It's Time.

I still get people who land here looking for this.

No. I still don't have an explanation for it. However, don't judge.

Obama Seems to Have Found His Tie, and Lost His Ass

It's okay, though, because someone found his ass and handed it to him at the Health Care Showdown at the Blair House Corral. That would be Paul Ryan. The man who dared.TM

And the whole "power tie" thing this year is fun to watch. No more open collars except for his commu-toadies.

Update: Oooh! A flag lapel pin, too!!

Urban Campfire

Where we live really isn't as bad as you may think. (If you're well-armed. . . ) For the most part, there is little blog-worthy stuff going on, and the cold seems to suppress out-of-doors chicanery. Pepper Dog and I go for nice walks around the neighborhood, and there's a large amount of geese and ducks in the retention ponds for her to menace; she loves to give the fat lazy birds their life-saving exercise.

One lovely thing besides living next door to your two most-favorite people is that my son bought a fire pit for enjoying the cold nights out-of-doors. We've plenty of wood from the pecan trees and other wild growth so stocking a good bonfire in the portable pit is no problem. The pit migrated to our yard for practical reasons, i.e., it's much closer to the hot tub and the liquor cabinet, and shared dinners usually happen at our place. So a crisp night out under the stars happens infrequently, but often enough to make it a ritual of sorts in our back yard.

My son breaks out a pipe, the JR has a cigar, we girls have a nice libation and the talk turns quiet as the fire burns low. Last Sunday it was a mandated crab-and-shrimp boil with elotes and Fat Tire beer. The JR cooked it all up (!) and we ate it all up, but while we were preparing the food I asked my darling DIL if they had any hungry college orphans in their circle of friends that would like to join us. So two more joined our tribe for the night.

It made for a wonderful evening with their friend Jared reading aloud Flannery O'Conner's story about being owned by peacocks. We all agreed that "peabiddy" was a word we should like to work into a conversation as soon as possible. DIL read selections from Wodehouse and I read selections from Velociworld, just to round out the mood. And reading Vman aloud (without blushing? impossible!) to the uninitiated is a real treat; to hear the college kids say, "who IS that?" The quiet one, John sat and listened stoically, and then piped up with the most hilarious, laconic quips that slayed us all. He would then snap silent again with no follow-up or engagement. You can't reproduce that sum effect in writing, it was too perfect!

So living here is a fine representation of the good with the not-so-good. Campfires and gunshots. Quiet streets and long-time residents interrupted by thumping low-riders and shout-outs. Like much of life, we're not meant to be perfectly happy here on earth. But every now and then, if you have a small community of good folks, it's pretty close to Heaven.

It'll do for now.

Sometimes A Great Notion

Go here.

Won't take five seconds.

Into the Ditch

4:20 a.m. and I am awakened by the screaming protest of an old Volvo engine being repeatedly red-lined by its owner, a man with much drink and no hap.

In our swell little neighborhood there seems to be an epidemic of drunk drivers winding up in the lovely little *culverts* that bedeck each homestead. These drivers do not live here, they are on their way to some other swell little neighborhood where the water drains off the yards more easily, unlike here, where the primordial Pluff MudTM is but a few inches removed from the lawn surface.

So, on our 200 yd. road they negotiate the one right-angle turn only to be confounded by the 100 yards of straight road to the next stop sign. It's a driving challenge for the inebriated, apparently, because this was the third such incident this month. Once ensconced in the ditch French drain, drunks straightway learn that solid ground is a relative term even in a seemingly dry gulch, and they sink right up to the rocker panels. Which looks lovely in anyone's yard, don't you think?

The JR wakes, thinking our noisy heater has finally blown up, but I sleepily inform him that there is a stumbling drunk who has become our guest in the front yard. Said drunk was slogging in the culvert trying to open his trunk where he keeps a handy tow-rope. (It's an essential in Charleston, btw, even for sober drivers. At least he was a prepared drunk.) I think his shoe is still there in the ditch, about 4 inches into the ground. Nevertheless, he gets back into his vehicle and starts gunning the ancient Volvo and we're pretty sure that there's nothing for it but to drag him out. Luckily, we just bought an apocalypse vehicle for such eventualities, so we get dressed, I put coffee on, and before the coffee is finished, the deed is done. While the JR is parking the truck, I walk out with a mug of strong, sweet coffee to ply our guest with, but he has already started to drive away, while dialing his cell phone, drunk dialing someone at 4:45 a.m. It had better be someone who loves him quite a bit.

I feel bad that I didn't get there in time to delay him with coffee and conversation and maybe a fine slap across his face to sober him up, but staying in our ditch was not an option. He was likely smart to leave the 'hood before the cops showed up. But his car didn't sound like it was gonna make it past the stop sign as he probably killed the rings with redlining the engine, or gashed the oil pan in the fall. The mud in the fan belt and pulleys squealed indignantly of course, as though the old Volvo had more self-respect than its driver.

Anyway, it made for a fine morning's meditation on our current Congress, its drunken spending habits, our economy, stumbling TARP bailouts that require no accountability, and the eventual meltdown that is surely just around the corner.

Your mileage may vary.

Spring Fever

nature-wraith
pale from winter's
wandering
in closed corridors
secure from
early budding spores
secluded and sniffling
awaiting the freedom
of a well-borne breeze
and warm insinuations
from the Yucatan
yucca-tan-shades
of summer
whisper in the
faint hope of
spring

Of Sun Dogs and Sonic Shock Waves

First, go find out what Sun Dogs are if you don't know, and then go watch this video. I would never lead you astray and this is totally worth it, if you love how the cosmos hangs together. Go full screen, baby, cuz the payoff is around 1:50!

h/t BoingBoing

A Fine and Well-deserved Mockery

Olberman. Dramatic chipmunk. Go!

No, I will not get your lunch for you while I'm out.

And do you know why, dear coworker? Because it's my break, not my job. I work hard, don't chit chat more than the casual snippets, don't do social networking online, don't have a thought or moment to myself until my break. If I have to spend my break worrying about onions or flavors or juggling drinks and condiments and money, it has officially become work. And stressful work, at that.

I go to the trouble once a week to get into my car to get away from the tasks and obligations and to actually decompress. Bringing you back lunch so you don't have to bother with it is nice if I offer, but rude if you expect it.

Waitressing is a job that teaches you that you don't want to be a waitress, and I don't want to be yours. Sorry.

Not.

A Reading for Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:12-17

¹² "Even now," declares the LORD,
"return to me with all your heart,
with fasting and weeping and mourning."

¹³ Rend your heart
and not your garments.
Return to the LORD your God,
for he is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and abounding in love,
and he relents from sending calamity.

¹⁴ Who knows? He may turn and have pity
and leave behind a blessing—
grain offerings and drink offerings
for the LORD your God.

¹⁵ Blow the trumpet in Zion,
declare a holy fast,
call a sacred assembly.

¹⁶ Gather the people,
consecrate the assembly;
bring together the elders,
gather the children,
those nursing at the breast.
Let the bridegroom leave his room
and the bride her chamber.

¹⁷ Let the priests, who minister before the LORD,
weep between the temple porch and the altar.
Let them say, "Spare your people, O LORD.
Do not make your inheritance an object of scorn,
a byword among the nations.
Why should they say among the peoples,
'Where is their God?' "

Dogette Was Here

Apparently, even misanthropists need groceries:

h/t FoundShit

Begging the question, bumper sticker edition.

GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEES
VOTE AND PAY TAXES.

*blink*

h/t to the idiot who thought putting this on their bumper was a proud moment.

AR15 Retro-fit.

Piston-driven, baby. Check it out:

Don't miss the parting shot. . .

Sod'em and Snowmorrah

Not sure if it's time for an epilogue to the winter just yet. That damn rodent said six more weeks and I believe he's probably right. I expect we'll see at least two more rollicking storms before it's all over.

Okay, pictures, or it didn't happen:

The Holy City: Wholly Snowed In!

3-6" of snow predicted. Already an inch on the ground.

My first snowball fight! Snowflakes on the tongue! Hot cocoa with Kalua!

Film at Eleven.

A.M.

In the "bringing a knife to a gunfight" category

I received this in the mail today:

READ FIRST---- THEN WATCH VIDEO
The attached video was filmed by some Air Force Joint Tactical Air Controllers (JTAC) in Tal Afar, west of Mosul, in Iraq.

A marine unit got pinned down in the street. They set their video camera on the bumper of their armored HUM-V, which they were using for cover. Keep an eye on the opposing van parked just down the street. On the audio you can hear them shooting back and forth. The rounds you can hear are from the Marines, and the ones you hear pinging against the side of the vehicle with no accompanying pop are from the bad guys. When the Marine says they just fired the "rifle," it means an F-16 aircraft just launched a Maverick missile. You can hear it come in and see it strike the vehicle the bad guys were using for cover. Talk about in point accuracy!

D.C. Snowfall Time Lapse Video

All kinds of cool:

EMBED-Time Lapse Of Washington Snowfall - Watch more free videos

Rattled? Startled!

Fellow campers, I enjoyed camping out this last summer in my now long-gone motor home mere blocks from where they found this big fella:

Egads! SEVEN FEET of fearsome!

Charleston is looking pretty good right now. All I have to dodge are ducks and egrets and geese. I used to step on snakes quite regularly at the condo environs there in Florida, bu they were mostly rat snakes. I think. . .

Update: "Y'know, a snake that big, you don't eat all at once."

Fountain of Death

The BBC has released unpublished photos from 9/11:

Never forget.

h/t to the always excellent Seablogger.

Divine Intervention

I know that nobody around here believes in miracles, absolutes, moral imperatives or abiding ideals, but any reason or circumstance that keeps bureaucrats from making laws has to be heaven-sent.

Oh, and I've dubbed this winter season as "Sod 'em and Snowmorrah."

I Watched Lilies Of The Field and it was Rodney King's vision fulfilled.

We all got along. I watched Sidney Poitier call a mean old German nun "Hitler", and yet the movie continued without anyone invoking Godwin's Law. Poitier was called "boy" by a prospective employer and he allowed it to stand until the end of the interview. He didn't call the ACLU or file a lawsuit, or even get angry. In fact, he gave as good as he got, and then went on to work for the bigot after calling him "boy" too. The German nun called Poitier "Hitler" at one point, too. Again, the movie didn't stop and shriekers didn't erupt from every corner of the community to denounce such bigotry.

I saw a Mexican deride a priest for his over-indulgence in alcohol, while Poitier insensitively ascribed it to Catholicism. The Mexican store owner gently corrected him by pointing out that it was more due to the priest being Irish.

I saw a black man gently mocking others' perceived stereotypes with pinpoint accuracy and a brevity that spoke of no ill will, just the need to make a point. Like a real man would. He even mocked himself as a field slave, impugning his slavery to the overbearing nun. There was a deeper, more spiritual point to the nun's insistence and stubbornness that she hid behind mightily, selfishly. Everyone could see both in her, and they let her be. They didn't suggest she had deep-seated control issues and offer to pray for her to find peace. They pretty much humored her prickly outer self in order to honor the inner motivation. Imagine that sort of maturity in people!

I watched a black man being cheated and hornswoggled by an old German nun and he suffered it for the sake of something bigger than himself. He was more generous and patient and accepting of their culture and beliefs, sticking it out with a will born of something a bit more transcendent than personal feelings. I watched a black man proudly and selfishly deny others the opportunity to be a blessing; and saw him gently mocked out of his delusions and pressured into his natural ability to manage others, because they needed him to be himself so that the project could move forward successfully.

I saw Mexicans working like chambiadores and drinking like hijos de la chingada. I saw a black man drinking with them, doing a hat dance, and getting called another racial epithet, gringo. Even he didn't know if it was better or worse than what he'd been called by others.

The Mexican store owner was agnostic, and no one tried to dissuade him and he never mocked others for believing what he didn't. I watched all of them come together to accomplish a task, not because they loved the mean old German nun, but because they perceived a greater good to come from their efforts.

Not one person tried to change the other, or disabuse anyone of their bigotry or prejudices. No one felt the need to protest their dignity as a human being, as they all demonstrated the fact by pushing back.

*****

I was shielded from a lot of the old ugly bigotry as a girl, albeit fully aware that there were small-minded people in the world. Even way back during that time my parents never allowed any hint of bigotry in their children. So I grew up very naive in thinking that a black person would accept my sincerity of personal interaction as a matter of course. It wasn't until high school that I tasted the bitter edge of something new: I got played by a young Barack Obama-type. He was a transplant from Chicago, and he wanted to start a Race Forum, with the proposition of promoting more racial understanding in the student body. I was close friends with a black guy, a bright poet, which was still kinda tabu back then in the South (both poets and black guys as boyfriends. Heh.) Some had rumored us to be dating, though it wasn't so. However, this led to my being asked to participate in the forum. I was excited to be a part, but it all came about that I had to pass a litmus test for which I was set up by the young "organizer" and was summarily found to be unsuitable for their purposes. It was not really a Race Forum because they were not going to allow any white students in it who couldn't see themselves as oppressors and bigots. It turned out to be an Outrage Forum that bewildered those of good will.

Neither I nor my friend had anything more to do with them. Besides, he loved country music and Jesus and our little Chicago organizer was never going to allow either in a Forum for Understanding.

*****

I don't think I imagined the relatively easy relationships I formed with my black friends. We mocked each other's soft bigotries, we mocked racial tension as unreal in our world. Young high-schoolers had better sense of their priorities in friendships and relationships, and not until someone came in to organize all their precious political capital into a monolithic thing to manipulate for the political gains of an elite few, did we give racial inequalities much thought. How idealistic and naive we all were.

It's sad to think it a possibility that all my black friends were just shuckin' and jivin' for the white man, and acting like my friends, while they looked to their own community to give them a shallower concept of themselves, one that ultimately they would choose or be coerced to settle for: "Never trust whitey."

A pity, really, that so many (not all) have now been taught to succumb, be victimized, offended, and lessened as a person. Unlike Poitier's Smith character in the movie-- self assured, self-directed and three dimensional-- the black community as it is presented to the rest of America has become a Palestine in our midst. Ever-aggrieved, ever-oppressed, ever-needy, never at fault, and fully convinced that there is no personal power, only the collective playmaking. To have cast off more freedom to be, hard as that is for any human being, for the mess of pottage that is their eternal victimhood is the saddest thing I have seen in my lifetime.

*****

A pretty fantasy was Lilies of the Field. It was high-flown and idealistic for its time amidst other more serious dramas presenting racial difficulties and bigotry. Like many voters in 2008, most Americans were eager to show their approval and welcome of such movies and ideas as reflections of our own reality. Truly, we were experiencing all the drama and inscrutable nuances of learning to live on equal footing. It was already happening in a real and meaningful way.

Someone stole that away from not just black Americans, but from all Americans.

I believe the good will is still there, on both sides of the racial divide where Political Correctness hasn't corrupted the very human task of learning to live with, accept, forgive, and even gently chide or mock the confusions and stereotypes that are inevitable in a relationship worth having, be they work relationships or home-grown. But where "never trust whitey" and "racist!" dehumanizes a whole group of people making them easier to hate, well, those who practice such tactics are sowing into the wind.

Being real with each other and having the freedom to offend, be offended, and push back, is a better measure of our ability to grow up into the fullness of our national promise: all men are created equal. Lacking that, we are left with something so small, so truly useless to our betterment that I fear we may have lost the real hope and promise-- the real strength of an entire section of our populace-- abandoning every offended class of persons to their immature measure of their personal freedom: to need only a figurehead, a spokesperson, a President, a godling to rule their continually damaged psyche.

*****

I know. I'm horrible and confused and naive and perfectly unable to speak to the Black Monolith. Fine by me. I prefer real and meaningful interaction with all persons of good will. Last time I checked, that description still excluded politicians and their proxies, manipulators and users, grasping bureaucrats and organized thugs of every stripe and color.

But, congratulations on Black History Month. May Sharpton, Jackson, Wright, and Obama reflect on just how far they've led "their people" from the Truth that could free them, into the Lie that lines their own selfish pockets. Instead of promoting a personal power that incorporates the strength to push back on a person-to-person level which nourishes real respect, instead of the mature strength of forgiveness and forbearance, they have led their followers into a cheap corral of human flesh, temporal desires, and grasping revenge.

*****

I'm done. They are not pretty thoughts, but they are mine, raw and unrefined. Possibly very troubling and way off base, and I welcome any persons of good will to disabuse me of my naivete and idealism and point out all the things I've missed. But I'm tired of dancing around it all. Just say it, get it out there and let's see what has merit. I just don't care who I offend with it, I'm not an awful person. I'm worth saving. I'm worth the push-back. Bring it.

More True Grit: Cohen Bros. Remake

UPDATE: Official Casting Call Here.

Blogging is much more fun than Facebook. You can set up a sitemeter on it, and just by seeing who's looking, you can learn stuff. Stuff that tells me that Google Trends hit my blog because the search term True Grit is red-hot "on fire" trending right now. Huh. Who knew?

So I ping it back and find out that the Cohen brothers are doing a remake of True Grit. There's a casting call out in Austin. Wild coincidence.

Want more coinkydink?

I should volunteer to keep the matriarchal family name in the remake, since my mother's cousin, Strother Martin, appeared in the original movie. Now you know. Now I know.

2nd Update re: comments: Heh. Except for Tom Selleck as a suggested leading man, y'all are crazy. Look in the dictionary under grizzled and you'll see Robert Duvall, Sam Elliot, Tommy Lee Jones. Tom Selleck would definitely get my vote.

The Science is Settled

Confidential to House of Eratosthenes: since I don't want to create yet another login in order to comment, the answer to your question is: I don't even remember where I saw this. Sorry!

True Grit: Righteous, Tough, Mom-blog

Holy frijoles, but Jaded Haven has the mom-blog post to cure you of the cute.

It takes all kinds of intestinal fortitude and a forehead like flint to be a good parent. If anyone out there is thinking of starting a family, dreaming of darlings, go read JH's little vignette and try real hard to put yourself in the place of courage she lived to tell about. Sickness and accidents are in the dealer's hand, but stupid teenage brains that are [scientifically proven] unformed in the art of reason and judgment are a challenge unlike any other. You go now.

Culture Shock

For the first time in my life, I have a driver's license from a state other than Florida. I am in a State of disbelief to go along with it. It's sinking in that this Florida girl is "not in Kansas anymore" and that doesn't make sense but I'm still kinda sad about it.

I still have my DL from Mexico City, but in the five years we lived there, I didn't have to give up my Florida license in order to get my permit.

Yesterday I had to surrender my Florida license and do now possess a shiny new South Carolina license. (With a decent photo. A couple of guys gave me a nice shout-out of congrats, so rare is it to have one's official photos look decent. It was kinda nice to get a witness that wasn't a cop. I'm not likely to get carded at the liquor store any more.)

All in all, Charleston has been miserable for weather, but luxurious in fine dining, good job prospects (especially with Boeing coming here), and friendly people. They really are nice and if I don't learn to NOT honk the horn, EVER, they're gonna run me outta here. My SC license tag may say, "In God We Trust" but He's the ONLY one I trust. All others are frakkin' texters and rear-quarter-panel huggers that get on my last nerve. Speaking of which, I actually shamed a texting idiot in his visible-from-outer-space Escalade to pull over before he squashed someone in their Miata. A forbidden beep of the horn, and a well-articulated, if silent, "eff you!" with attendant texting gestures got the message across.

So I'm settling in just fine. Charleston will just have to learn to live with me, I guess.

*****
Have you ever seen real culture shock take over a person? In our five years in Mexico City, we saw a couple of singular and spectacular cases of it. It rends your heart to see someone refuse to leave their bed, zip up their sleeping bag over their head and wait for the money to be wired to them so they can return home and forget they ever tried to live cheek-to-jowl with 20 million other human beings that don't speak your language. We're talking an entire young family that had made the commitment to move there, and were gone within 30 days of arrival.

Third-world countries are not for the uninitiated or the ivory-towered. We had a TV sports producer come down to visit and make a professional video for us. He was great while in our fairly modern home, but when we took him into our community, amongst our friends in the poorest sections of the city, he couldn't recover. He couldn't eat. He could not function well. He stuck it out, we kept him in more Westernized areas of the city and he did an awesome job for us. But we were sure he'd never make a return trip to visit.

You have to roll with it, baby, and learn the language to survive. You had to have a burned-bridges approach to living there because 20 million people don't slow down for you. They turn away in exasperation if you don't know how to order your deli selections. They won't serve you, or drive you somewhere, or bother at all with you if you can't step up and make yourself a pleasant and harmless addition to their daily rat race. They won't publish signs or legal documents in any language but theirs. And don't even think about answering the phone! Your Spanish is great until you have to decipher garbled phone jabber and colloquialisms that leave you hoping you didn't just agree to something you'll regret later.

And I can't imagine the challenges of Haiti. Many years ago the J.R. inadvertently spent 12 days there on what was supposed to be a short week's trip to visit some missionary friends. It seems the hired pilot that flew him down there got himself arrested for smuggling drugs! Haitian jail! The pilot was good enough to vouch for the J.R.'s innocence, but it took another five days for the Jolly Roger to find a way home. It was a long, silent 12 days back home, waiting for word, too. Haiti was a wretched place full of beautiful folks, but even back then the government couldn't come up with a million bucks to pay for a tanker of oil.

My only moment of real culture anxiety was while illegally visiting a small, Western island nation that is ruled by a dictator. I was there to do translation work for a team that was bringing medicines and supplies to bolster their amazing free healthcare system that Harry Belafonte raves about. (Socialism works best when supported by Capitalism.) However, just getting past customs was scary enough since our pretext was thin, we were being told to go home, I was having others to shepherd and translate for, learning new idioms on the fly, shielding the authorities from the misguided wrath of one of my charges, translating others' thoughts for hours and days and never being able to express my own, trying to make stupider team members see how maybe driving someone's car late at night without "official" permission could be a jail sentence of uncertain length. I was emotionally wrung out with herding stupid cats and finally just collapsed in tears. I hit the wall. The shock was in working with the Episcopalians. (The Pope doesn't know what he's asking for. . .) But I loved that place like no other. Away from the main city, out in the country, meeting with local folks and drinking agua ardiente, singing for a houseful, porchful, porchfuls of people, dancing for joy and rum, and generally just feeling from folks the most bittersweet love you can imagine. . . I'd dare that adventure again, happily.

I guess I should write more about it, but those memories are like a secret little hoarde of delight for me; snapshots of another life that I forgot to keep living.

Rookie Mistake

Laura and Dogette are going full-tilt at the windmills of their mind and I, for one, welcome our new blogosphere overlords.

However, they carelessly left their credentials laying about in the open where just any old mediocre blogger can right-click and filch it in mere seconds. Like this:I plan to put it in my sidebar, right there with Erica Sherman's lovely award and thus create a minor bit of confusion. I have no ill will or envy of Dogette's or Laura's considerable gravitas or dog costumes or dog poop, I just happen to have a larger vision. I dream of a world of equality, doesn't every pirate?

Here's the plan: AWARD SOCK-PUPPETS.

We are all A-List bloggers now. You, me, and others with more, er, narrowly defined tastes and predilections. Even cat-bloggers and dress smockers. . .

That's right. The more of us who filch the Golden Seal of Enlightenment & Accolades, the more the Blogosphere will be confused and disorganized! What'll they do with their oh-so-special lists then? Chaos, people. No one will know who is socially acceptable to read and soon, folks will find themselves blushing at eff bombs and quizzically wondering at alarming stories of Wal-Martians before they know where they are.

They'll hesitate for a moment, unsure if they should be actually enjoying themselves on our over-looked blogs, but the Golden Seal will allay their insecurities and give them the confidence to go ahead and guffaw at our brilliant jokes. They may even give serious consideration to our keen political insights or artistic visions. They may find themselves completey disoriented for hours on end, reading hilarious hijinx involving personal defects, stalkings, naked neighbors, quadratic equations or even YouTube videos that everyone has seen twice already. But they'll think it's fresh and bold and Worth Their Very Valuable Time.

No telling where it might lead. It's a brave new world I'm envisioning here. Work with me.

Update: I am Spartacus.