Through all the recent gay marriage uproar, I’ve heaped nothing but ridicule on the conservative notion that Marriage needs defending against all those heathen gay buttfuckers (and pussylickers on the lesbian side) who want to get married. Beth and I are pretty solid in our marriage; we’re not going to end up divorced if Adam and Steve tie the knot next door, so I haven’t been able to understand how gays getting married contitutes any kind of threat to us.

Well. Texas, breeding ground of all things typically conservative and stupid, has shown me how. Lawmakers in the Texas House of Representatives and Senate have passed a constitutional amendment that would ban marriage completely:

Sec. 32. (a) Marriage in this state shall consist only of the union of one man and one woman.
(b) This state or a political subdivision of this state may not create or recognize any legal status identical or similar to marriage. (emphasis mine)

Reading this literally, it means marriage itself would be banned in Texas if this amendment goes through. If they can’t recognize a legal status identical to marriage, wouldn’t that mean … marriage? What’s more identical to marriage than marriage?

This goes to the Texas voters in November and I’ll be on pins and needles until then. If it passes in Texas, that could give it the momentum to pass in other places, too. If the conservatives have their way, we could end up seeing marriage banned outright across the entire country. Beth and I would have to get divorced. Zoe would come from a broken home. I’d have to start dating again. Ugh.

How ironic is that? The conservatives want to defend marriage against the unholy buttfuckers, but the threat is really the conservatives themselves.

Hmm…

Headline from today’s news: Viagra Users Report Blindness: WASHINGTON (Reuters) – U.S. health regulators on Friday said they have received more than 40 reports of a type of blindness in men taking impotence drugs, mostly involving Pfizer Inc.’s Viagra.

So I guess it’s true, you really will go blind if you play with that thing.

Beth and Zoe are addicted to American Idol.

Yes, I am ashamed. Beth is responsible for her own vomitotious tastes in karaoke viewing, but Zoe springs from my loins. WTF is that all about??? The apple fell waaaaay far from the tree on that one.

So tonight is the Big Finale. Complete with Big Drama. Also, Big Off-Key Singing. And let’s not forget Big Hair. And anticipation and suspense over who wins is Big with Beth and Zoe. Me, not so much. Frankly, I couldn’t care less since America lost its mind and voted Nadia off and I stopped watching. I don’t watch it. Never have, never will.

Well, I know who won. It just started playing on TV out here on the west coast a little while ago, but I happened to read an online east coast news headline giving away the surprise before it’s broadcast here, and now I’m teasing Beth and Zoe with my knowledge. They want to know … but don’t want to know. And so I’ve been feeding them a series of clues:

The person who wins…

• Is one of the singers.
• Has hair.
• Is human.
• Doesn’t lose.
• Was not hatched from an egg.
• Sang a song on last night’s show.
• Has not been voted off.
• Is one of the two contestants left.
• Is on American Idol.

…and etc.

Personally, I think they’re all excellent clues. Beth and Zoe, however, do not. But then they watch Idol, so what do they know?

Since I’m up on my political soapbox tonight…

I was reading The Red State describe his recent visit to New York and how strange it was to be in a city where there are more Kerry/Edwards bumper stickers than Bush stickers. He says, It is so unusual that someone told me that when they see Bush stickers on a car, they would knock on the driver’s windows and tell them “Hey, some asshole put a Bush sticker on your car. Do you want me to help you pull it off.”

I like that. Next time I’m out riding I’m going to knock on some car windows out here in California.

That ought to just about scare the shit out your standard stick-up-his-ass California Conservative, to have some big mean-looking bald biker with a thick hoop earring pull up next to him in bumper-to-bumper freeway traffic, rev the throttle a few times ’til the noise rattles his fillings, eyeball him, and then start banging on his window yelling, “Hey! Hey!”

It’ll be major pucker-factor for the right wing that day; he’ll be picking his underwear out of his throat… Ha. Me likey.

…and of course right after I finally leap into the fray and say something about it, the Democrats roll over and cut a deal that gives the Republicans A) most of what they wanted, B) momentum, and C) ammunition to use against the Dems the next time the Repubs want to step over the line.

The Republicans were threatening to take the no-more-filibusters thing to a vote, and there’s a good chance they didn’t have the votes to win. There were actually Republicans who didn’t like the idea and who may well have voted against it. Clearer heads — and the Democrats — might have actually prevailed on this issue. So what did the Democrats do? They blinked. They agreed to a “compromise” that A) lets 3 of the 5 nominees they were filibustering go to a vote and B) basically ties their hands against filibustering future nominees.

Way to stand up, boys, way to stare them down.

As much as I despise the Republicans, I am even more embarrassed by the Democrats. And yet for someone like me who thinks we’re going to hell in a handbasket, they’re the only game in town because they’re the biggest of the not-GOP parties and thus have the best chance of prevailing. Sad, just sad.

Today’s Democratic party is a limp noodle, a clammy handshake, a soft boner. They’re the four-eyed outfielder afraid of the pop-fly ball, the dog that rolls over and pees on itself when confronted, the geek who gets wedgied and stuffed in his locker at Gym class. I could list analogies and metaphors about them for days and still not come close to explaining the contempt I feel for my party these days.

That’s why I like Howard Dean. He may be crazier than a shit-house rat but that motherfucker will stand up and say something. We need more politicians like him who are willing to stand up and call “Bullshit” and do what’s right. Playing not to offend clearly isn’t working, and in fact looking at what the Republicans are doing you could argue that offending people is what actually does work.

I’d give anything for a Democrat with a spine. And while I’m giving away the farm in exchange for vertebrae, I’d also give anything for a press that actually does their job. The Rethuglicans piss and moan about the “MSM” (MainStream Media, for those of you who aren’t sucking the Fox News MSM tit) and its supposed liberal bias, but in fact the press is as cowardly as the Dems have been about calling BushCo on their bullshit. If we had a press that was really telling the whole story instead of regurgitating White House news releases and talking points that they occasionally shade with obliquely critical adjectives, the Republicans would be frozen in their tracks at being caught with their hands in the cookie jar and the American people would be storming the White House with pitchforks and torches.

Up there at the top right of this page is my “About” section, where I have it set to cycle through a variety of descriptions. One of them is “Silent in Gehenna.” That’s the title of a short story by Harlan Ellison (one of my all-time favorite authors) about a revolutionary who ends up suspended in a cage with a bullhorn above a public street on an alien world, yelling at the aliens to “rise up, throw off the bonds of your oppressors” — and being ignored. He is the voice of their conscience and they don’t listen. That’s me in my political posts here: yelling the truth into a not-listening void.

In the headlines for weeks has been the showdown in the Senate over filibusters. It’s coming to a head today, with the Republicans working as hard as their crooked little rat brains can to find a way to get their way.

Summed up quite accurately and succinctly by the AP, the issue is this:

For decades, Senate rules have permitted opponents to block votes on judicial nominees by mounting a filibuster, a parliamentary device that can be stopped only by a 60-vote majority.

Now, frustrated by Democratic filibusters that thwarted 10 of Bush’s first-term appeals court nominees and threaten to block seven of them again, Frist and the Republicans hope to supersede that rule, by simple majority vote.

And as is their habit, the Republicans are lying about what’s going on. They’re casting this as a showdown brought on by Democrats taking unprecedented action: filibustering nominees — something that has never been done before!

That’s a lie. A total fabrication.

The Democrats are doing to some of Bush’s more extreme nominees exactly what the Republican’s did to some of Clinton’s back when the Republicans were the minority party. Filibusters are a Senate tradition that have been happening for so long that they made a movie about it back in 19-fucking-39: Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, starring Jimmy Stewart.

It was fine for them to do it when it served their purposes, but now that it’s being done to them they want to — surprise — change the rules to let them win. And of course they’re lying about it, and of course the Red State chowderheads and Fox News are gulping down the KoolAid as fast as they can and asking for more.

Frankly, I don’t care all that much about the filibuster issue, I just think it’s emblematic of what’s happening in GOP-land today: Win at all costs. Just win, baby, and cheat if you have to and steal if you can.

Florida’s actions in the 2000 Presidential election, Texas redistricting in 2003, the thief-in-the-night Ohio ballots last year, the “war” in Iraq, Osama bin Laden, WMDs, “saving” Social Security, etc, etc, etc. The Republicans have proven time and time again that they will stop at nothing to win. And still they have support. Still, there are sites like Instapundit pushing the lies, and hundreds of Insta-wannabes qouting him word for word. It’s baffling.

I swear, I sometimes feel like I’m living in a dream. These people lie, cheat and steal right out in the open — and they’re getting away with it! That’s why I’ve been so silent on the political front lately — I feel like I’m shouting into the void and nobody’s hearing me. It’s so obvious what BushCo is up to and it’s so baffling to me that otherwise intelligent people are actually supporting them! I challenge my conservative/Republican friends on why they support these idiots and they’re completely oblivious to the contradictory rationalizations coming out of their mouths. It’s as though they are willfully turning their brains off.

Feh, enough ranting, and I’m way off my original topic of the latest GOP thievery anyway. But what’s the point? I’ve pointed out the truth here time and time and time and time again and all I get are idiot responses from the conservatives out there that ignore the truth or change the subject. What’s the use? They’ve drunk deep of the KoolAid and don’t see — or care — where we’re heading.

Dear GraceDavis:

You are an instigator.

Love,
Chuck

Stupid quiz. Three times it made me Boba Fett. I hate Boba Fett. I tried switching up my answers to get a better character. Who’d I end up as when I lied? Friggin’ Queen Amidala.

This quiz sucks.

Today is my scuba birthday: one year ago today I did my first open water dive, at the Casino Point dive park at Catalina Island. I remember that first dive as if it were yesterday.

My training up to that moment had consisted of two mornings of classroom study and two afternoons of skills training in a swimming pool. The classroom study taught us about the physics of diving and gas exchange and important tips like “Don’t hold your breath or your lungs will explode.” The pool sessions taught us what the equipment was and how to put it on and use it, along with important tips like “Don’t hold your breath or your lungs will explode.” I had breezed through all of it because I was highly motivated and have always been very comfortable in the water and also because I had maybe a little tiny baby crush on my instructor, Szilvia, and didn’t want her to think I was an idiot.

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about scuba diving: the gear is heavy and it’s hard to move in it. And here’s the thing they don’t tell you about diving in California: it’s cold water diving so you need a wetsuit and the wetsuits are tight and hard to put on and it’s hard to move around in them. And then here’s the thing about putting on a wetsuit and a ton of scuba gear in an asphalt parking lot in the blazing sun in 80 degree weather and then trying to walk in it: it’s exhausting.

So by the time I was hanging at the surface on the descent line buoy with Szilvia, I was sweating like a pig and blowing like a whale and completely out of breath. But I didn’t want Szilvia to think I was an idiot, so when she said “Okay, let’s drop down” I nodded and dumped air from my BC and dropped down the line with her.

Ten feet down, I stopped. I wasn’t panicking, but it was close. I was breathing fine off my reg, but between the being out of breath and the wetsuit being tight around my chest and the basic nervousness of “holy shit, I’m breathing where I should be drowning,” I wasn’t getting enough air. I wanted to go up. Now.

Szilvia gave me the “Okay?” sign and I shook my head “Hell no!” and thumbed “Up.” Szilvia was having none of it. She’s been through this hundreds of times before and knew exactly what was going on. She shook her head “No” and held her hand out “Stop” and then motioned to “Breathe in / breathe out, breathe in / breathe out.” So I hung there on the line with her for a minute or two and just breathed and forced myself to calm down and soon I was good to go. I gave her the “Okay” sign and we continued our descent and went on to have a great dive.

That’s a memory I’m always going to carry with me. I feel kind of silly now, looking back on it with the perspective a year of diving has given me, but I’m also a little proud of myself for not losing it and shooting to the surface. I faced down a primal fear there and conquered it. That’s a good feeling. Also, I didn’t look like an idiot in front of Szilvia. Well, maybe a little bit, but not a complete idiot. At least not then.

Diving now, the initial descent is my favorite part of the dive. I love floating there on the surface until me and my buddy agree to drop down, and then dumping air and slowing dropping beneath the surface. I love the sudden crash of noise as my ears fill with water and I equalize and then my hearing acclimates to the underwater world and I hear all the clicks and grunts of the sea life and the inhale/exhale of the divers around me. And I especially love watching the surface rise away from me, like cloud cover lifting away above a descending airplane. That initial drop down just never gets old.

It’s been a few months now since I’ve been in the water. I was hoping to celebrate my scuba birthday by going diving this weekend, but diving isn’t cheap and not having a (decent) job doesn’t lend itself to frequent diving trips, so I’m staying on dry land for now. But I’m working on a deal that should help get me back in the water on my current budget, so I’ll get to celebrate soon enough. Plus, I have some job prospects on the horizon that would let me buy new gear, even, if they pan out. So I will be diving again soon. Just, sigh, not today.

I’ll light a candle today and blow out a bubble later.

We’re having a bit of tension here at Chez Atkins tonight. I’m mad at Zoe and on a bit of a rampage about it and Beth thinks I’m being unreasonable. So basically: same thing, only different.

This battle was triggered by the book A Wrinkle in Time. I read it when I was a kid — I don’t remember how old I was — and I absolutely loved it. I loved it so much that even now, 30-some years later, I have a vague warm fuzzy feeling when I think about it. I don’t remember much about the story, I don’t remember any of the characters, I don’t remember how it ends or even what it’s about, really. The one thing I do remember quite clearly is what a “wrinkle in time” is in the book’s world. And, most importantly, I remember that I absolutely loved this book. I think it may have been my introduction to science fiction, and I turned out to be a big ol’ science fiction geek. So when Zoe and I were at the library the other day and I stumbled across A Wrinkle in Time on the shelf, I immediately wanted to share it with her.

I was a voracious reader when I was a kid. I read anything and everything everywhere and anywhere, any time. I used to get in trouble for reading in class — I’d prop a library book up behind my schoolbook and read instead of doing the classwork. I remember the librarian saying to me when I was in fifth grade (at good old Palm View Elementary in Palmetto, Fla) that I had read nearly every book in the school library. I remember spending hours up in the mango tree in our back yard there in Florida, reading the weekends away. I loved to read.

Zoe, however, does not. And it is a source of huge frustration for me.

Every parent wants their kid to be brilliant, to be a genius, to be a prodigy. I’m no different. And for the most part I’ve gotten that — Zoe is a beautiful, smart, funny, remarkably well-adjusted, good hearted kid. But her resistance to reading triggers something negative in me, a prejudice against non-readers as being … well, not so smart. And I want my kid to be smart. I want my kid to read at the same elevated level and with the same eager hunger that I did, and the fact that she doesn’t makes a part of me paint her with a black brush.

I’ve tried to be gentle and encouraging about it with her. I’ve tried to make it fun. I’ve tried to awaken her to the joy and wonder books can bring. I’ve tried to frame it in terms relevant to her (“It’s like TV in your head!”). I’ve even tried bribing her: five bucks, cash, for every book she finishes. And her response has not exactly been what I was looking for.

Zoe will read, yes. But she won’t like it. And she won’t do much of it. And she wants it to be easy. When I’ve taken her to the bookstore to find books that will appeal to her, she goes for books for much younger children — not because that’s what her reading level is, but because they’re smaller. They’re shorter. They’re easier. And I’m afraid that I get angry about that.

When we want her to read, she resists us. She bargains to get out of it or delay it. She negotiates rewards for minimal page counts. She acts put upon. She sulks. She occasionally cries. And then when she finally does get down to reading she does the bare minimum. She reads one short chapter and stops. Or she finishes the chapter she didn’t finish last time and stops. She reads three pages and stops. She stops. She comes out after half an hour and announces that she read four pages — as if that were a substantial accomplishment. And I get angry about that.

I remember how when I was a kid I couldn’t wait to get back to whatever book I was reading. I remember reading in bed at night, under the covers with a flashlight. I remember flipping pages feverishly, rushing to read as much as I could before I had to do something else. I remember not wanting to stop. Ever.

That’s what I want for Zoe and it makes me angry that she very clearly doesn’t want that for herself. And when I’m angry, everybody knows about it. Which is where we are tonight: me storming because Zoe complained about being asked to read some more of A Wrinkle in Time, Zoe in tears because I’m angry at her, Beth angry at me because I’m angry at Zoe.

And me angry at me because I’m being a dick.

I need to remember that I have a good kid. No, a great kid. And while it kills me that she’s clearly one more kid in a generation that doesn’t read, I need to remember that it doesn’t mean she’s…

Well, fuck, I can’t even finish that sentence. Dumb, that’s the word I keep wanting to use, but it’s not the word that fits. I do ascribe intelligence to people who read, but I don’t think she’s not because she doesn’t.

I think that what I really am right now is sad. I loved that stupid book so much, and I wanted her to love it too. I wanted to be able to share it with her, to introduce it into her world, for her to feel that same excitement about it that I felt. I wanted something that meant so much to me to mean just as much to her. I wanted us to share it, I wanted it to be a touchstone between us.

But Zoe doesn’t like to read.