Wow. I got no mojo flowing. The mayhem maker has us all chasing our tails as we await what will be. Cryptic enough for you?
It is hard to love people who don't love themselves. That sounds so obvious. Stupid platitude. But in practice, to love someone bent on their own destruction or even just too sick to see they are courting death, is an exhausting thing. Sometimes you want to stop loving them.You want to let them go. Sometimes you wish it was over. Sometimes you feel guilty for entertaining that thought.
I love my brothers. We are each so different. But when I feel small and vulnerable and overwhelmed, I can fall back into a time when it was we three sitting in the back of an old car listening to the radio and singing along with each other. The middle child so very earnest. The baby so affable, sweet, and beloved. And me the big sister bossing and trying to make sense of the chaos. We were together. We were not alone in the world.
This song reminds me of them just because we sang it out loud together on one of our many long road trips.
And for the one who needs it, some truth as I see it and a little hope:
I left the comment below on Mrs. G's blog, but I wanted to put it here to remember. It fits in with a certain theme I'm vibing on. The comment was left in response to Mrs. G's request for thoughts on this video (which she said was sweeping the web and I had not yet seen-6 million viewers?):
So, Dad is quite angry. And he has a gun. And obviously, he is a parenting teenager newb. As the daughter of an angry man, I can tell you that public rants and humiliation do not forge strong parent/child bonds, healthy relationships,compliance with daddy's wishes, or respect.
We are seeing one angry dad's response to his child's teenage angst. Teenagers do that. They diss their parents. They feel "put out" by the demands their parents make. The are embarrassed and even disdainful of their parents. They can frequently be over-the-top asshats, cruel, thoughtless, and pissy mean.
This is normal human development. Normal = Not a shooting offense. Fear has no place in parent/child relationships. It is destructive to that which is most essential-trust. And, if handled correctly, (I liked to use long words about individuation and developing synaptic connections i.e. "your brain don't work so hot right now because you have a lot of synaptic connections to forge.") teenage asshatment can be talking points that enhance a teenager's sense of self and self-worth, which helps them develop connection and empathy, which makes aging parental ass-wiping highly probable (one among many of the highly desirable traits we hope to see in our offspring).
I don't advocate being a doormat for a kid, but I do believe we must show our children respect before we can demand it from them. Like all tough skills, becoming a tolerable human is a learned behavior. Takes trial and error and a very committed team routing for you to actually master the complex feat of growing up.
I have 2 beautiful adult children who at times did equally stupid, insensitive things (just as I, too, did when young-probably still do as we save all our best bullshit for those we love and trust. Sorry Mama.). I believe that they have learned how to be remarkable adult people through loving, honest, SAFE, (no cigarettes, anger, guns -heaven help us!) and respectful interactions with adults they could count on to establish boundaries and listen as often as they talked to teenagers.
I feel bad for this family. Where do you go to talk things out when the level of aggression is raised to such heights? And how can a cornered kid make a graceful retreat or attempt rapprochement when they are not shown how to handle disappointing behaviors which, let's face it parents, our kids receive from us as well.
So, that was my comment on the video. It makes me sad to think 6 million people think this is ok parenting. I call shenanigans. This dude is an amateur who could benefit from some education. I can only hope he was arrested for deploying hollow-point bullets in a residential neighborhood and that his arrest taught his daughter a little bit about how not to handle her disappointment and anger.
Lately I've been feeling cranky. Any time I open my mouth someone is there to tell me I am angry. Every alert woman will have this experience almost daily. It's nothing new. Most of the time I just ignore it, sometimes don't even notice it. The offense I am committing is commonly called having an opinion while wearing a vagina. Hearing about how this makes me an angry woman, a wrathful goddess, bitchy, or the perennial "over-reactive" is so fucking boring.
I have opinions. I am an emotional creature. You could be so lucky. You could. And then, if you were, you would stop policing my words. You would hesitate before clamping your hand over my mouth and whispering "shhh!" in fear of the boogeyman who is around every corner just waiting to hurt a girl. You might, like me, occasionally call that boogeyman out. Yell " Bring it!" at him or point out to passers by that he is standing right there and they are walking too close and should tell him to go shower some of the stank off if he really wants to use stealth to scare.
I am not interested in compliance. I believe it is how we got into this mess. I am tired of being told how I feel or that the radical fact that I feel and then express my feelings is a problem.
My life, like everyone's life, will be brief. Too quick a trip to tiptoe around all this bullshit. So, I wear hip waders and get on with it. To those who would prefer I demur I say "Fuck you" and "You should try it sometime." I know that you are afraid that once you open your mouth all that will come out is a scream, but trust me, there is so much more you have to say.
"I am an emotional creature. It's how the earth got made. I love love love being a girl." Thank you Eve Ensler.
Today kicks off the Cesar Chavez Week of Service. Cesar Chavez worked tirelessly his whole life. Never earning more than $5,000 dollars in a single year. He believed justice was our natural state, that human beings sought it and that it was the expression of our highest, best self.
I can not bear the news of persecutions, union witch hunts, repuliwhore rapes of our labor movement, our unions. Sadly, the agrofratards amongst us cheer the right wing on, forgetting that their $12.00 an hour job was built on the backs of people who accept the toughest, least paid work and still found energy to work for justice, workers rights and safety, and a fair wage.
You may resent that your tax dollars pay a state employee 3 dollars an hour more than you can swing at your place of employment. Seeing teachers loll around free as birds on their summer "vacations" (FOR WHICH THEY ARE NOT PAYED BITCHES!!!) may really yank your chain. Guess what! When our unions and labor movement fall, the prospects for all workers dim. And you my friend are not an agent, you are a cog, a worker, hand in hand with Cesar and every field worker. The grapes you're picking may not be poisoning you right now, but they surely will when no one stands between you and the overseer.
Honor Cesar's life and work. Tell your government you do not accept the republihate agenda of demolishing the rights of workers. Ask president Obama to demonstrate that he is not a ringer and explain why it is OK to wage so much war and destroy our culture in the process. Lobby to raise the minimum wage. Remember to buy organic grapes. Instead of snarling when you pass the guys waiting for day labor on the corner, thank them for coming to a place of such cruel judgements and for their willingness to risk our irrational wrath just to complete jobs we can not soil our fingers by touching. Tell a teacher, a flagger, the dude who is working on the sewer improvement in front of your house THANK YOU. Visit the UFW, sign the petition to have March 31st made the National Cesar Chavez holiday (it is currently a state holiday in California, Colorado, and Texas) and buy a t-shirt, read a little, write a letter, remember you are not alone.
"For example, we're on Sarah Palin's targeted list, but the thing is, that the way that she has it depicted has the crosshairs of a gun sight over our district. When people do that, they have to realize that there are consequences to that action," Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords said in an interview with MSNBC.
Looks like that target she painted on Gabrielle Giffords work a charm.
Someone should prosecute the wicked witch from Wasilla for murder.
News media note that the bitch removed her SarahPac graphic calling for the slaughter of people that don't agree with her crazazy-assed, morally bankrupt political positioning. Yeah republitard, let's split hairs. You will whine, "She only targeted their political campaigns."
We will watch and see you for what you are as you desperately try to distance yourself from the obviously insane person who committed these acts. Crazy is as crazy does and The Tea Bagstress and her strap-on legion of un-patriotic, un-American sycophants should be put away some place where they will be unable to hurt others. A little too late for the young girl, the federal judge and the 16 others reported killed or injured.
Fuck all y'all who scream about the right to bear arms. GUN CONTROL NOW!
I wanted to blog about making and cooking and the sweetness of life, because there is oh so much sweetness. I suppose my grief over the state of my "homeland" (in parenthesis because it sounds so 3rd Reich-esque) is what calls me to write about the great shame that is amreeka these days. So incredibly sad that in a nation filled with gentle, loving, engaged people working for the improvement of humanity our crazy feckers outshine us all.
I just heard the news of her death. I am sad for her children. Instantly I thought of how angry I was at John Edwards. I used to adore him (in a purely political way) and then he proved to be all too human and I loathed him and judged him for his supreme lack of decency.
Only a couple of people know what goes on in a marriage.
Life beats the shit out of us all.
I am so sad for Elizabeth's daughters and son. No mama. That she had to survive the death of her own child and the loss of her husband to his own ego and a ridiculous tart seems too much.
Even for her estranged and unfaithful husband I feel grief.
Such a high price to pay. Eventually we all have to pay it. As my obnoxious father says, "Life is a fatal sexually transmitted disease." For some of us life is a bargain. For others it costs so dearly. Most of us have the relative peace of obscurity in which to conduct our messy journeys and take our leave. Elizabeth had to buck up and move on with her life splayed before a world free to scrutinize her as if her days and losses were no more than simple tidbits of juicy gossip. She kept her chin up - the southern belle with a spine of steel. That she did.
Confession first: I voted for you! Once again for the man I swore I'd not vote for under any circumstance. I believe I said we were through. Kind of like me and my Monkey Muffin. Only I haven't cheated there. ORLY you say. "Did you not tell me you'd never vote for the blue dog again?What's up with that ?" You may wonder Mr. Wyden and dear reader. I know I still do.
See, like most of life, it's complicated. I had my nose pressed against the pavement, jackboot on my neck, facists surrounding me.
instead of inexperienced tall guys (thank you a million times over to every progressive Oregon voter for turning out) whilst voting by mail and every vote is a real and counted vote, when faced with the ballot, I caved.
So, I am calling out to you Mr. W and all those other strange people in Washington. The unemployed need you to stop the circle jerk and do something meaningful. Extending benefits for the long-term unemployed isn't an esoteric concept. Anyone can grasp that it is almost impossible to survive in this place without a dollar or two. And for the love of dog, it's Christmas!
We need to believe there is some function the American government still serves on behalf of it's citizens. Please demonstrate that real people hold some value, that you may in fact be wholly owned corporate subsidiaries, but that you still have human parts-including beating hearts and minds capable of empathy. Stand up to your minders or be subversive-whatever is required of you to do the right thing.
And, if one of you (yes YOU Mr. Wyden) goes home for a lovely Christmas break without ensuring this extension or, worst case scenario, standing nude on the steps of Congress holding a press conference surrounded by the homeless, hungry, and desperate citizens of this land of milk and honey, screaming out with righteous and telegenic indignation that REPUBLICANS DO NOT CARE HOW MUCH MISERY THEY CAUSE NOR HOW MANY LIVES THEY DESTROY, I can assure you that the next time I see your name on the ballot, I will not fill in the oval with a blue or black ink pen. Because, since we have always had such a frank and honest relationship, I feel O.K. telling you that Earl is starting to look pretty Senatorial despite the fact that he once tried to kill my daddy with a canoe on the Nehalem river.
Our President wants to cuddle with these rat bastards Ron. I do not understand why. Where is the change in which I can believe? Time to buck up and remember the wise words of my obnoxious father - dance with (and, since you still owe us a lap dance, for) the ones what brung you.
You must not leave Washington without first staging a meltdown of epic proportion on live tv and not just cspan 'cause I think I am the only one still watching it. Make some noise! Put on your pasties! Strip down and shake your groove thing. Not so much because I want to see you naked, no offense, but because it will in fact work at getting some sort of media coverage. You feel me?
What we have here is an empire in decline. Not necessarily a bad thing. We just have to adapt. If you want your serfs to keep feeding the machine, throw us a fucking bone.
I gotta go knit a safety net.
Do that thing you used to be able to do. Stand and deliver. I promise I'll love you long time.
Did you know you can buy an entire gulf for 20 billion american dollars? Then you can trash it beyond redemption and say "What?" like an arrogant dumbass when asked 'wtf?' Sweet Deal!
I'm speechless.
Almost.
Oh lawd dog! Speaking of dumbasses:
Give me strength.
Edited 6/19/2010 to add this picture of a rat bastard hypocrite. Click the preceding link for the CBS news story about how the rich like to relax on their yachts while the ocean dies. I guess it's a power thing. Don't ever doubt they are wishing with all their black hearts that it was you they were defiling.They don't really get off unless their victims scream audibly.
This is not about Johnny Depp or John Waters despite my undying devotion to both
Hello Dear Reader. Let me set the scene for you. Just past 6PM on a Saturday night in PDX. Everyone else is downtown getting ready for the Starlight Parade. Yours truly is obsessed with stitching Natalie Chanin's rosebud stitch and decides, after a long day's work at her own retail job, to head to Fabric Depot -hereafter (and occasionally prior to) known as Fabric Creepo.
My beloved Mill End is already closed for the day and it is a sewing emergency. I need buttonhole thread.
As usual, Fabric Creepo, you do not have what I need, but I find a few things I want. It is me, about 4 other customers and 15 staff members in the gigantic store. I pick out some stretch denim for a skirt I want to make and embroider. I just need a yard or two.
There is one customer at the huge 4 sided cutting station. Normally there is a line at each corner with 2 employees on each side cutting for 8 customers. Tonight, praise the Rose Festival Princesses, it's just little old me waiting for the sole employee who is assisting the customer ahead of me.
As I wait calmly for a few minutes I am approached by two different employees. Do these employees want to offer to cut my fabric? Hell no! Each of them has decided I need to be herded like the stupid sheep I am.
The first says, "You need to stand at the corner of the cutting tables." She then walks away. O.K. I move to the corner. Then moments later another employee sees me standing with the bolt of fabric in my arms by myself, still the sole customer waiting at the cutting station. She also decides I need to be moved and tells me " Please move closer to the sign with the arrow." Oh, the sign a foot to my left? That one? O.K.
A minute or so later the employee who has been helping the other customer wanders my way to tell me, "You need to be standing behind the sign."
O.K. ladies, throughout each of these encounters I have moved exactly where I have been directed. I have not made a single sound or strange facial expression. I have merely complied with your need to assert your dominance over me your obviously highly annoying customer.
However, I feel at this juncture that its my turn to give some directions. So I say, "I have now been asked to move 3 times by 3 different employees and still no one will cut my fabric." That's all. Said in a friendly, if somewhat ironic way.
The employee looks at me ( in a rather self-satisfied manner imho but I am trying to spare embellishment for the sake of absolute clarity here) and says, "Well, if you won't stand whereyou are TOLD to, we will think you are being helped and we will ignore you." Then she smiles nastily, walks away, and does just that.
Bitch please! Have I mentioned that I also work retail? It is a tough gig. I know. There is no glory, only guts and not always your own. I give tremendous latitude to retail workers because we see some pretty atrocious human behavior on a regular basis. I have been at no time during this visit unkind or, up until my first exchange with the 3rd clerk, verbal at all. Now I am rendered speechless.
I stood there for a few moments just stunned and heart sick that someone felt so small they need to wound a stranger. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. I was immobilized by such a sense of grief.
She wandered back, took my bolt, and said "How much?" Still in a state of disbelief I simply said, "Two yards please." She cut it and I moved quickly to the bank of cashiers. No waiting there. No directions for location changes either.
However, as I tried to pay with my credit card, the cashier kept scrutinizing my signature and then looking up at me with a very puzzled expression (which probably matched my own). Then she said, "I'm going to need to see some ID please." " Going to need to" not "please may I."
O.K. no big deal. It is good to be careful about credit cards. And admittedly, a $9 dollar fabric purchase is probably the perfect crime. So, I hand her my license.
She takes a good long look at it and then, apparently horrified, a good long look at me. She does this not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES. THREE DOUBLE TAKES AT ME!!!
O.K. yes, my license picture could be better. I look a bit like a serial killer in the photo and at the time it was snapped I had long hair which was today curled up in two buns on either side of the back of my head. But lets take a moment to return to reality. A $9 dollar charge that has been authorized by the credit issuing bank. A woman wearing a blue linen jumper and birkenstocks (for the love of dog!) with a wallet full of id splayed before you, and your thoughts turn to what? Robbery?
Finally, I snapped.
I said, "Now I remember why I always vow never to shop here again." And she looked at me like I'd asked for the cash in her register. I asked if she need more forms of ID, a DNA sample, or if she and her fellow clerks would like to take a moment to see if they could possibly cook up any other ways to make me feel more uncomfortable. I started to flash on Jack in 5 Easy Pieces (you know the diner scene) and yet I was barely making any noise at all-still in shock.
The cashier just next to us asked if there was any trouble and the clerk said, "No. She doesn't want me to check her ID."
My head exploded.
Then I detailed calmly and concisely (with, I am certain, an embarrassing crimson red face of mortification) my experience of Fabric Creepo's customer service during my 10 minute visit for this newly interested employee.
She apologized multiple times for my "being made to feel uncomfortable" which was nice of her as she was blameless and yet took one for her ridiculously rude team. She gave me a comment form to send in to the company and a card with the address. So, I am grateful for her attempts to be kind when all around her a sea of retail workers seemed hell bent on making me cry.
I love textiles of all sorts. I think I have mentioned that I am a die-hard Mill End girl. They may not offer 35% off sales often, but they are near my hood and have everything I need when I need it. Their staff is made up of fellow artists who are professional, helpful, and kind.
They close shop before I am finished with my work day. This is an O.K. thing. Apparently, assisting fabric store customers is equivalent to hand to hand combat or bomb disposal. I believe stores should keep human hours and workers should have time to be home for dinner. When forced to work past 6PM on Saturdays, they can not be held accountable for their rage.
I can only visit The Mill End on my days off. I will bear that in mind whenever I am jonesing for buttonhole thread, denim, embroidery floss, or in fact, anything textile related. Mill End and Etsy only from here on out.
I promise you Fabric Creepo I will never darken your door again.
Now I'm gonna go have a good cry and maybe tell Johnny all about it.
The Bayou Buzz informs us that the State Bird of Louisiana, the brown pelican, is washing up in need of de-greasing as are her fellows the green heron and northern gannet. So BP, here's my take on your "little accident".
Here in 'merica we have a system of justice that is horribly flawed. We tend to lock up citizens of all colors other than pasty with a rabid proclivity unseen in just about any other culture. We also feel poor folks are guiltier and more deserving of prison sentences than rich folks. The persecution of Martha notwithstanding. Basically in the good ole us of a only professional athletes are allowed to commit crimes penalty-free. We love our rapist basketballers and wife-murdering football types. I mean honestly are crimes against women really even crimes?
That being satirically said (well, just the last question), we do have a justice system. And one thing that we try to do within this legal system of "justice" is ensure that penalties are designed to address and mitigate against crime. It is hoped that these penalties or punishments or sentences are a deterrent to willful misbehavior and in some instances even un-willfull or accidental, but no less egregious behavior.
For example, should I one day decide to hire someone to operate my forklift and neglect to provide them with safety gear and training, I would be held to account and found, at the very least in a civil court case, responsible for any accident and associated costs that befell my hired hand.
If through my negligence as a landlord who did not maintain working fire alarms and fire escapes, I was responsible for the deaths by fire of my tenants, I would surely spend time in prison for manslaughter.
And, I believe that if I was drilling a well for my neighbor and I had a device that would ensure that I could stop the flow or output of said well in an emergency, thereby preventing any damage to my neighbor's property and I chose not to deploy said emergency device due to my concerns about the convenience or cost of same- I would be legally responsible to restore my neighbor as closely as possible to pre-loss condition.
Now BP I am sure you are hearing a lot of "let the time fit the crime" talk right now. And truly how can any time fit this heinous crime? I am simply here to add my voice to the choir. And I am not as naive as my vacant stare would have you believe. I know you have a universe full of attorneys ready to defend your right to rape and pillage. Let's just imagine some person of conscience is driving the bus for a moment...
You have annihilated an entire ecosystem, very probably destroyed the only coral reef left in this hemisphere, and devastated countless businesses - perhaps permanently destroying an entire fleet's lifetime of fishing. And you have only just begun.
Your willful disregard for the natural world and the human landscape which you are exploiting renders you unquestionably culpable. You did it. And you have the powder burns on your hands to prove it. We need to put you down for the benefit of humanity.
I am not a supporter of death penalties for people. However, as the Supreme Court so recently decided to elevate corporations to the status of persons, I am willing to re-consider my opposition. In this case, I want to see you spending every penny of revenue you will EVER generate on repairing the losses you have caused, on making restitution to the countries, the peoples, the animals, and the environments you have willfully destroyed.
And then, when your life as a corporation has been spent to the satisfaction of all of your victims, I want you put to death. I'm sorry, but I can think of no punishment to fit this crime except that you British Petroleum pay the ultimate price. And by you I don't really mean all of your executives and your investors whether they be rich white bastards, pension fund investors, or the governments of the world. Those losers just need to be rendered broke. But you BP - Corporate Person - no BP, no more.
Here's your mugshot you rat bastard
I know we could get a jury to convict and a judge to hand down that ultimate sentence. We need to establish a clear penalty for destruction on such an epic scale (because then perhaps we could apply the law to weapons manufacturers and crazed, war-hungry governments too-you know what I'm talkin' about- lawyer types call it a precedent).
After all , here in 'merica we execute developmentally disabled teenagers and innocent people. While you may have some fools believing you are a people, we all know you ain't an innocent. And I am O.K. with this little aberration in my moral code. BP I want you dead.
I make things, read things, write things, want to travel more, am a mother, a daughter, a sister, an auntie, a terrible girlfriend, and a feminist. I am fortunate and grateful.
