Bittersweet Anniversary

A summer of sorts has arrived in the PNW. Yes children, July has arrived, and you know what that means: vegetarian hot dogs, fresh tomatoes bursting with the threat of salmonella, broken lawnmowers, neighborhood streets littered with the detritus of DIY fireworks, and that wonderful summer weather -- partially sunny and only marginally chilly. You all know how I love only having to wear my undershirt 'neath my outer layers, as opposed to my normal undershirt, jacket, and knee socks.

July also means that most hallowed of all summer events, the annual Cannonball & Bellyflop Contest at our local pool. The Bohemian and Male Offspring are psyching themselves up for competition as I type. In fact, I can not do justice to the Bohemian's blog entry about this event -- I nearly peed myself reading it this morning. Totally worth the click. Just utilize the latrine before you read, soldiers.

The Bohemian and Male Offspring compete every year. So does the current (and past) reigning champion, their nemesis, Steve. Last year the Bohemian came in 3rd in the adult division. She's got pictures up from last year's showdown at her site. She found them on the web. Who knew she was famous? Steve is hot, truth be told. Not that that fact makes it any easier to come in 3rd behind him, but at least it gives you something nice to look at as you're hating him.

Steve, King of the Bellyflop

For me, the contest not only brings back memories of tender flesh smacking against a wall of water and tattooed hotties rotating through the air Greg Louganis style, it also brings back memories of a more bitter nature. Those of you who've been around for a while know of what I speak.

Last year's contest was when Dear Camera met his demise, thanks to that teenbitch careening down the stairs like she was late to retrieve a text message. I paid homage to him this morning by re-reading his tribute. Camera, though another now rests in your little case, you have never been forgotten. Canon really fucked up when they took away the 50 ISO option for all the upgrades following you, so trust that you can never really be replaced.

If you'd like to see some of Dear Camera's best work, just scroll down last July's posts - they're all there, starting about halfway down the page. Camera kicked ass. Yes he did. Only the good die young. Those of you who were around last year may remember the deep pit of depression I fell into following that fateful night.

Anyway, tonight the Bohemian takes on Steve in a contest of guts and glory in the adult division at our local pool. Male Offspring will bide his time in the teen division. I will be there with my new camera, guarding it more closely than Karl Rove guards the truth.

I leave you with pics of the offspring from last year. Keep in mind that these were taken after Dear Camera's LCD screen was crushed like the nation's hope after a stolen election. I was, for the first time ever, using the "view finder", and had no access to settings or controls. I was effectively shooting blind. Like Dick Cheney in autumn. So before I overdose on bad analogies, here are some shots from Dear Camera's last hurrah.

The offspring, sizing up the Kiddie Division

The Bohemian, coming out of a somersault in the Cannonball event.

Male Offspring, getting some height

So send your good vibes this way, folks. I'll let you know how it goes tonight.

Happy Independence Day*

Hope you all had a happy 4th. I offer you my warmest Independence Day wishes:

*Unless, of course, you happened to be enslaved, native, or female at the time our founding fathers declared this land to be an independent sovereign nation.

I Won! I Won! Penny Candy All Around!

I won the Lottery.

My dad is fond of saying, "A buck's a buck." True, but somehow this win just didn't live up to my dreams of how winning the lottery was supposed to go.

I never used to play the lottery, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all that. The first time, probably a couple of years ago, I had to ask the clerk how to buy a ticket. I didn't even know there was more than one kind of lottery ticket. I was raised to avoid throwing away good money on harebrained schemes and useless crap. Of course, that didn't stop me from buying those pink high-top Reeboks in the 80s, but whatever.

Anyway, now I buy tickets probably every other week. I spend $2 or $3, depending on how lucky I feel. I usually buy one Mega Millions ticket, and one or two regular Lotto tickets. I tell myself that the fantasy value alone is worth it, as it chips away at that chronic financial anxiety and is cheaper than Wellbutrin. Besides, lottery money goes to the state's educational system, so consider it my contribution to the bright, young minds of tomorrow. Like Whitney Houston, I believe the children are our future.

So there's a machine that reads your tickets and tells you whether or not you won. Checking one's tickets via this machine has got to be the one of the most disheartening experiences there is. If you do not have a winning ticket, the machine displays the following message in bright red text:

Sorry. Not a Winner.

Yeah. Thanks for letting me know that, you little R2D2 wannabe. Look who's talking.

Not "Sorry, Better Luck Next Time!" or even "Sorry, Not a Winning Ticket", no, this damn thing has to aim for the soft spot. Sorry, not a winner. In other words, go home loser, and keep clipping those coupons and buying our shitty store brand.

Anyway, the other day, I checked my Mega Millions ticket, and felt that familiar dejection as the machine silently spewed the familiar refrain, "Sorry. Not a Winner." Then I ran my regular Lotto ticket under the little bastard's red beam and saw something different ...

Winning Ticket!

For just a fraction of a split second, my future flashed before my eyes: a working furnace, travel to hot places, actual retirement! Seriously, people: adrenaline rush for a fraction of a second.  Then I saw the rest of the message:

$3!

As the clerk congratulated me, I came down to earth, handed her my ticket, and said, "Yeah, no cash -- I'll just take one Mega Millions ticket and two Lottos, please."

That's called rolling over your investment, folks.

Some Rain Funk for My Rain Funk

I need some Wellies. Cute, funky ones. Maybe a cute rain coat, too, but definitely the boots. It would distract me and make me happy about jumping in puddles. Like that's fun or something.

Actually, it is fun, when you live in a place where it "rains occasionally". Like when it's warm, and you have a lot of sun for a long time, and then there's a big storm with thunder and lightening, and it's cozy inside, and then the sun comes out again, and that ozone smell makes life seem fresh and bright and green, and you go out and splash in puddles under a rainbow with a unicorn. That's fun.

What's not fun is when it rains every friggin' day for weeks and weeks, it's cold, everything smells of mildew, rainbows are the stuff of legends, and the unicorns have gone to live in Arizona, and when something called a sunbreak is what "happens occasionally".

Some cute Wellies would be a spot of brightness in a landscape of grey. The resulting lift of spirits would, much like my sunlamp, basically be a heavy dose of the placebo effect, but who the hell cares?

I have a picnic to attend today people. Yes, I said a picnic, an event for some of the kids in the school district. No, the weather has not changed, thanks for asking. Now ask me if I feel like going and standing around outside in the rain, in my poncho and scarf, eating potato salad, acting like I'm friggin' happy to be there. I need the rainboots today, goddamnit.

Seriously, aren't these just too adorable?

Bill Cunningham, NY Times

See? Cute! In boots like that, you might actually enjoy the rain. Even a rainy picnic. Then again, they probably live in a place where rain "happens occasionally". One of those places where you can say things like, "Yeah, it rained this afternoon." Inferring, of course, that rain is an event that doesn't happen all goddamn day, all fucking month long, ten months out of the year.

You see why I need the cute boots?

These babies scream SPRING!

That's hot.

Love these funky pink and black twirls.

And if the rain's really got you down, and you're looking for a whole'nother kind of pick-me-up, you can always go for something like these:

Personally, just looking at those makes me cold, but hey, if you live in a place where you actually experience that phenomenon known as a "warm summer rain", these might be right up your alley. So to speak. There is no such thing as a "warm summer rain" here in Seattle, not even in summer, let alone June -- or as they've been calling it, Juneuary -- so I will not be sporting these hot cloppers, but I may show up to work one day in some of those other puddle stompers.

Nothing like a bright and shiny distraction to keep a girl from flying into a homicidal rain rage.

The Never-Ending Story

Cloudy and 52* with light rain this morning here in Seattle. Looks like the rain and chilly temperatures will be continuing throughout the week, so don't put away those umbrellas yet!

It's apparent to me that weather announcers here in the Puget Sound region are either 1) from here, and this seems normal, 2) are getting paid obscene amounts of money to chuckle and sound cheerful, or 3) are operating on heavy doses of Prozac.

Theoretically, they could also be sun-hating, fun-sucking vampires.

There's pretty much no other way to explain how a person can actually chuckle and engage in light banter about this situation. Like it's normal. Since moving here, what's become normal for me is to flip obscene hand gestures toward my radio and loudly curse it while driving through drizzle in my always-on heated car seat.

My personal reaction to this morning's weather report was to grab the plastic butter knife in my desk drawer and start sawing away at my wrists, but it wasn't very effective, and the weather gods apparently don't give a shit that I'm about to flip the fuck out because it's still raining.

They're probably up there chuckling too.

So I tighten my winter scarf (thanks Tony), turn on my sunlamp and check my email to take my mind off things. Oh look, some friends have written -- let's see what RG has to say, he's always good for some conspiratorial bitching. What's this? Oh ... it's a link to Boston weather ... looks like folks are getting sunburned and having sweatfests there. Thanks, RG. That's fucking great. Hope you had fun at your softball game. Sun, beer, and hot guys ... this isn't helping, goddamnit. Watch it buster, or Cheery Radio Bitch won't be the only one on my short list for a healthy bitch slap.

At least he took up a "sunshine collection" for me on his site. It's not working, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

Salt in the Wound...

Also, this morning I attended a staff meeting in our coldass conference room where I had to take my blanket (yes, we keep blankets at work here), and learned that a colleague who has been on sabbatical for the last academic year is not coming back.

She's staying in Costa Rica.

Hide the sharp objects people, I'm about to hit my limit.

You Wanted a Rant?

Still raining this morning in the Seattle area, we're expecting a high of 56* today, with clouds and continuing showers throughout the day.

I am about to snap here, people. I'm am seriously feeling fucking foul. As in a weird version of claustrophobic, no joke. Like I'm on the verge of suddenly breaking into a full out scream and running until I pass out or hit sun.

I think we all know which would happen first.

I'm not kidding. I wonder if I'm skirting around the edge of a panic attack. I've never had a panic attack, but if it's something like you want to jump out of your skin and the whites of your eyes are visible and there's a scream stuck in your throat which keeps you from breathing, then that's it. How stupid would that be? "Seattle area woman's panic attack resulted from excessive rain." Right. I handled divorce and all other kinds of shit, but no, it's the never-ending, wetass grey that's about to put me over the fucking edge. How lame is that. I don't need anti-depressants, I need some sort of sun pill.

I know you all think I'm extreme on this subject, but come on -- we are exactly 14 days from Summer Solstice, and we were arguing about turning on the heat last night. If it weren't so goddamned expensive here, I'd seriously have it on at least 10 months of the year.



I was watching Candy Crowley on the news last night. It's the middle of the night there in DC.

There were bugs flying around her.

That means it's hot where she is. As in actual summer.

It looked weird. Just seeing those few little bugs flying around made me think of warm nights on my old terrace, where at 11pm the big tiles still felt warm under my feet, and my beer would sweat, and the bottle would feel good against my forehead, and I could sit in the chair in nothing but shorts and a strappy top, and the chair wouldn't be wet or cold, and the breeze was warm, not wet and cold, and I could spread out and breathe without having to pull into myself and wrap up in something. It even smelled warm there.

That was back when I owned a fan.

Anyway, I was surprised at how seeing those bugs flying around at night hit me, how foreign that looked to me now.

Such a little thing. I wouldn't even have noticed it before.



This morning as I was getting out of my car, fumbling with my book bag, purse, coffee, umbrella, and car keys, feeling my hair go limper and flatter by the minute while a big drip of water slid down my neck, I had the urge to just sit down in the parking lot and cry. "Fine! I give up! You fucking broke me, Seattle! UNCLE for fuckssake, now just bring out the goddamn sun. Please."

Of course, I didn't. But that's what I was thinking. You never know what's going on inside people, do you?

I make it into the building, feeling so foul and discombobulated trying to hang on to everything and close my umbrella at the same time that I only glare at the three flights of stairs and head straight for the Fat Woman's Sanctuary, aka the elevator. Which only makes things worse.

I'll never make it until Male Offspring graduates.

A Weather Rant.

Photo Credit: Melanie Connor, NY Times

Here's what I heard on the radio on my way in to work this morning. Before caffeine. Keep that in mind.

Cloudy and showers continuing today and on through the weekend. We're looking at possible highs in the upper 50s this afternoon.

I'm sorry, did you say upper 50s, Cheery Radio Bitch? What is this, March?!

Nope, guess again. June in Seattle, kids! That magical month when the continuing rains and cool maritime breeze set your teeth to chattering. The time of year when, approaching the summer solstice and full of hope, you shed your knee socks, shave the bottom of half of your legs, paint your toes, and, like a dimwitted Pollyanna, don your kicky capris and filmy summer top ... only to see your exposed, sickly pallor break into a landscape of goosebumps.

Yeah, that little summer fit lasted about five minutes. Same as the "sunbreak" that brought it on.

And those of you from Alaska, don't even try. It's supposed to get up to 70* in Fairbanks today. I hate you. Even those of you in Greenland don't have a legitimate gripe: yes, we're at about the same temperature today, but you bitches are under "partly sunny skies", while I haven't seen so much as a sunbreak in days. So take your partly sunny and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Oh, that would be Seattle!

Actually, you all may be interested to know that the place most similar to Seattle's weather is Iceland. No, I'm not joking. Reykjavik could be our sister city today, with 52* and overcast.

Oh wait, they have higher humidity, so it feels warmer. My bad.

And ... it just started raining. Are you kidding me?

So, with 52* and overcast -- as opposed to Seattle's 48* and pissing on my head -- Iceland's weather is a better bet than Seattle. I'm thinking Cheery Radio Bitch was working under a heavy dose of optimism with that "upper 50s" bullshit.

And you all wonder why I'm a bitch?

She's Alive!

Hi. It's me. Let's cover the obvious first: No, sadly I have not taken up with a trapeze artist from Cirque du Soleil, turned into an exercise addict or won the lottery. This Old Motherfucking House has not yet fallen down around me. Johnny Depp has not come to his senses and spent the last month ravishing me. I did not get arrested for sending rotten eggs to Dubya via the US postal system. I did not snap and order a home tanning bed or run away to Arizona. And no, neither Prince Charming nor Calgon has taken me away from all this.

On the other hand, I'm home sick today, my lawnmower broke after less than a year (friggin' Craftsman) which is so not good in this area of the world (lush and verdant my ass), and a branch from a bigass tree is resting on my roof. It hasn't exactly fallen, but it's just kind of lying there, half attached, laughing at me and my short ladder.

I've been crazy busy. I didn't plan to unplug, it just kind of happened. Hey, I'm not superwoman, one of the balls had to drop. Okay, two -- my house looks like shit, but I think that ball basically dropped last year, and I'm kind of used to it now.

So, sorry I haven't been around to anyone's cyberhouse in like, forever. The longer I was unplugged, the more daunting the thought of catching up became. Anyway, I'm not trying to do an out and out Real Post today - just wanted to say hey, let you know I'm still kicking, and quell the above rumors.

I do miss you all. I'll get back on soon, and likely become a slothenly netaddict once more.

Tennessee Principal Outs Gay Students

I woke up this morning to find this news. High school principal Daphne Beasley, Memphis TN, was tired of all the PDA happening on school grounds. (That's Public Display of Affection, for those not living with a middle/high school student. Or those of you who've escaped military influence.)

Ms. Beasley was none too pleased with the excessive PDA occurring within the vaunted halls of Hollis F. Price Middle College High School. (Middle College High School? What the hell does that even mean?) Ms. Beasley decided to take the public watchdog and humiliation route to address these nefarious goings-on. She asked her staff for the names of all student couples, in order to compile a list. All the better to keep an eye on the eager little darlings, my dear.

Problem is, she posted the list. Publicly. Teachers, students, custodial staff, la-dee-da-dee everybody could see who was joined in lunchroom liplocks. But wait, there's more! She'd also specified to the staff that she wanted both hetero and homosexual couples named, which means, of course, that The List outed some gay students.

In a high school in Tennessee.

I'm sure that made for a wonderful learning environment for the outed students. The students say they are now being "treated differently" by students and teachers. I just bet they are.

And Ms. Beasley didn't stop there. Apparently she also called the mother of at least one of the gay students, an 11th grader who'd just made the dean's list, and outed him to Moms as well.

Now, I'm all for high school kids being open with their parents. I'm reasonably sure my kids would be able to tell me should they be any version of "not straight". The Bohemian, in fact, hasn't quite nailed down what she considers herself. Whatever. Labels schmabels. But we are a progressive household in the Seattle area. There are many out gay couples in my kids' high school. I would venture to say it's not as big of a deal here for those students who choose to come out. Not that those kids don't have to deal with ignorance and prejudice - of course they do - but there is a good deal of support in this area, should a student choose to come out at school.

I'm not foolish enough to think that every family or high school environment is going to be supportive for a young gay person. The parent in me thinks yes, I'd want the school to tell me what's going on with my child, but that may not be advisable or even safe in every situation. Did that principal stop to think about the consequences of her actions in calling those parents? Did she talk to the student beforehand? Did she think about the effects on his life? You don't know how those parents are going to react. That kid could end up getting his ass beat or being kicked out into the streets. Hey, it happens, it's not that far fetched. Even if not, coming out is a big deal. How these parents experience The Big Revelation will likely have an effect on their reaction to it. I'm betting that kid would've liked to have some control about how he came out to his parents, classmates and teachers.



This student was scheduled to go on a school trip to New Orleans to help rebuild houses. After the posting of The List, he was told by a teacher that he would no longer be going, due to the possibility he might "embarrass the school by engaging in gay affection."

Are you kidding me?

What this kid wanted to engage in was some public service, being a responsible and contributing member of society, caring about something bigger than himself, building community. You're going to tell a kid who just made the dean's list and who was going to rebuild houses in a place our own president has all but abandoned, that his services aren't necessary because he has a boyfriend?
So, according to this teacher, being gay is supposed to be the negative aspect in this young man's life? What effect are those words, that rejection, going to have on this young man, on this member of our society?

You know what? This kid is not "embarrassing", but Principal Beasley's actions are. That teacher's comments are. Shame on them.



I was talking to the offspring about this story. Okay, ranting. Whatever. Teen Demon made the point that it wasn't fair to any of the kids, gay or straight. She said in her school there are kids from traditional Asian families who are not allowed to date, even in the upper grades. If those students were "outed" to their families, it could be disastrous for some of them.

Again, I'm not advocating teenagers keeping major secrets from their families, but hey, things aren't always how we wish they were. In the example Teen Demon brought up, say you've got a good student, a 17-year-old kid who has a boyfriend -- one whom she basically sees only at school -- and this kid gets "outed" simply by virtue of being "part of a couple", whether she has engaged in PDA or not, because some principal put her on a list ... that doesn't seem right.

Male Offspring wondered about kids who may be falsely identified as being part of a couple. What if the staff is wrong in their presumptions?

Seems to me that a little PDA is part of high school life. Come on, did Ms. Beasley never swap saliva by the gym lockers? Yes, there are limits, and yes, students should practice at least a minimal level of decorum. We're talking affection, not pop, lock, and dropping. If things get to that point, seems to me it still could've been handled in a more constructive way.

Seems to me the decision to come out is a personal decision, not one for the schools.