Parent Trap

Sometimes, I get a published study to back me up, just in the nick of time.

I have a young friend (an adult, but this happens to adolescents, too, and my advice to their parents would be the same) who is in her first relationship with a woman.

Her straight mom, who is not much older than I am, is having a hard time with this. I know she's not alone, and I am not unsympathetic, and I have watched many straight parents go through this same thing.

Should you be a parent in this situation, here's what you need to navigate the situation with aplomb:

• Plan ahead. Way, way before this comes up, make sure there are trustworthy openly LGBTQ adults in your kids' lives — these could be friends of yours, godparents, aunts or uncles, camp counselors, teachers, clergy if that's your thing. You know, the kind of adults you'd want them going to if they ever felt they couldn't go to you. I understand it may be too late for this step for some of you.
• It's not about you. When and how they share this, whether by accident or on purpose, does not reflect on you or your relationship with your children. How you respond does.
• Your children are not ruining their lives. If anyone does ruin your children's life over a same-sex relationship, it will be the people who are mean to them about who they are. Don't be one of them.
• It's not about you. However much you are accustomed to having your children's identities tied up in yours, it is healthy and appropriate for them to distinguish themselves from you.
• Be open, but respectful. Coming out is different for everyone — some people have a hard time with it, and some people have a less hard time with it; for some people, it's about one relationship, and for some folks, it's a major identity awareness. Either way, you'll do better if you're available without pushing too hard.
• It's not about you. If this is behavior you don't approve of, your child already knows it — and it is likely killing him or her.
• Think of your future. Whatever you do or say now, your children will carry with them as they progress further into adulthood. Be cool for the sake of your future relationships with your children, their future partners, their future children... 
• It's not about you. If you find yourself rationalizing your reaction as actually about something else — secrecy, or a specific person, or even missing curfew, or something, take a deep breath and step way, way back. You will be glad you did.
• Show your kids how proud you are. My young friend is the type you'd be proud to have as your daughter; she's smart and kind and funny and confident and open-minded and athletic and beautiful. Your kids are incredible in their own ways. Make sure they know (and by this I mean, tell them, and also show them) all of how wonderful you think they are, always, both before and after any big revelations come to light.
• Oh, hey. It's not about you.

Straight parents, what would worry/bother you about a queer kid? Other queers, what would you add?

28, as, it turns out, plus 9 — Now with updates!

LGBTQ week here on CMC is off to a slow start, I know, but Monday night I was busy actually celebrating my queerness at the last night of Rainbow Bowl, and last night I was busy with a horrible, horrible migraine. So we're jumping in with both feet, with maybe the longest post of the week.

One of my favorite commenters, Amanda, asked for this one. She suggested "10 things straight friends do that they'd be SHOCKED! to know annoy the hell out of their gay friends (or five, or 15)."

I did not feel qualified to answer this one on my own, so I asked for some help. I did some editing on some of these for length or clarity or format, but all of these happened in real life to me or someone I know — in many cases, repeatedly. Remember, as we discussed back in 19 Secrets Women Wish Men Knew, not all people think alike, even when they are in a group.

1. Telling me I don't "look gay." I don't even know what people mean when they say this. Or rather, I do; they mean my hair is longer than that of the last queer woman they met and they have possibly observed I am wearing heels. What I don't know is how they want me to respond. "Thanks," maybe. Gross. What if I said you didn't look straight/female/black/American/something else that is part of your identity? People do say that other people don't look female/black/American, by the way — it's rude then, too.
2. (From A, a married friend) Referring to marriage equality as “gay marriage” — oh, really, aside from the idiotic lack of federal sanction, how is my gay marriage different from their straight one?
3. Upon learning I'm queer, immediately thinking of the one other queer person they know who they should introduce me to.
4. Never managing to introduce me to any of their other queer friends — it seems like maybe I'm the only queer friend they have, which makes me wonder about them.
5. Encouraging me to start dating very quickly after a major breakup. This has happened to me, but it happened worse to a friend. A gay male couple I knew broke up after 8 years, most of that time spent living together. Literally two weeks later (possibly less), people were urging at least one half that couple to get out there. Let the dude mourn a little if he wants to. I don't know if that's about assuming the relationship was less important because it was two men, or if it's about assuming men (especially gay ones) are so horny they need to have someone to sleep with always, but if I did that to a straight friend who'd just ended a, say, six-year marriage, people would think me abominable.
6. (From A) Ghettoizing us more than we do with phrases like “you people…”
7. (From B, a married female friend in her 60s) People/men addressing us as "girls" - whereas other groups of older women are addressed as ladies… not sure what that is about. 
8. (From B) Asking questions about who takes out the trash and/or does the lawn — like one of us is the butch — which may be true, but I'm not sure it is anyone's business.
9. Defending hurtful behavior as somehow not a big deal. If I stomp on your foot, and you object, and I (or someone else) dismiss it as, "I was just being funny!", your foot will still hurt, and now you'll also be sad that someone who you thought was your friend is standing up for the foot-stomper. On the other hand, "I was just trying to be funny, but I see how my actions had real-life consequences, so I'm sorry I did it, and I'll try not to do it anymore," could be very healing. Just silently agreeing to disagree, even, doesn't heal, but it at least doesn't hurt more. 
10. (From C, a pansexual female friend) Assuming I am a lesbian because I am dating a woman.
11. (From C) Assuming I was a lesbian all along because I am divorcing my husband (because, clearly, the ONLY reason to leave a man is for another woman?!!?!) 
12. (From C) Assuming I was a lesbian all along and grandly congratulating me on my new-to-them same-sex relationship (because, clearly, I've just come out of the closet?!!?) 
13. (From C) Assuming I am not serious about my girlfriend because: a) I married a man, b) I have been with more men than women in my lifetime c) I'm bisexual (really pansexual, but whatev), d) I might just go back to "playing for the other team" 
14. (From C) Assuming that she is male/my boyfriend because of her appearance.
15. (From C) My dad declining my request to bring my girlfriend to the weekly family dinner for a meet-and-greet because: a) he's a homophobic ex-catholic republican b) he thinks that my having a girlfriend is some sort of sexual phase I will outgrow. 
16. Labelling single-person bathrooms by sex. What good does that do anyone?
17. (From D, a female married friend with a child) Asking me if my son's dad is a red-head. It is weird and awkward. 
18. (From D) Asking if I've met the donor even though they know we used a sperm bank - a valid question but odd - it moves closer to annoying when they ask if I had sex with the donor. 
19. (From D) Giving "permission," as in, if a nurse asks a male patient about his wife and he replies that he has a husband, it is incredibly inappropriate for the nurse to say, "Oh, that's OK".
20. (From my friend E) Flirting — or unflirting, as in, "If I were gay, I'd totally be into you."
21. (From E) Using any of the following sentences: "I wish I were gay." "It must be so much easier." "I think I'll just quit [the opposite sex]."
22. (From E) "No, I don't mean gay like that kind of gay; I mean gay like stupid."
23. Using "queer" and "gay" to mean "stupid," and then, when I've called them on it, launching into an explanation that they experimented with the same sex in college.
24. Actually, launching into an explanation of college experimentation with me at all.
25. Taking it personally when we don't come out to them. If this is you, think about whether it's about you or something you might have said, and then, if you're sure it's not, accept that it's about us and our own journey. Let it go.
26. Talking about how they have nothing against LGBTQ folks, but they wouldn't want their own child to be queer, because the world can be so cruel.
27. Claiming they are "queer" because they identify as allies.
28. Using the word "partner" for their heterosexual significant other. This didn't used to bother me the way it does now; now, I see that word as a password, and I dislike when people not in the club use it out of what feels to me like misplaced solidarity.
29. UPDATE: (just in from my friend F) Assuming that we queer folks are big fans of your HRC t-shirt/sticker/etc. Some LGBT folks support the HRC. Others (and this is more than a small number) would rather gnaw off their own foot than give them money. Just because they make the nice equal sign stickers doesn't mean they're the best place to give your money.
30. UPDATE: (from F) "You're just like everyone else!" No, I'm not. And I don't need to be. And, by the way, "everyone else" is not just like "everyone else". 
31. UPDATE: (from F) "Oh...don't call yourself butch!" That tells me two things: first, that the person I'm talking to is uncomfortable with butch identity for a variety of reasons and, two, that they think they way I am proud to describe myself is somehow a put-down.

But also, I thought I should add this to Amanda's original idea: "Things straight people have done unexpectedly that were completely the right thing to do," both because straight people do things right all the time, and because the first one makes a point so beautifully.

1. (From the same A above) Numerous straight people have referred to their husband/wife/significant other as “partner”, which, depending on the couldn’t-really-say-if-you-are-straight-or-gay-or-somewhere-in-between factor they embodied, has kept me wondering until I met said person and learned they were just run o’ the mill straight people after all. 
2. (From A) They’ve asked me (when I was single) and us, now that I’m married, to be godfather(s) to their child, and want their child to grow up knowing that love comes in myriad forms. Mostly, they want their child to know that love comes at them from many directions. 
3. (From B) They passed legal marriage and that had to be done by straights; as well as the ordination of gays in at least some states… 
4. (From B) So often now guys like the plumber who comes to fix the sink, doesn't blink. How different from even 5 years ago! 
5. (From C) My sister talking at length about my girlfriend and how (insanely) happy she makes me at said homophobic ex-catholic republican dad's house during the weekly family dinner 
6. (From C) My (aforementioned) dad's wife sending an e-mail to me suggesting that while dinner with dad is a no-go, she would be very happy to meet my girlfriend 
7. (From C) My co-workers noting that I'm a happier camper and upon finding out why (her!) giving tons of support/congrats/et cetera. Hell, Chef even picked up the food tab for our elaborate 9-course side-by-side belated Valentine's dinner date. That's love right there in the food industry! 
8. People who just asked when they wondered if I'm, you know, that way, especially when I was obviously struggling with coming out.
9. People who've had and expressed hurtful views to me — and apologized unequivocally when they realized they were wrong.

So, hoping the comments here are more lively. LGBTQ folks, what did I leave off either list? Straight folks, what are your questions/comments/concerns, beyond that I appear to sort my friends in alphabetical order?

Timing is everything

Here's the thing: I have a thing I want to do with the blog, which I was going to announce today, and then decided that today would be the wrong day for it, because if you all thought it was an April Fool thing, and said it was dumb, then I wouldn't be able to do it.

It's like that time my friend had to tell his or her newish significant other they had crabs on April Fools Day, and the S.O. thought it was a joke. That's awkward, right? To have to convince someone you have crabs?*

So I thought I'd do a real April Fool thing here if I could think of a good one, but all I've come up with so far is an apology to you announcing I have to shut down the blog for some reason, except that then if anyone took it seriously, they'd unsubscribe, and then I'd lose readers, which I only have like a dozen of to start with. For real, you guys, I'm not shutting down the blog.

Here's what I am doing, for reals: Not next week, but the week after, is queer week. A bunch of different LGBTQ topics have come up in my life lately, and it occurred to me that my readership, which consists mostly (though by no means exclusively) of supportive straight folks (thanks, by the way), might benefit from my thoughts on some of those topics. Topics will include but are not necessarily limited to:

• Appropriate responses to your child dating people of the same sex, and what it means when parents do it wrong
• Appropriate responses to the insulting use of words like "faggy," "gay," "queer," "dyke," etc., and appropriate responses to being called on inappropriate use of same
• Dealing with "Christians" who think people are damned to hell

In the week between now and then, I'll try to keep it light with some funny stories at my expense. Here's your job: Think of other topics you'd like to see addressed in queer week and comment here. If you're worried about offending me, feel free to comment anonymously.




*None of the people in that story are me, I promise.

April powers

Things that I read, heard about, or did today that seemed like April Fool's jokes but apparently weren't:

• I told my friend I was leaving for Sears right then, but I didn't leave for an hour, and she was waiting for me there the whole time.
• Someone I know started doing something called a "Harry Potter workout."
• A friend-of-a-friend received a phone call asserting that her mother had been kidnapped and demanding ransom, when in fact the mother was in a sauna and not kidnapped. The FBI was uninterested that someone is making calls claiming to have kidnapped people.
• The Archbishop of Canterbury has announced his intent to retire, and one of the frontrunners his successor is opposed to the ordination of women.
• I started watching Dirty Sexy Money because I ran out of episodes of The Jersey Shore. 
• I continued to cram for my cholesterol test.

Also, I gave away the bed frame from the moving story to BTG from the moving story.

And may have learned that eating too many almonds maybe gives me migraines. Maybe. I'm not willing to commit to that yet, because almonds are good.

An open letter to Kathryn Lehman

Dear Ms. Lehman,

Shut up.

Your story is neither brave nor cute. You are, frankly, dangerous — I hope less so now that you're lobbying on the side of angels, but frankly, I am uncertain of it. And your worldview is wrong, no matter how much you believe in it.

Specifically:

• I was an out queer in 1996. There were plenty of "regular" LGBTQ folks around (as evidenced, probably, by the reception you got from your Republican friends). 
• Ellen DeGeneres and Neil Patrick Harris were not the image of Our People in 1996, but you know who was? Billy Jean King. Martina Navratilova. Barney Frank. Are you suggesting that you needed more comedians, specifically, to make it worthwhile to not legislate depriving people of their civil rights?
• Just because you have all kinds of internalized homophobia doesn't mean it's OK to externalize that homophobia. The rest of us homos don't like it.
• HRC definitely meets with Republicans and conservatives — historically panders to them, some would say.
• As my friend pointed out when he shared this story, all chaps are assless; otherwise, they're leather pants.
• Also, nobody gets married in them. Anymore. What is this, 1954?

Yours in sisterhood,

bzzzzgrrrl

P.S. Shut the hell up.
P.P.S. No, wait. Apologize. Then shut up.


[In case you don't know what I'm talking about, and missed that link up top, I'll give it to you again. This sentence is a link.]

Things I actually had to say to my seatmate on my flight from Chicago to Manchester Sunday

• "I'm on page 70."
• "I'm on page 82."
• "I'm on page 96."
• "If I'm going to be your PR person, the first thing I'm going to do is tell you to stop asking women if they're pregnant."
• "You'll understand if I disagree with you about Title IX."
• "I'm sorry you had a son. No, not really. I don't really care, and you seem fine with it."
• "No, you probably shouldn't ask. It seems presumptuous, doesn't it?"
• "No, thanks, you don't need to buy me a drink."
• "It'll be OK."

Dream weirder

I feel like there's a lot of weird in the air these days. Is that happening to you, too? I am told that Mercury is retrograde, so that could be it, but then I feel like someone is always saying that Mercury is retrograde, so whatever.

But:

• I am going to visit a friend in Chicago. I have only one other friend in Chicago, who I wanted to introduce the first friend to. Turns out, they not only already know each other, but teach together, are mentor and mentee to each other, and coached soccer together in the fall.
• I found Davey and Goliath on TV. How long has it been since you saw that show, amiright?*
• Someone was cooking soup in my kitchen, and as I stirred the pot, I discovered a whole blueberry muffin, still in its wrapper, in the soup, apparently accidentally. How did that even get in there?*
• A then-girl, now-woman I had a crush on in high school friended my ex on Facebook. They have never met, do not know each other, have no mutual friends but me.

Weird, right? 

*OK, technically, those two things happened in a dream, but they were so funny and weird to me in the dream that I woke up to quick post here or on Facebook, except that by the time I was awake enough to actually do that, I was aware that both Davey and Goliath and the blueberry muffin were a dream. My sister the clinical social worker assures me that the significance of said dream was just that I am too into Facebook; if you discover any deeper or more embarrassing meaning, you'll tell me, right?

Family: Large

Happy election day for many people!

Here in my lovely burg, we will be voting for school board and also on a couple of school-related proposals.

As a local paper should, our local paper profiled the candidates for school board:

• Cyr and Droppa
• Freeman and Hay
• Panza

If you are deeply interested in the local school-related politics of my region, you should read them all.

If you are instead merely curious about why I am so ridiculously, rabidly anti-Free-Stater* — or looking to have your jaw drop in astonishment and amusement — you should just read Ian Freeman's** profile. The comments are excellent, too.

As one friend said, "dude really hates Monopoly."

(Oh, hey. If you live in Keene, please vote today.)



*Sadly, the fact that I have now met a total of one Free Stater who I don't loathe has not turned me around on this.

**Not his legal name, but nonetheless the name he is running with.

PSA

Just because it appears there are people who don't know this, and because it is important for people to know this:
All people who take birth control pills properly take the same amount of birth control pills.

So:

• If you take birth control pills because you have sex within a heterosexual marriage twice a week, or
• If you take birth control pills because you have sex with lots of men every day, or
• If you take birth control pills because you haven't had sex with a man yet but think you might sometime, or
• If you take "birth control pills" because you are using them for some other kind of hormonal therapy that has nothing to do with preventing pregnancy...

...you take one pill per day, which is usually a birth control pill but is sometimes a placebo so that you menstruate.

That is all. Questions?

Hush

Tonight, I went to a fantastic show on campus, before which I had a session with my trainer. She and I take turns talking; I exercise, she watches me, and whoever's not talking counts.

I was all excited to tell her about this thing I was going to, and now I'm excited to tell you:
The Devil Music Ensemble, which includes a guy I used to work with at summer camp, composes and performs original scores for silent films. The one they brought to campus tonight is a silent kung-fu movie from 1929 called Red Heroine, and both the film and the performance were awesome. The band is actually touring to China with it in March; if that sounds like the kind of artistic endeavor you'd like to support, you can do that at Kickstarter.

So I set out to tell my trainer about it.

"You count," I said. "I'm going to this thing tonight; my friend's in a band that does original scores for silent movies, and —"

"Wait," she said. "What's a silent movie?"

I literally did not know there were people that young.

Holy what?

I need to couch this in a lot of things; here's a seemingly unrelated list of them that will become clearer once I get to my main point:

• I'm still sick, and therefore still crabby
• I have been watching TV and sleeping in maybe roughly equal amounts since midday Friday
• I'll watch almost any damn thing if it's likely to be funny at this point
• I have a great deal of respect for the good the Catholic Church has done in the world, while still disagreeing with much of its doctrine
• I don't think, usually, religion is the cause of evil; I think some people behave badly for a variety of pretty much inexcusable reasons, and when those people happen to be in positions of power, the damage that does can be worse (of course, the converse is true for people who behave nobly)
• I'm tired; that was a lot more philosophical than this likely warrants
• I rarely like British television as much as people think I will

OK, back to that main point.

Does this:

Three Catholic priests are exiled to a remote Irish island after various misdeeds brought them under the scrutiny of the bishop.

Sound like a terrible premise for a comedy TV show? Nightmarish, even?

Oh, wow. Spoiler after the colon; highlight the text to read: The last episode of the series, no kidding, is titled "Going to America." 

I am afraid to watch this show, but I don't really see how I can not. Did everyone else already know about this?

Oh, super, she's sick and wants help again

As we all know by now, I am crabby when I'm sick. And as frequent commenter Joe is fond of telling us, Facebook is a huge waste of time. Now, I disagree with Joe, because today, in my cranky state, I have gotten a great deal of sympathy from Facebook, and for that I am grateful. You know what I have not gotten from Facebook? Good movie recommendations. Maybe you can do better.

Here are my requirements:

• It must be happy/fun (I don't need good movies that are not happy/fun. I have a queue full of those. That is why I am asking for help);
• It must pass the Bechdel test (for our purposes, the movie needs to contain at least two female characters, with names, who talk to each other, about something other than a man*);
• It must be available on Netflix streaming.

These are not my requirements for all movies ever, they are my requirements for me right now when I am sick and very cranky about it. In the comments, I'll try to list some movies that meet this set of requirements (including helpful ones from the Facebook post), but you have to do the same, OK? Please don't let me think there just aren't any movies that meet these requirements.



*Men are not limited to romantic interests. They can include but are not limited to male nemeses, children, parents, bosses, royalty, etc.

Bonnie and clod

I have a few friends who've been going through big deal nasty health stuff this year. And two are now, blessedly, through the worst of it for now. Which is great. So much relief. I suspect you'll hear more about one of them next week, but now you just get a funny story at my expense, about the other one.

So, she's doing great. Her treatments are over. We needed to celebrate, I thought. And what started out as talking about having one or two of us go out for drinks turned into her thinking about all the great folks who've been really very much there for her, which turned into our inviting a bunch of people to come have a party at my house. Which is all as it should be.

In the interest of not making her life any more difficult, I handled the invitations.

Now, it happens that there are two women who work with us who have the same first name and last initial. We'll call them Bonnie Cormier* and Bonnie Carruthers.* They are otherwise nothing at all alike, except that they're fun to have around. I'm a little closer to Bonnie Cormier, who is also a friend to the guest of honor (who we'll call GOH). But GOH is closer to Bonnie Carruthers, who I like fine but do not know well, and Bonnie Carruthers has been a great help to GOH in her illness.

So, of course, as we were planning, GOH reminded me to invite Bonnie. And I invited a number of people, including Bonnie. And Bonnie was the first person to respond, saying what a great idea it was and how glad she'd be to attend, and could she bring anything? And because I'm organized like that, I started an RSVP list, and wrote "Bonnie C." at the top of the "yes" column.

(Confused yet? Welcome to the three-card monte that is my brain. I, too, have lost track of which Bonnie we're talking about.)

And when I sent GOH a list of who was coming, "Bonnie C." was right there at the top of the list, but as I was typing it, I thought twice. So the actual list item says:

• Bonnie C. (Hm. I invited Bonnie Cormier. Just occurred to me, did you mean Bonnie Carruthers? It is not too late for me to invite her.) 

And then the response came: "I did mean Bonnie Carruthers ... Bonnie Cormier is great too!!"

Ah, ick. Now I feel like a jerk, because the invites went out almost a week ago, and now the gathering is tomorrow. But, as diplomatically as possible, I send this message to Bonnie Carruthers:

I am SO sorry to have inadvertently left you off the original list for this; you were on my paper list, but I just realized as I was nudging people with reminders that you’d never actually gotten the e-mail. Yikes! I really hope you can join us; I know GOH would want you there if you can make it, but I understand if the notice is too short.

to which I get the response, from Bonnie Carruthers:

You didn’t leave me off the list – I got the original and I’m planning to be there (bringing a munchie).

and so I responded how glad I was to hear it, and then quickly checked my sent messages to see if I had also sent one to Bonnie Cormier. Nope.

So, all is right with the world, except that Bonnie Carruthers probably thinks I’m a crazy person. Or drunk at work. Either way, should be a hell of a much-deserved party.





*Not their real names, though Bonnie Cormier and Bonnie Carruthers were two girls from my second-grade class with whom we had somewhat similar difficulties, back in 1978.

The anonymous comment experiment: Buying

I'm bringing back the Anonymous Comment Experiment, because I miss it. Wasn't it fun before?

Respond to today's question (or any of them) in the comments, anonymously.
Those of you reading the comments on any of the anonymous comment threads, realize that anonymity may increase the likelihood that some of the comments may be mean or NSFW. Although frankly, that didn't really happen before.

What's the best purchase you've made in the last 48 hours? Why?

Live

I've been watching the first season of Saturday Night Live, and I've had a theory since I was in college that for any given person, "when Saturday Night Live was good" equals "the original cast" and/or "when [said person] was in high school."

Mind you, I've never actually watched much of the original cast stuff — clips here and there, as they come up, pretty much. But I'm finally watching some of those early shows now. There's a lot of terrible stuff in there (including recurring bits by the Muppets, in what have to be the least interesting Jim Henson creations ever). Like, a lot. To the point where I fast-forward a lot.

But the stuff that's good is amazing to the point of transcendent, so that's what our nostalgic brains remember.

In the whole first season, I've had my jaw drop with astonishment several times, but only two sketches have made me laugh out loud.

If I find the other one online (and I'm trying, because it's fantastic), I'll post it to Facebook. OK, Joe, and link to it in the comments.

All the single ladies

I would like to thank every single person who did not send me this story from The Washington Post: "The single life: Some people never find the love of their lives. And live to tell about it."

Criminy, that was an obnoxious read. That I obviously read every word of.

So... singleness. Nearly all of CMC the readers I know about are married or permanently coupled. Do you sit around worrying about me? Do you think I'm just fine single? Do you assume I'll meet The One? Do you assume singleness is a straight-person thing, as the Post seems to? Do you not think at all about other people's relationships or lack thereof?

Because who is the intended audience of that article?

Face time

You know what I thought would be cool? If City Mouse Country had a Facebook page.

Just think how much easier that'll make sharing with your friends, while still protecting my pseudoanonymity.

Plus, when there's a new post, you'll know about it right away, even if you've resisted the magic of the RSS feed.

Plus, there will probably be occasional updates visible only to Facebook likers.

What are you waiting for? Go like me! Go really, really like me!

Putting the city in City Mouse Country

I went to DC last weekend. I've been trying to think about how to write about it, and I haven't come up with anything brilliant in a week, so, you know, we default to bullet points.

I:

• Saw 32 old friends, ranging in age from roughly 2 to roughly 90
• Met 4 new ones, ranging in age from roughly 4 weeks to roughly 30 years
• Missed a whole lot more
• Lunched with a cousin
• Breakfasted with my parents
• Incited my goddaughters to a screaming fit 
• Got a pedicure
• Made a new life plan
• Got a fantastic massage
• Lost at poker
• Had a few drinks
• Had a million laughs
• Went to church
• Got my hair cut
• Finished one book
• Started another
• Encouraged others to move to Framingham
• Wore flip-flops (perhaps ill-advisedly)

I also gained some pretty earth-shaking new perspectives on a bunch of stuff and had. a. blast.

The result is that it's been kind of a funny near-week since then: a little bit floaty, quite a bit smiley, and deeply warm with the reminder of how much I gained from my city life. It won't be a year and a half before I go back again.

Good morning

It's Saturday, so I slept in a little.

I awoke to what, in my half-asleep state, I assumed was the kids in the apartment upstairs running around.

And then, a few moments later, jolted fully awake to the realization that I live in a free-standing, one-story house.

So what the hell was that?

Serious fashion advice

At what point, temperature-wise, would you not look askance at a woman in flip-flops (assuming they were otherwise appropriate to her level of dress)?

If you choose to answer this one, please also say where you live. I suspect, for example, that 50 degrees does not sound as downright tropical to you DC folks as it does to me.

Randy

I simultaneously:

• believe TSA "safety" measures are essentially cosmetic (and therefore ridiculous and invasive), and 
• am giggling a lot that this happened to Rand Paul on his way to speak at March for Life.

I mean, you know, speaking of ridiculous and invasive.

What do you think he thinks libertarian means?

A minus

As a child, I loved TV.

And naturally, that made any restrictions very frustrating.

My loving parents frequently restricted the amount of time I was allowed to spend watching TV, of course, but just as exasperating (depending on the day) was that, to my young self, they seemed to be forbidding so many of what were probably the best shows. Like:

• Laverne and Shirley (sexist)
  
• Diff'rent Strokes (my mother caught the Very Special Episode where Arnold meets a child molester)
• Three's Company (also sexist)
• Eight Is Enough (Frankly, I think this one was because my parents couldn't remember which was which of Three's Company and Eight Is Enough; better safe than sorry.)
• I Love Lucy (also sexist, but a classic, so permitted but only occasionally, and only after a lot of discussion of what respectful relationships were and why Lucy and Ricky's was not one)
  
• Anything that might give me nightmares (which was a lot of shows, including Scooby-Doo cartoons)
• Any PG-13 movies that came out the first summer of PG-13 (when I was twelve)
• Dukes of Hazzard (violent)
  
• The A-Team (also violent)
  

So eye-rollingly frustrating. Everybody could watch those shows. And talk about them for days in school afterward.

And so tonight, 29 years after it first came out, I finally started watching The A-Team.

Less than three minutes into the first episode, I encountered the first instance of gratuitous sexual violence. Done with The A-Team.

Stupid parents.

Looking for bangs in all the wrong places

I didn't think I could find the search terms that brought people here. Turns out I can.

I did know that I get more traffic than I'd expect, based on the number of people I know who read regularly and the number of comments I get.

Turns out, that may be because virtually no one who gets here via search is actually looking for this blog. Sorry about that, visitors. Stick around anyway. I'm pretty entertaining.

Search terms that brought people to CMC in the last week:

• images of bangs 
• straight across bangs 
• baby bangs hair styles 
• baby bangs with medium hair 
• city to country blog 
• coty mouse country blog 
• country mouse city mouse have sex with their girlfriends 
• difference between the country mouse and city mouse 
• try to remember the kind of november

Lookin'

In high school, my friends and I had a seemingly endless stream of "bits" — inside jokes we'd just lapse into. My friends were mostly boys, mostly artistic, mostly dorky. We had an excellent time.

In one (and I'm not sure how well this will translate to the written word), we'd stand around a car and be a mechanic character we'd developed. This guy always started slowly with "I'm lookin' atcha cah" (we were in Massachusetts, after all) "and it looks like yer gunna need a new..."

And then we'd just rattle off a lengthy list of car parts to replace. As one person ran out, someone else would jump in.

"I'm lookin' atcha cah, and it looks like yer gunna need a new ball joint timing belt brake pad windshield wiper rear door transmission spark plug tail light battery roof rack hubcap..."

At some point recently, my father pointed out to me that I might be living in "I'm lookin' atcha cah."

That is perhaps a too-long way to update you on my basically uneventful weekend, during which my starter died.

A few words (and a video) on NH politics

Those of you who've been following the blog since the beginning will remember that it started because so many of my DC friends seemed to think moving to New Hampshire would be like moving to a different planet. For a few days, I kept up with those DC friends by sending mass e-mails, and then thought maybe a blog made more sense.

I still do some of those posts about what a different world New Hampshire is from DC, sometimes, but not as much as I used to, because I've settled into what I usually think of as a pretty ordinary ruralish life up here. The funny stories are at my expense more often than they're at New Hampshire's expense.

My extended family, from places like California and Connecticut and Maryland and Massachusetts and New York and Washington state, has not entirely escaped the can-you-believe-this saga, because they are more likely to ask how my job is going, and are more likely, therefore, to get treated to a big dose of New Hampshire politics — particularly over the summer, when the legislature cut more than half its already-smallest-in-the-nation appropriations to higher ed. That has very real repercussions for me, the people I work with, the students I work for, our ability to serve the community...

Anyway, Rachel Maddow did a thing on Republicans in New Hampshire, and I liked it.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

For your edification, here's some of the ridiculousness going on in the state that isn't about electing a president:

• House votes again to make NH gun licenses optional 
• NH House approves allowing guns on campus 
• New Hampshire bill would allow loaded guns in vehicles 
• Vote on possible repeal of New Hampshire’s same-sex marriage law expected in January 
• New Hampshire Lawmakers Pass Law Allowing Parental Objections To Curriculum 
• New Hampshire’s 2012 anti-evolution legislation (and the shocking thing a sponsor said) 
• New Hampshire Lawmakers Propose Increased Control Over Courts, Raising Minimum Judicial Age To 60 
• New Hampshire GOP Bill Mandates That New Laws Find Their Origin In 1215 English Magna Carta

If you don't understand why I think some of these things are ridiculous, please ask. I'm happy to:

• explain, or 
• have my mind changed.

I would love to think it's not as bad as it seems.

What I Read on My Winter Vacation: Unfinished Business

If you read the rules, you saw that I wasn't going to finish anything I didn't want to.

Books I did not finish included:

• Atwood, Margaret. The Tent. New York: Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2006. Print. Got to p. 15. I love Margaret Atwood, but couldn't get into this collection of essays that's been on my shelf for a few years now. I'll try again another time.
• Renault, Mary. The King Must Die. New York: Bantam, 1984. Print. Got to p. 9. It just felt like it was trying too hard, or something. I don't even know where this book came from; someone probably gave it to me in high school. It's the kind of thing other people would have thought I would have liked in high school; that is how pretentious I was.
• Evans, Howard Ensign. Wasp Farm. Garden City, NY: Published for the American Museum of Natural History [by] the Natural History, 1963. Print. Got to p. 13. I found this one on my parents' bookshelf, and can therefore be forgiven for thinking it was about WASPs, rather than wasps. But it is in fact about insects, and the two or three new things I learned from the first 13 pages were not enough to sustain my interest.
• Pirsig, Robert M. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: an Inquiry into Values. New York: HarperTorch, 2006. Print. This one, borrowed from a friend, I'm actually still reading; it's only on this list because I didn't get to finish it. If you want to claim this as a book you haven't finished yet, may I suggest saying that you're really enjoying the narrative style, but so far you're not sure you can agree with Pirsig's premise, and wonder if that's a sign of the shifting times and the changing nature of the relationship between technology and art (or function and aesthetic) since 1974, when the book was written. Of course, you may be a little off-base, since you're only 150 pages in.

Sometimes I clean the house to watch TV

Even still more fun with Netflix

Um, what?

More fun with Netflix

So, I'm sick today, and watching a lot more TV than reading. I begin to think that the descriptions of episodes of Family Ties available from Netflix are maybe not written by native English speakers.

A few examples:

While Alex is in the shop where Mallory works, they catch Jessie Blake shoplifting. Dad Steven points out Milford home where Jessie lives is not an orphanage but specialized in problem children, often abused.

Alex is in charge of this year's Leland parents students day. His girlfriend Ellen is angry because Alex personally invited her father, corporate lawyer Franklin Reed, whom she rejected as 'foul materialist' years ago.

Ma and Jen hardly notice the mustache Alex grows for the homecoming speech as former valedictorian in Harding High-school. Skippy hopes Mal just uses Nick to make him jealous, but of course she refuses to go with him to the homecoming dance.

and my personal favorite....

Alex committed the surprising error to vent his conviction so he gets stuck following the same elementary car mechanics course as ma Elyse, the architect, who proves more gifted at it.

What I Read on My Winter Vacation: Gather Together in My Name

Once again, your guide to pretending you've read books when people ask.

Angelou, Maya. Gather Together in My Name. Toronto: Bantam, 1975. Print.

I got this book many years ago, when I was a teacher and it was one of the options I had for teaching to my juniors. I neither read it nor taught it then.

Summary with spoilers (highlight to read): Maya Angelou had a really ridiculous late adolescence, apparently, including kind of a lot of criminal activity and a lot of moving around. She works as a cook, a pimp, a waitress, a prostitute, a chauffeurette, and a couple other things. She falls in love with a few real jerks. And when she thinks of it, she cares for her young child.

If you tell people you read this book, they'll think you're: Smart and interesting enough to get past I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. If you then tell them you haven't actually read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, they may or may not be intrigued by your choosing to read just part of the middle of a memoir.

Your informed opinion of this book is that it's: Not all that Christmassy. And beautifully written, though it reads like what it is — the middle of a memoir. Angelou's writing is magnificent — her imagery is flawless and her honest self-appraisal ranges from hilarious to sobering — but the book ends and you wonder, "And then?!"

And while we're talking about it, you know what's similar but better or worse? I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, probably, but like I said, I haven't read it. Honestly, though, I'm not sure it's like anything else I've read.

What I Read on My Winter Vacation: Maudie and Me and the Dirty Book

Here we go, folks. Your guide to pretending you've read books when people ask.

Miles, Betty. Maudie and Me and the Dirty Book. New York: Avon, 1981. Print.

 

This is one of those re-reads I was talking about; in this case, a kids' book I haven't read since I was a kid. It's OK, but not as good as I remembered.

 

Summary with spoilers (highlight to read): An eleven-year-old girl struggles with the pressures of middle school, befriends a fat girl, and reads a book about puppies to first-graders. The children improbably launch into a not-very-graphic conversation about sex. The townfolk are scandalized. Except, as it turns out, not very many of them. In the end, everyone is popular, the narrator gets her first babysitting job, and every apparent catastrophe is really not a very big deal.

If you tell people you read this book, they'll think you're: Eleven. Or in touch with your inner smut-reading child.

Your informed opinion of this book is that it's: Fine. Worth reading if you're exactly like I was in the sixth grade — a good enough reader that it won't take that long, worried about popularity and fatness, eager to babysit.

And while we're talking about it, you know what's similar but better or worse? The Cat Ate My Gymsuit, by Paula Danziger, is like this book but better. Yadda yadda misfit, yadda yadda cool teacher, yadda yadda censorship — but the stakes feel higher and more significant. Plus, the kids are older and therefore cooler, obviously.

Discuss.

Book me, Dano

I've been thinking about this book thing. I had a few extra minutes between things I was rushing between, so I came home and started pulling books off the shelf that:

• I haven't read yet, and
• look vaguely interesting.

And as I started observing:

• the size of the pile
• the size of the books in the pile
• the themes that emerge

... I decided we need some rules.

Here are the rules:

• I won't buy any books. I can read what I own, borrow them from friends and family, borrow them from the library, whatever, but there's no need for me to buy more books.
• I don't have to finish any books I'm not enjoying. Life's too short, babe, time is flyin'.
• I do have to write up every book I start, finished or not, for your edification, ideally in some way that will enable you to pretend you've read it, when your cousin corners you and wants to know whether you've read anything good lately.
• I can re-read books I've read before, but there has to be at least one new book to each re-read.

I'll start reading when my vacation starts tomorrow night. The comments are yours. What do you want covered in the reviews? What rules do I need to add?

Unofficial results

Driving the half-hour home from my parents' house to my own, 23 days before the NH primary, I saw yard signs for:

• Newt Gingrich
• Rick Santorum
• Ron Paul (just one sign, but it was enormous)
• Mitt Romney 
• Jon Huntsman

Sorry, Michele Bachmann, Rick Perry, and Gary Johnson. It's not your year.

Feeling good

You know what feeling is better than when you find something important that was lost that you'd been searching for increasingly desperately for weeks?

The feeling when you finally fall asleep for an accidental nap in front of Murder, She Wrote after the relief of finding it, panic out of your mind because you think the finding it was just a dream and what the hell are you doing sleeping at a time like this, and then realize that it was not a dream, and that the very important thing is, in fact, still found. That, my friends, is the most elated feeling in the universe.

Reading is Fundamental

On Thanksgiving, my cousin-in-law asked me if I'd read any good books lately.

That seems like reasonable conversation, doesn't it? Especially if, like her, you love to read and are always on the lookout for the next good book. Or if, as she's heard about me, you started reading about six minutes after you started talking and never stopped, losing yourself in book after book, flopping down around the house next to whatever bookshelf caught your eye (including the one in the hallway by the bathroom), eventually working in the town library and reading your way through a sizable chunk of the collection there, too. It's totally reasonable Thanksgiving conversation. She and I are both readers, for sure.

So I was embarrassed to have no answer for her. I stumbled around a little but ultimately offered her nothing. She tried to have the same conversation the next day, with similar results.

Here is the truth that I did not say: I read all day for work, and when I am not reading for work, I read online. Books? Lately? I read picture books to my niece sometimes, and every now and then, I pull out something from my collection of favorite young adult novels and re-read that. Sometimes the 1974 Readers Digests in my room at my parents' house. ANd, um, I watch a lot of Murder, She Wrote, which is about a lady who writes books. No, not so much with the "any good books lately." But I have read a seriously startlingly large sample of The Internet.

When I told this story to my sister, she suggested that I should change that, that reading books is good for me. I tried to get her to explain how reading books, specifically, is better for me than all the thousands and thousands of words I read every day for work and pleasure, and before she could make the only reasonable answer to that there is (attention span), her two-year-old distracted her and so I am victorious!

Unless she's right, that is, in which case I lose and don't even know it. So, just in case, I'm giving it a shot. I'm on vacation from December 24 through January 2, and I am going to read a bunch of books and tell you about them.

Don't bother to recommend books to me — or rather, go ahead, but it won't do you a lot of good; I rarely read books on recommendation from other people. But please use the comments to tell me what you want to be sure I include in my (very brief) reviews of books I read on my winter vacation.

Rest

[Here's Part 1 of The Plattsburgh Saga.
Here's Part 2.
Here's Part 3.
This is Part 4.]

The above, in case you were wondering, was mine and my dad's approximate route. "A" is where I live. "B" is Plattsburgh, where the garage was (see how close to Canada!). "C" is Lake Placid, where we had to return the rental car. "D" is Ludlow, where the car broke down. See how not close to "A" it is?

Anyway, back to our story...

Obviously, I called AAA and sent my dad to a sandwich shop to get us some dinner, and then called about half a dozen friends to explain how this thing that could not have happened had, in fact, happened. While I waited, Lee called. Yup.

"Hey, I just wanted to be sure you got home OK," he said.
"You have got some bad timing, buddy," I said.

Eventually, the tow truck came. Here is the difference between Lee (or me, for that matter) and someone who knows something about cars: This guy asked if my car would drive in any other gear. I had no idea. I'd only tried it in drive. Turns out, in second, it worked just fine, and just think how much easier that made hooking it up to the (completely real) tow truck this time. Wonder if that might have worked the first time. I guess we'll never know.

I got home, eventually, thanks to a long drive and a shortish walk. My father and I parted ways, and in the morning, the garage I like here in town checked out my car. The problem was definitely the transmission, they told me, and they don't do transmissions, so they referred me back to the person I'd called a now more than a week before. He was glad to take my car, but it'd be a while before he could get to it now, because he was backed up. I drove my car on over (in second) and expected to be carless for about a week and a half.

A week or so later, I got a call from the local transmission guy. My car was ready! The work had actually been excellent on my car! The problem was an issue with a part! I could come get it immediately!

Which, obviously, I did. And in my conversations with the local transmission guy, he wanted to be very careful to emphasize what a good job the guys in Plattsburgh had done. Top-notch work, the likes of which he'd rarely seen. They had not ripped me off. If I'd left with any bad feelings, I might want to call and let them know I knew how great they were.

I told him I thought I'd been pretty even-tempered, but I was sure they felt bad that I'd broken down three-quarters of the way home, so maybe I'd call anyway. He said he thought John did feel bad about that.

"John?" I said. "Was he the guy who actually did the work on my car?"
"Yes."
"Oh," I said. "I only ever talked to the shop manager."
"Oh," said the local transmission guy, in the same mild, even tone he'd been using. "Since you were up there, he cleaned them out and left town."
"Since I was there?" I said. "I just left a week ago."
"Yup."

Day 30 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful that my car goes like a breeze again. And I am thankful for confirmation of what I am trying harder to believe: Gut feelings are to be trusted.

Penultimate

[Here's Part 1 of The Plattsburgh Saga.
Here's Part 2.
This is Part 3.
Here's Part 4.]


You're probably wondering what happened with my car. Or you wonder how anyone can make a story last so damn long. If so, sorry, because we've miles to go on that tale.

(If you haven't yet read about the car, the story begins here and continues here.)

So, yeah, my car was to be done early the week after Thanksgiving. I'd already asked for the Tuesday after Thanksgiving off for a morning engagement, so a plan formed over Thanksgiving weekend. My father and I would drive in the rental up to Plattsburgh that Tuesday afternoon, then he'd drive my car and I'd drive the rental over to Lake Placid to drop off the rental car, then we'd drive back to my house together in my car. It's a nine-hour trip, and it'd be a late night, but we have a pretty good time together.

Sunday night, the shop manager at the garage in Plattsburgh (let's call him, "Lee") called me from his cell phone. I am not sure I've mentioned yet that he seemed to think, after our interactions in the car and on the phone, that we were buddies — at least. His status as a single (well, divorced) guy had come up more than once. Anyway, he called Sunday night to let me know the car would not be ready until late in the day Tuesday. I was so pleased I'd padded the schedule. We weren't going to arrive in Plattsburgh until late in the day Tuesday, so we were fine.

My mother, who is often skeptical, was skeptical. She suggested I call before we left.

Tuesday morning, I called before we left. The car would be ready, Lee said. We discussed again whether I might pay in cash in exchange for a sizeable discount. I actually lost it at him briefly in the phone when he seemed to be unable to actually explain this "cash discount" to me in terms that made any sense. I told him I thought I'd be paying with a card, instead. (Word to the wise: If you have prevented a person from calling AAA and then shown up incapable of moving her car without her own brute strength, do not later suggest that part of your "discount" is that you are not charging her a "towing fee.")

And then my father and I embarked on a pretty jovial road trip. We called Lee a few times from the road and we reassured the car would be ready. We stopped for lunch. We joked around a lot and told stories.

About 20 minutes outside Plattsburgh, we had a call from Lee. Would it be possible, he asked, for us to maybe spend the night in town?

Some questions are not so much questions.

We went to the shop and he assured us he'd be happy to put us up in the local EconoLodge, but he wanted to be sure the work was really done well. He also launched into a weird diatribe about how much he is trying to do for the community, between the homeless shelter he's trying to build (Note: Plattsburgh does not, in fact, have a million people in it, whatever Lee thinks.).

Luckily, my father is retired and didn't need to get back for anything urgent, so we agreed (as if we had a choice) and headed to Kmart for toothbrushes and toys for Toys for Tots. We had a lovely dinner surrounded by Francophones (because, you know, pretty much Canada). We watched a movie at the hotel yadda yadda amnesia something something January Jones. We slept in until 7:30 and enjoyed the waffles at the continental breakfast, went to the AAA office to satisfy my father's desperate need for paper maps even when I have a GPS. And then we explored Plattsburgh. As we wandered along the shore of Lake Champlain, we got another call from Lee.

"Hey, you," he said as my skin creeped. He was just wondering if it might be possible for me to pay most of the bill on the card, of course, but $300 in cash, possibly — you know, because of the homeless shelter. My father and I talked about it, decided it was clearly shady, but whatever. Sure. We could do that.

And there began several hours of Lee telling us the car was almost ready and then calling us back to say that it was not. At least twice, I was literally a block or less away from the garage when he called to ask for more time. Eventually, he called to ask if we could put the cash in an envelope and label it "Toys for Tots" because "not everyone in the shop needs to know everything that goes on." Seriously.

But through it all, we had a pretty good time. We walked around downtown, looking at the war monument and taking pictures with our cell phones. Although I do not recommend a trip to Plattsburgh just for the Museum of the War of 1812, I do recommend stopping in if you're in town. We went to Radio Shack and TJ Maxx and Staples (naturally, we needed envelopes). My father wrote "Toys for Tots" (complete with quotation marks), which gave us no end of mirth.

And finally, my car was ready, at nearly 3:30 Wednesday — just enough time to get the rental car back to Lake Placid. Lee warned us that it might need a "breaking in period." The car might have a little trouble upshifting. After one more weird joke in which he suggested he might move in with me and my father could start calling him "son," he gave us our warranty, we gave him a credit card and an envelope with cash inside and quotation marks outside, and we hit the road.

When we got to Lake Placid, I asked my dad how my car had handled. He said it was about like Lee had suggested, and otherwise fine. As soon as I got back behind the wheel, I was worried. It felt like it had before it broke down. My father tried to reassure me, and I tried to allow myself to be reassured. We were making good time; we decided not to stop for dinner and power through to Keene.

And then.

And then the transmission died, about an hour from my destination.

When the car stopped accelerating and then slowed nearly to a stop, I pulled over.


Day 29 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the kind of father-daughter relationship that makes a semi-catastrophe into a fun(ish) adventure, rather than a real catastrophe. I am thankful for stupid, stupid little jokes, for support and apparently limitless willingness to help. I am thankful not to feel like "Daddy's Little Girl" because I have always felt as respected, smart, and strong as any adult in the room, even when he dotes. And I'm thankful he's finally started reading the blog. :)

Conversation

Tonight, I went to the first of four holiday parties (that I know of so far) I'll attend. It was a good one — it always is. As I always do, I talked with some people I knew well, caught up with some casual acquaintances, and had some riveting conversation with brand-new friends*. It sets a really pretty nice tone for the rest of the month and the rest of the season.

And I think I picked up three new readers of this blog — maybe more. Goodness. That never happens.

Day 28 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for readers. And even more thankful for commenters. Speaking of setting tones, you know. Welcome aboard, new folks.

*The phrase "brand-new friend" invariably makes me think "walking with Jesus and Jane." Super-special extra points to you if you also get the reference without googling.

Quitting

I am not quite ready to admit all my moral failings to everyone yet, but I want to post about them nonetheless. Let's see how that goes.

So, for a long time, I've been engaging in a pleasant but harmless activity. Let's say it's about the equivalent of writing this blog (it's not actually writing this blog). But I figured out how to do this activity in a sort of morally harmful way. Let's say it's the approximate equivalent of "writing" this blog, but plagiarizing every entry, almost without exception (it's not plagiarism, either).

And for the whole time I've been engaged in this activity, I have felt crappy about myself, every time. I like to think I'm pretty ethical, and this was strictly nonethical behavior. And it made me feel crummy, often. Also, I have never admitted to anyone that I've been doing it — until recently.

Recently, I told a close friend that I was doing the moral equivalent of plagiarizing this blog, and that I hated it, and that I didn't like myself for it, but that I didn't seem able to stop — I'd go to write a blog post, and then before I even gave myself a chance to do it right, I'd plagiarize it. I'd wanted to tell her about it for a while, but I was sure it would make her think less of me.

And it seems like it didn't. In fact, she pointed out to me that the easiest solution was to do the equivalent of not blogging anymore. And it had honestly never occurred to me before that there was a way out that was that easy. It was so simple, and I just quit the pleasant harmless activity cold turkey. And if I hadn't admitted it, I might not have stumbled on that very easy solution, maybe ever.

Day 27 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful there are easy answers to moral crises, sometimes, and I am thankful for the strength to seek the help I need to find them, sometimes.

Bzzzzkill

I just called my dad.

"Guess who got a MacBook Air today?!" I said.
"Well," he said, "I know your sister did."

Um.

I meant me.

Guess it, er, runs in the family?

(Hey, I know I owe you a bunch of posts. They should be much easier to complete now.)

Things that would not happen in Washington (but would happen in a movie)

We haven't done one of these lately, but I couldn't resist. (See previous incarnations here, here and here.)

This e-mail just received from a cabinet-level administrator at the college:

Hi, all: If anyone is interested in having some, I have a cooler full of fresh venison here today. We have WAY more than we can use (and I mean WAY), and are very interested in sharing with anyone who would like some. If you want to take some, please, please take as much as you want, either for yourself or for others. For those unfamiliar with venison that has been properly prepared, it does not have any strong taste; it’s more like eating filet mignon, but without any fat whatsoever.

I’m only here until noon, as I am headed to a professional seminar this afternoon, so let me know before then. If you can’t do it today, let me know any time, as we always have more than enough to share. I can always bring some in.

Love

Lots of work to do today, and lots of stories to tell you going forward, but I'm hoping to wrap up this month of gratitude, however belatedly.

A Facebook friend shared this blog post today, and this is a largely preaching-to-the-choir situation here, but I thought it was an interesting one.

Here is what I commented there:

I agree with your bigger, grander points, absolutely. Without question. And while I am not perfect in this, I do strive to live a life in which I accept people as they come (though it is harder with mean people. I mean, right?).

That said, I'm more worried about your friend than about your bigger point, because I know how deeply that hurts. "Jacob," if you're reading: I'm queer, and Christian, and I have found supportive, loving people in my life, in places I wouldn't have imagined. I'm sorry people have abandoned you (as some have abandoned me). Those people suck. You deserve better, and I hope you find better. If you friended me on Facebook, I'd keep you.

Belated Day 26 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to have supportive, loving people in my life, and I am thankful for the ones who can handle it. I am also thankful for those who can't quite handle it, but try. And I am very thankful for those who went before me, both out queers and loving non-queers, who prepped the world to love me a little more easily.



P.S.: The discussion in the comments on that post has gotten largely bogged down in "IS IT A CHOICE?!" Here, in case you are wondering, are the basic arguments in that conversation, always:

• It's a choice and you are damned to hell for it.
• It is not a choice; who would choose such a miserable life?!
• It is not a choice, just like you didn't choose to be straight!!
• Love the sinner, hate the sin.

And here, in case you are wondering, are my responses to those arguments:

• If it is a choice, someone else will be deciding about the whole hell thing; back off.
• I would. I'm not all that miserable. If it's a choice, I would totally choose it; this life has given me far more blessings than misery.
• People totally choose to be straight. See: Every creepy closet case politician.
• You don't have to know whether it's a sin. You don't need this line anymore. You can just love everyone.
• And a bonus: I suspect that orientation is more of a choice for some than for others, and either way, I think it's not a great basis for denying people their civil rights. "Choice" is a red herring.

Update because not everyone reads the comments, though they should: Commenter icanhasyarn, who shared the original post with me in the first place, observes that everyone should also read the follow-up post. So, so, true. For my money, even better than the first one. Go read it. All of it.

From

I am from mountains of books.

I am from the little multiyellow Vicarage on the street too busy to cross.

I am from the goldfinches, the lady slippers, the peonies and evergreens and changing leaves and Mount Monadnock.

I am from blowing out the lights and lost-in-time-and-spaceness, from ghosts of Lucy and Bobby and Charles.

I am from looking it up and generations of genealogy.

From be always kind and good and don't get your hopes up.

I am from eucharist and women's ordination and coffee hour, from you-don't-have-to-believe-this-but-you-should-believe-something.

I'm from New Hampshire, New Hampshire, New Hampshire, even when Wayland and Arlington and Our Nation's Capital were home, but also from Cambridge and Shreveport, Maine and Michigan, peach cobbler and beans and rice.

From first dates to go vote, fixing plumbing with gum, and getting chased — but not chased off — by the bad guys.

I am from piles of scrapbooks, in the Westchester and the house in Jaffrey and the heads of my parents and remaining aunts and uncles and me, from tales never forgotten but rarely told — or often told but too easily forgotten.



...inspired by Whimsy, who was inspired by Clueless But Hopeful Mama, who got the template here.

Aren't you so excited to do your own? Link in the comments, please.

Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for where I'm from and how I am who I am.

Alice

I did get home — home to my house, and then home to my parents' house, and then off to my aunt and uncle's for a fantastic Thanksgiving with the extended family around. Thanks, those of you who expressed concern or support, and for those of you who kept me entertained by phone on my drive home.

I have a Thanksgiving tradition of scanning the radio on my drive, looking for "Alice's Restaurant." I don't catch it every year, but I catch it many years, and I caught it this year — the tail end, at least. There was something magical about the whole idea of it when I was an idealistic post-Vietnam Cold-War-Era 15-year-old, and there still is something magical about the whole idea of it now that I am an idealistic post-Cold-War Occupy-Era 40-year-old.

There was an interview with Arlo Guthrie after "Alice's Restaurant," and he talked a little bit about stopping by Occupy Wall Street a little while back. He talked about how many folks, like himself and Pete Seeger, who'd been so active in the 60s, were glad to lend support to a movement that didn't really need their support — a young person's movement with proud old people around it. He sounded proud, more than anything.

And then at Thanksgiving dinner, one of my relatives called Occupy Wall Street "a waste of time." I was surprised, and said so, later. "Well, isn't it?" asked another relative.

And here's the thing: No, I don't think so. I think real changes will happen. I do. And furthermore, I think if the only thing that changes is the narrative, which had been saying that the left wing was complacent while the right wing was riled up, that had been saying that who people in power needed to pander to were the only rabble-rousers they could hear, who were in the Tea Party — even if the only thing that changes is that people know there are folks on the left who are tired of the status quo — I don't think that's a waste of time. I think it's amazing.

I double don't think it's a waste of time for the folks who are already part of that 20% youth unemployment rate. What would be a better use of their time? And no, it's not a perfect movement. What is?


Day 24 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for people who are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore, for folks like Arlo and his dad, for folks who have ideas and are ready to change the discourse.

Lift

[Here's Part 1 of The Plattsburgh Saga.
This is Part 2.
Here's Part 3.
Here's Part 4.]

I hardly know where to start updating you on yesterday's situation, so I will start with the chat I had with my Rock Star friend from my smart phone in the tow truck (edited only slightly for length and clarity):
me: I am on my way to lake placid

  And I am having the most ridiculous adventure

  Including my transmission dying

 And the transmission place coming to tow me

  And them sending a trailer instead of a regular tow truck

  And the tow guy throwing out his back

 And me having to help load the car myself.

 she: what?!?!

  that is nuts

 me: I have also been informed I'll get a discount if I pay cash, so they "can avoid uncle sam"*

 she: awesome

  where are you now?

me: Keeseville? Is that a place?**

  I'm in the tow truck

  Listening to loud rap

  While the tow guy smokes

 The transmission place is in plattsburgh

 she: keenesville maybe?

  awesome

 sorry you're having such wonky transportation issues

 me: I called the transmission place initially to say I was calling aaa

  They said not to

  Turns out, that was to avoid me getting charged

Which I wouldn't have anyway

  Because I have aaa plus

  But they didn't ask

  They just sent a truck

 Car is definitely broken

Unclear what exactly the issue is

  But we assume transmission

 she: that sucks. can [favorite Adirondackian] come get you? are you going to have to spend thanksgiving in a garage in plattsburg?

 me: We is me and the two tow guys

  [favorite Adirondackian] is getting me

  Car may be done tomorrow

  Which would be good

  If not, then friday

  Also, the flashing yellow light fell off the roof, so now it is in my lap

 she: ha!

  seems like a real professional situation you have going on there

 me: Also, the trailer's license plate fell off

 she: sorry that you are having such a ridonkulous time

 me: It would be worse if it wasn't so hilarious

This is something that would happen on sister wives

 she: ha! except then you'd be with your sister wives?

 and also maybe wearing a long jean skirt

 me: No, the sister wives wear regular clothes

  Which is almost weirder

 But yes, i'd have them

  And also fortyleven kids

 she: but then maybe you'd have four other broken down cars to be towing around?

 me: That's what always happens when they go on a trip

  Or move to las vegas

  All the cars break

 often hilariously

she: i am glad you are not a sister wife

  for a variety of reasons  Yeah, it's about like that.

Oh, no, wait, there's more.

• Regarding the tow truck driver: He went to the hospital after dropping me off, and has, so he told me, a pinched nerve and a fractured chest.
• Regarding the weather: Oh, yeah, big snow storm.
• Regarding my car: It's going to cost an arm and a leg (more than the Blue Book value of the Olds, way less than a new car), and it's not getting done until Monday or Tuesday.
• Regarding me getting home for Thanksgiving: Taking a bus would take 24 hours, due to transfers. AAA would tow my car and me back, but since I only have AAA Plus, and not AAA Premium (or rather, did only have AAA Plus — you can bet I've invested in the Premium now), it would cost $3.50 per mile after the first 100 miles. I have talked to every car rental place anywhere, and have finally acquired a Dodge Stratus I can use for the week —from Lake Placid, which is an hour away from Plattsburgh, where my car is. Just for the record, just because the Enterprise website takes your reservation, doesn't actually necessarily mean the Enterprise location you've reserved at has any vehicles on the lot.

It's about like that.

Day 23 of my month of gratitude: I am so thankful to be fortunate enough to have family who are able to be both emotionally and financially supportive in an emergency.
I am also glad, for a variety of reasons, that I am not a sister wife.

* And another one if I donate a toy for their "Toys for Tots" box.

** It is a place, but it is spelled "Keesville."

Wait

[This is Part 1 of The Plattsburgh Saga.
Here's Part 2.
Here's Part 3.
Here's Part 4.]

I'm writing this one from the front seat of my (stopped) car.

I had this whole thing written in my head, see. I'm on my way to visit my favorite Adirondackian, and for some reason the GPS sent me a different way than usual. It's not longer, so I took it, and it led me down lots of smaller country roads, places where I could think and enjoy amazing views of Lake Champlain. I was thankful, I thought, for roads less traveled by.

And then.

And then the transmission died, about an hour from my destination.

I mean, probably.

No one's looked at the car yet, but when the car stopped accelerating and then slowed nearly to a stop, I pulled over. I called my friend and asked him for the name of a mechanic closer to him I could have the car towed to. I called the mechanic, who wasn't going to be able to take me for a week, but who recommended a transmission-specific place I could call. I called that place and arranged for a tow, and then called my friend back to arrange for him to pick me up at the garage. I called my mother so she wouldn't worry that I hadn't let her know I'd arrived yet.

And now I am in my car, scribbling* out blog posts on a notepad, safe and waiting for the tow truck.

Day 22 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for roads less traveled by — and also for cell phones and AAA plus.


* I think "scratching out" sounds more like printing, and "scribbling out" sounds more like handwriting. Thoughts?

Rolling

I'm starting this post at 11:55, but am determined to finish it today.

Tonight was bowling night, see, as Monday nights are.

I'm in a GLBTQ league at the local bowling alley, see, and my team, Sneaky Pudding, consists of some fantastic folks, and we have a fantastic time. It's just good fun. And it's community is a way that's hard to come by in small-town New England. There are no gay bars here, no gay clubs. Rainbow Bowl is what we've got. Tonight, after bowling, we hung around for a bit to watch the Pats game. So, a late night before an early morning, but I'll take it.

Day 21 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for good friends and weekly nights out, for play time and community and the two (out of three) thoroughly decent games I rolled tonight.

Grab

Have you been wishing you were as grateful as I am? Or have you been thinking about putting your gratitude to the test? Need some jumping-off points? I know I got a lot out of this post from the woot! blog.

Day 20 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful that sometimes, other people have the ideas. Also, you should feel free to share yours in the comments.

Helping

The other day, my aunt, who hosts Thanksgiving for a giant mob of extended family every year, sent out this e-mail:

We plan to have turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce (whole berry), pies - the usual. If there's anything particular you want, or want to be sure we don't leave out, be sure to let me know so we can arrange it. For example, we don't usually have rolls.

And usually, I just respond with a "I'm delighted with whatever we have; I just care about the company." Some years, I decide I care a lot about creamed onions and say so. But this year, I realized that one of the high points of Thanksgiving for me comes pre-meal, and I e-mailed to say so.

We do hors d'oevres, you see. And usually those hors d'oevres are prepared and then passed by the youngest members of our clan. When someone tiny walks around with a dish of mixed nuts (which one always does), it's sweet, and you take a couple and thank him or her, and continue your conversation.

When a small child takes a tray of deviled eggs around, or celery sticks with peanut butter and mayonnaise and raisins, the adults keep a little closer eye on things, because that tray is going to tip a little, and it will go badly if it tips a lot.

But when someone tiny is serving up the tiny glasses of sherbet and cranberry juice —with spoons in them — everyone stops and holds their collective breath, because of course we can't deprive a happy tyke the opportunity to help, but ohmyGod it's full of cranberry juice ohmyGodohmyGod.

Really, there is nothing in my life like that particular combination of cheery helpfulness and danger/precariousness.


Day 19 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for moments lived on the edge, and tradition, and traditions of moments lived on the edge.