially painful and it always raises the question: is it better to have found great love and had it for months or to have never known it at all? Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all? Better to lose someone in the full bloom of love instead of waiting 20 years till you despise one another?

Baby Masochist

Do all people who are drawn to lifestyles out of the norm look for encoded characters in mainstream media with whom to identify? If you go to a gay message board you will find a discusion on what characters in popular movies and TV were gay; Mr. Belvedere, Uncle Arthur from Bewitched, Dr. Smith from Lost in Space.

Are there encoded S&M characters or am I just looking for something that doesn't exist? Whether that was the original intent of the creators, I responded to the Dominant male characters long before I knew what BDSM was.

Watching Dr. Zhivago I never got the Omar Shariff appeal. It was all about Victor Komarovsky; the threat, the disdain, the never knowing if he would caress or slap, the feeling that he truly did know Lara in a way no one else did or ever would, the forbidden, the brutality, the intense highs and lows that didn't seem possible with 'regular' love.

Then there's Addison De Witt from All About Eve; plotting, scheming, manipulating, observing, knowing all Eve's secrets and wanting her anyway. And Bronte heroes? They should have built dungeons and gotten it over with. Or is that what Rochester's attic was all about? (Sir?)

Intent or interpretation? Who knows? At this point one can only speculate.

Daddy Issues II

Brick and I got into a gossipy discussion of guys we know who date (prey on?) young girls. Why do some girls, like Zelda, think being approached by older, often married, men is gross and other girls are attracted?

Brick mentioned the theory that they have Daddy issues, that their fathers were absent or unavailable, and I realized that I gave him a hard time all these years for being emotionally distant and undemonstrative and, evidently, he was giving our kids what they really needed from him all along.

He wasn't expressive, or cuddling, or a lap Daddy but they never needed him that he wasn't there, day in, day out, providing, coming home at the end of his shift, bringing home his check at the end of the week, doing without so they'd always have what they needed. He was solid and would never desert them. And he had me to handle all the mushy stuff. And I'm lousy at reliable and dependable.

Daddy Issues

Brad Pitt has petitioned to adopt Angelina Jolie's children. Much tsk-tsk and 'Poor Jen' erupt.

Since none of them called me with the gory details, I wouldn't presume to know what's going on, but I'm not all that surprised.
I would hope any woman would know that a man has made a commitment to her children before she allows him to be called 'Daddy'.

And since I'm in old crank mode...I am amazed at how many girls I have heard talk about how they aren't willing to marry the fathers of their children as if that's too much of a commitment. What kind of commitment do they think is having a baby with someone?

Marriages come, they go, but babies are forever. For the rest of your life you have to deal with the other parent: custody, support, visitation, 'family' photos at the kid's wedding, Grandchildren-in-common. Even if the father walks out, you'll see him in the child's eyes or hair or the way they stand or maybe you'll just have to comfort them when they cry because they don't have a Daddy. You'll sign on for all that with someone who's not good enough to marry?

In the bad old days you paid your money and took your chances and sometimes 'surprises' happened, but this is post-pill, post-Roe v. Wade, post-they give condoms away at school. Having a baby is a choice now. How does anyone have a child they aren't committed to raising the best they can?

As for the Jolie-Pitts...I hope they prove the naysayers wrong, last forever, raise happy, well-adjusted kids, and put out a Deluxe DVD of Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Talk, talk, talk, talk

There are people who just love to stir the pot, that are never happy unless the people around them are in turmoil, preferably caused by them. They make snarky comments, pit people against one another, lie, manipulate, and when called on their behavior go all obtuse and say "Isn't it terrible when people act like that? I've been around for ten years and I've been treated so badly. I've seen it all."

No, Bitch. You've caused the majority of it. And the reason it's been around you for ten years is because you like things that way. No situation you're in is that hard to avoid. You just don't want to.

Thank you, Sir. May I have another?

There are few things as frustrating as a closeted Masochist.

I have a friend who will allow people to treat her horribly. Say awful things. Do awful things. Betray her confidences. Two weeks later, all is forgiven and they're best buddies. It's like she's begging for the next slapdown.

Does she realize it's coming and that's the payoff or is she so wedded to the goal of being 'nice' that she'll put up with anything rather than stand up for herself? If being the Good Girl was working for her I don't think it would bother me as much but, at last count, she's 25 pounds underweight, doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, is self-destructive, has panic attacks, and is destroying relationships with people who genuinely do care about her.

And there's nothing I can do about it.

The Generational Divide

When did oral sex change from something a guy had to beg for, something 'special', to not much more than shaking hands?

I think my age group started the change. It was one of those things you did while you put off doing the thing that made you technically not a virgin (that used to matter) and it didn't get you pregnant, and we got into the habit of not putting it in our 'count' ("Oh,I never had sex with him. We just fooled around a little").

People my age, especially southern ones, at least if they were honest, knew exactly what Bill Clinton was saying when he played the "I didn't have sex with that woman." game. It's a game we've all been playing since High School.

But I've usually dated older guys and, according to them, the old joke "Why is the Bride smiling in the wedding photos? Because she knows she'll never have to give another blow job." is sadly based in reality. Evidently in the olden days there was a lot of begging involved in getting a girl/woman to do 'That!' The 'That!'-meter has now moved on to other things and oral sex seems to be accepted as a standard requirement of a physical relationship.

I'm glad that people are more open about their sexuality but I do wonder if they're missing some of the fun parts of the old days along with the guilt and repression.

Women Rule

I'm watching morning television and I see a big banner proclaiming "Women Rule".

Imagine a banner, and a corresponding concert series, proclaiming "Men Rule". That's so not happening.

I like women, like being a woman, think women are wonderful, but men are getting screwed. They are treated as idiots in commercials, treated unequally by the law, and I actually had a classmate say this week "If I hit my husband and he was a Bitch and called the police, I'd really hit him as soon as they left." There was no shame in making that statement and it got a lot of support. Can you even imagine the response if a man made the same statement about his wife?

Courts say that they make custody decisions in the best interest of the child, then they presume that it's in the child's best interest to be raised by the mother, and will go through some amazing twists in logic to support that position.

Oh well, at least it's easier to get a blow job.

Holiday Trees

With all the hoopla over 'Holiday' Trees this season I just keeping thinking this is such a non-issue. I don't think the main intent of calling them that has ever been to keep from offending non-Christians but to sell them a darn tree!

It's a marketing thing not a religious onslaught. How many 'mixed' marriages are there now where the Christian partner wants a tree and the Jewish partner feels uncomfortable? Solution: call it a holiday tree and it's something everyone can live with. Pretty soon everyone wants a green tree and lots of colorful lights in one of the darkest months of the year, sales increase, SAD lessens, everyone's happy.

Sometimes it's just a cigar.

Kid Lit

I never really liked children's literature. Since I believe parents should read to their kids, that was a problem. I enjoyed and would read some things to them; Dr. Seuss, Mercer Mayer, a few others, but most of it I wasn't going to read once much less multiple times.

So I read them what I liked. They would be rocked to sleep hearing Edgerton, Fitzgerald, and Conroy. They heard snatches of Gone With the Wind, Florence King essays, and Tennessee Williams plays.

So did I raise Southern Neurotics? Not really. Ok, so they both have a flair for drama, language, and at least one of them has an appreciation for fine writing and film-making, but they're remarkably sensible young people.

No matter what my faults as a mother, and I had many, I like the people my children turned out to be. I often wonder if I had done things better, picked a more involved and evolved father for them, been less damaged and more squared away, done about a thousand things better than I did, would they still be the people I like so much? I doubt it.

It is the total of our experiences, good and bad, that make us the people we become. And with my kids, maybe the inappropriate reading material is part of who they are.

Hurricaine Zelda

Zelda has more sense about men than I ever have. Thank God.

She was telling me about her trip to the Mall of America. She wasn't that crazy about the Mall but the 4-day stay at the Airport Hilton was illuminating. Zelda met the Married American Businessman in his natural habitat.

Zelda is a beautiful girl. Yea, I know, I'm her mother, I'm biased, but she really is. She's 5' tall, a curvy size 4, has long, strawberry blonde hair, and a personality that knocks men flat. And she's Southern. And she was in Minnesota. It was bound to get ugly.

There were wedding rings getting slipped off and left hands shoved into pockets all over the place.

Would men act this way if they knew how laughable girls like Zelda found them? Since she went into the workforce at 16, men in their 30s and 40s have asked her out. Various reactions: "But he's so OLD!", "That's so gross!", "He's 12 years older than I am!!", and now, "Does he think I'm blind that I didn't see that ring?"

Even women like me, who have a higher tolerance for hound dog behavior, certainly don't respect them in the morning. (And how many cross-hybrids results of the free-love 70s and a family that taught early and well to trust no one can there be running around?)

Maybe for guys it's like fishing: it doesn't matter how many fish in the lake are swiming around laughing at their lures, going 'Didn't catch me!', as long as there's a hope they'll hook something.

The Scorpion and the Frog

I have a favorite story. There's a flood and animals are having a hard time getting around. So a scorpion goes up to a frog and says "Mr. Frog, are you going across the river? I need to get to the other side and I was wondering if I could ride across on your back?"

The frog is understandably leery of the scorpion and says "I'm not going to let you on my back. You'll sting me and I'll die!"

"But Mr. Frog," says the scorpion "That would make no sense. If you die, I would die too. I can't swim."

The frog thinks about this and gives the scorpion a ride.

Halfway across the river, the scorpion stings the frog and as he's dying the frog asks "But why? You'll die too."

"I couldn't stop myself." replied the scorpion. "It's my fucking nature."

People don't change. You always want to think that tragedy can bring out the best in people, that there will be an epiphany where they will realize important life lessons and make changes that improve their life and the lives of those around them.

That doesn't happen.

For people who have good things in their nature, they are reminded of the important things, may get in touch with emotions and beliefs they've lost track of in the hectic everyday of life, but people who are petty and vicious will just use the tragedy of others as one more opportunity to play the same games they always play. Nothing changes.