Awesome anyway

"And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'"--Kurt Vonnegut

So we're back. Security was awful, thanks to the young Nigerian man who tried to blow up a plane bound for Detroit on Christmas day. (By the way, we were driving into Detroit from Ontario on the 26th and leaving it for Pittsburgh on the 27th. The Nigerian terrorist added all kinds of extra layers of fun, especially after another passenger got sick on the exact same flight yesterday.) We had to clean our first hotel room in Pittsburgh ourselves. The Penguins lost *both* of the two games we saw, and the Red Wings won one of the two. In the first two games we saw, both of our teams actually got shut out by the opposing goalie--that's right, we saw absolutely *no* goals scored by anyone on either of our favorite teams. And you know what? It was still a better trip than going to Florida to see my family would've been! I'm not even kidding!

Due to the snowstorms, we had to leave late Monday morning for Pittsburgh, as opposed to Sunday night as we'd originally planned. We are so thankful that we didn't have to try sleeping at the airport, though, and we could negotiate with both the airline and our hotel. A lot of people didn't leave when they'd originally planned. Several of my relatives called to crow about the weather express their concern. One of my aunts actually had the nerve to try telling me that "Maybe God is telling you something." So, he's punishing a whole bunch of other airline passengers to get to us? Maybe he's punishing thousands of so-called sinners at one go? "Oh, *please*," I replied. She didn't like that. It was actually kind of a relief when another aunt chirped, "It's nice and sunny here in Florida!" At least she was trying to tempt us into going there, rather than reminding us of why we were staying away.

We got to Pittsburgh eventually, in time to clean our allegedly "clean" room and change into Penguins fangirl attire and get to Mellon Arena. I met Bill Guerin!!!! Mind you, it lasted all of thirty seconds. He autographed my T-shirt. He looks better in person, and a bit paler than I'd thought--I guess winter will do that to anybody. I suppose I can tell people I saw history happen. Martin Brodeur, goalie for the New Jersey Devils, set the all-time record for shutouts against the Penguins on the 21st. Good for him. Wish he'd made history against any other team instead. "Fuck history," I hissed to L'Ailee, much the way I did when Jimmie Johnson got his fourth championship, but I applauded tepidly like other Penguins fans. You know, because we're classy like that.

We were going to stay longer in Pittsburgh, but given the opportunity, we figured we'd be better off taking an earlier flight to Detroit. There was tons of snow in the Midwest. We knew Detroit, and all of Michigan, was depressed, but it still struck us to see just how much was boarded up and closed up. We felt especially good about spending some money there. The morning of the 23rd, we got manicures and pedicures. We found a tattoo parlor very close to the nail salon. We'd each sort of had an idea for a tattoo knocking around in our heads. It looked clean, and the two tattoo artists inside looked bored. So we got tattoos there. L'Ailee got her 13th and, she swears, final little black bat on her left arm. (She's gotten them one at a time, all over the East Coast and the Midwest, and she likes that there are small variations between individual bats. So do I.) I got an excerpt of the Vonnegut quote above just below my right wrist, in tiny deep turquoise letters: "Please notice when you are happy." We're both pleased with them--the only drawback is we can't donate blood for a year now. We think we're done getting tattoos anyway, at least for a very long time.

That night, we went to Joe Louis Arena. As a Penguins fan, it holds a special significance for me--it's the venue where the team won the Stanley Cup last season. L'Ailee's eyes got big and glittery. We'd joked about how she wasn't going to tell Pavel Datsyuk how much she liked him. When we went to the autumn 2008 race at Dover, L'Ailee stunned Kyle Busch by telling him he was "brilliant," and he quickly crashed out of the race to finish, like, 42nd. Datsyuk was one of the few star players on the Red Wings who wasn't injured. Well, she seized the opportunity to catch up to him and get her jersey autographed and tell him, in their native Russian, how much she liked him.

Then the Wings got their asses handed to them by the Chicago Blackhawks. "I am starting to get as superstitious as you are," she told me. "I almost worried that I gave him bad luck." We agreed that both the Wings and the Hawks are stupid to have Jimmy Howard and Antti Niemi, respectively, as their backup goalies rather than their main goalies--they are so clearly superior to Chris Osgood and Cristobal Huet it ain't even funny. Meanwhile, over in Pittsburgh, the Penguins were walking all over the Ottawa Senators, 8-2.
"Why the fuck didn't we go to *that* game?" I whined.
"Our timing is very bad," L'Ailee replied. Then we both looked at my tattoo, and burst out laughing.

On the 24th, we went to my great-aunt's house. She is 89, and we don't think she has many more Christmases or anything else in front of her. She's such a sweet and funny woman, though, and she loves having company over. Her daughter is well into her 60s and has her own health issues. It was good to be able to help them out a little bit. My...I suppose I call her my cousin, though it's somewhat odd when she's older than my mother...is a very conservative Evangelical Christian, like so many of the Florida relatives. However, my great-aunt cut any attempts at "witnessing" or otherwise baiting us short. "They've heard," she said gently. The daughter's tune changed pretty quickly.

We talk on the phone at least every other week, but there were still so many stories to tell. She showed us pictures of my great-grandmother (her sister) and my great-great-grandmother. We left with real treasures. I have a photograph of my great-grandmother and great-aunt as very young women now, that I will frame and display with pride, and a recipe for rugelach. My great-great-grandmother supported the family through the 1920s by making and bottling her own liquor--that's right, she was a bootlegger. My brother and I already have her whiskey recipe. Now I, and soon my brother, have her recipes for gin, red wine, and berry wine, all neatly handwritten. She made the berry wine for herself based on whatever she had handy, even after Prohibition ended and it was no longer a money-maker for her.

We drove to Ontario (they asked me not to share the name of the town) to be with L'Ailee's uncle, aunt, five of their six children, and their families on Christmas Day. It was a mostly Jewish/Pagan/atheist Christmas, and even the Christians there were far less, well, aggressive about it than we were used to on Christmas. My own relatives have told me that we're welcome to sleep in their homes, but emphasized that we'd have to sleep in separate rooms because, you know, they can't allow sinful behavior to go on under their own roofs. (Even if we're too tired to do anything but crash on the bed together, that's sinful.) So we sleep in hotels. L'Ailee's uncle and aunt had urged us to spend the night at their home when we were planning this trip, and she actually laughed when I asked, "Same room?" I am a little embarrassed to say that I teared up slightly as they showed us the guest room, with one full bed, where we would sleep. But one of L'Ailee's cousins is a gay man, and another is a bi woman, and both brought same-sex partners. I'm the only openly queer person in my family.

We talked about family and the weather. We got worried when the reports about the aborted bombing on the Detroit-bound flight came up via texts on several cell phones, and turned on the news long enough to learn the details. We shared stories and ate a lot. It's a damn good thing L'Ailee got me into hockey, because the roster for the Russian Olympic mens' team was announced that day and the World Juniors championship was coming up on the 26th. Surprisingly enough, this Russian-Canadian family was excited about both these things. Everyone but me was a Wings, Senators, or Toronto Maple Leafs fan. I made L'Ailee's aunt--actually, her whole family--laugh out loud without trying again. She jokingly asked L'Ailee, "How did you let her become a Penguins fan?," as if this was a grievous lapse in my hockey education. The redneck girl in me bubbled up: "Let, hell! Nobody *lets* me do anything." I guess it was all in keeping with the theme of our vacation. L'Ailee's uncle urged us to consider alternating between their home and my family for the holidays. We're definitely considering it.

Getting back over the border was trickier than coming up, of course. There was a lot more questioning and searching, and the line was longer. Eventually, however, we got to our hotel in Detroit, then back to Joe Louis. They played the Columbus Blue Jackets in the first part of a home-and-home series. L'Ailee didn't like the Wings' signing Todd Bertuzzi this summer--he has a justifiably bad reputation. However, she grudgingly admitted that she didn't hate him quite so much after he scored the only two Wings goals and gave the team the win. We enjoyed our only winning sports team sex of the trip because of him, so, thank you, Todd Bertuzzi.

We flew to Pittsburgh in the morning, tired but happy. The Leafs were a much better team than they had been earlier in the season. Still, it wasn't a shutout. Such a pleasure to watch Sidney Crosby score a goal in person, just feet away from me. (I did that during the New York Islanders season opener, too, but I don't get bored with it. At least I could holler out "Hell yeah!" without people around me looking homicidal this time.) The teams traded leads throughout the game. With a minute and a half to spare, our own Mike Rupp tied the game, and I whispered to L'Ailee, "Cool! We *own* overtime!" Then a Leafs player, Ian Fucking White, had to go and ruin things by scoring a winning goal in the last minute of regulation. Oh, well. I got to experience the Mellon Arena during its last season as the home of the Penguins, before the team moves to the new Consol Energy arena across the street. I got to look at Consol, too. I've said this before in other venues, but I love seeing places that I've only seen on TV come to life before my eyes. That in itself was an experience.

This morning, we skipped the free continental breakfast at the hotel in favor of breakfast at Sheetz, then dashed to the airport. We went through far more security than we liked. We weren't permitted to go to the lav or have anything on our laps in the last hour of the flight, but we'd been warned about that, so we timed things accordingly. I don't see how this or most of the other security measures enacted in response to terrorist attacks actually help--I would prefer that our government, you know, catches this shit before it happens and punishes the people who deserve it.

Then we were home. Oh, we were happy. Our cats will forgive us eventually, but they know and like the teenage boy who fed and played with them. (We don't know what we'll do when he starts college in a couple years.) We rested and took care of things and answered phone calls. We're actually kinda looking forward to going back to work tomorrow. Right now, L'Ailee is watching the Wings play the Jackets in the second part of that home-and-home series. As I type, apparently they're more interested in killing each other than scoring.

"I got to see these teams live two nights ago," L'Ailee said. "That is so great!"
"Wanna go back?"
"Oh, I would love to. But I also like to be home on my own sofa."

If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.

Compromising with my family

Can't believe I've gone over a week without blogging. Well, technically that isn't true. I actually launched a new project: Cocktails With the Penguins. It combines the (mostly very casual) cocktail recipes I've fixed myself in the kitchen when most people are getting beer, which I hate, with commentary about the Pittsburgh Penguins. I intend to name one after each member of this year's team, plus do things like red, white and blue cocktails for Team USA during the Olympics.

This is the first time I ever wrote a blog about something besides, well, me, and I'm finding that interesting--the focus becomes more narrow, in that I have to mostly keep it to the intended subject and not go into tangents, but wider, in that I'm keeping more people in mind besides myself. It's weird that I could apply myself to that blog and not this one. But, you know, cocktails and sports are easy. Smarter people than me usually beat me to current events. It's life that can get hard to write.

Right now, life is very, very cold and very, very white. It's snowed, and more is coming. Winter officially starts two days from now, but I'd say it's here already. We're supposed to be leaving Sunday night. We think we're still good to go to Pittsburgh. We're good even if we have to leave in the daytime on Monday--the first of the four games we're seeing isn't until 7 pm. Hopefully the snow won't be more than an inconvenience for anybody, but I know that won't be the case. I'm grateful that's what it is for us. Right now, behind glass and brick with the power on (knock on wood), it's beautiful. I love how snow makes everything look like it's been frosted. The cats have decided they want our bed and our blankets, even though they have fur coats. L'Ailee and I know how they feel.

Last weekend, I went to DC to spend a weekend with my mother. She tried to guilt me into spending Christmas in Florida with the entire family, but I meant it about skipping it this year and needing a break, so that was our compromise. L'Ailee didn't come. She had some classes to teach at her gym, and she was perfectly okay with that. I think my mother was, too. She didn't accept L'Ailee and her place in my life for a very long time, and then she embraced her like a second daughter, and now she's running cold again. She goes in cycles like that. She's that way with (conservative Christian) religion, too, and right now she's in a super-religious mode. Bonus. I tried to stay far away from the topic of religion; she's wanted to run to it. After almost 14 years, though, I'm a pretty committed Pagan. I don't think she gets that.

She used to just hate L'Ailee's guts consistently, though, so I'll take improvement wherever I can get it. I took sightseeing around DC with just her over a huge family reunion at someone's house, too. We both love DC. She loved showing me all the monuments (again) and taking me to a restaurant she knew and liked. We talked some, and it wasn't bad. Plus, of course we went to say goodbye to sweet Tai Shan, the National Zoo's panda boy who's bound for China. The security guard smiled and said, "Follow the trail of tears." Neither of us cried, though. He's so sweet and playful, and we'll miss seeing him on the PandaCam, but we think he'll be better off in a big Chinese preserve among peers.

Of all the Cousins, a/k/a my generation, of my family, I am the oldest by eons. (Actually, 7 years, because my brother was born when I was 7, and then my first cousin came along when I was 11. I'm 35 now.) I have always loved bringing L'Ailee to the reunions with me not only for moral support, not just because she's my spouse as much as anyone else's, but because it's so wonderful to have one other person my age in the place. One of the Cousins is 17 years old, and he called last night.

I think he's hurt that we're not coming. He says he understands in words, but his tone of voice said something else. I do feel bad about that. L'Ailee and I like the Cousins a lot. The 17-year-old is a really thoughtful, bright, kind boy, and whenever his parents annoy me, I always remind myself that whatever else my uncle and aunt have done, they've raised *him*.

He wanted a few tips on beading. I used to bead a lot, except that now me and L'Ailee and several female friends and relatives have tons of jewelry. Years ago, I brought my beading box while I was babysitting him and his younger brother. Mother's Day was coming up, and they asked me if I could make their mother something. I knew an activity when I saw it! Instead of making her something, I had the younger one string a bracelet for her and the older one making earrings. Our grandmother asked if I planned to "turn them gay, too." I told her that eventually, they'd probably have girlfriends and need to make something for them. Well, it happened. The 17-year-old is making earrings and a necklace for his girlfriend. I won't lie; it felt good to know that I'd inspired that a long time ago.

He asked me if we could "at least" be there for his high school graduation in June. "Of course!" I blurted out. "I wouldn't miss it for the world! I know [L'Ailee] feels the same way." It's true. She's always exhausted on Friday nights because she has a huge class load that day, so she was asleep while we talked. This morning, I had to tell her she wants to go to Florida for a couple days in June. (The festivities will be on a weekend, TTG--only one vacation day needed!) When I told her who it was for, she had no problem at all. I had him put his mother on the phone, and she's fine with it. She should be--we've given him homework help by phone and e-mail more than once! Besides, he's on track to be salutatorian. He deserves lots of cheering.

So many of my relatives have, like, black belts in guilt. For so long, I've let them turn me 13 again. I feel much more adult in the way I'm dealing with them, even if my methods involve a lot of avoidance at the moment. (And hockey! We're looking forward to those games even though her Red Wings are as decimated by injuries as...my Penguins were last month.) I'll have to learn other methods. But I've already said quite strongly, "I no longer respond to guilt or manipulation. If you want me around, you're going to have to act like it!" I made the woman I love, who loves me back, happy in the process. Maybe some of you don't get what I'm going on about or why that's such a big deal to me. But I feel pretty damned good right now.

Whatever you have celebrated or will be celebrating, may winter be good to you.

Links, links:

New Jersey Republicans are promoting a strengthened same-sex civil unions law as a consolation prize for its LGBT citizens. I remember when the civil unions were strongly protested.

Also from Box Turtle Bulletin, a British rugby legend comes out.

Why it's okay for atheists to celebrate the winter holidays

Queen Victoria was a far more ambitious and passionate woman than many people would guess, and the movie The Young Victoria shows it. Check this review out, then check the movie out!

Finally, also from Salon, here is an extremely fun and interesting cocktail recipe that's nothing like the stuff on my Cocktails With the Penguins site. I wish I was this creative, and yet I'm sort of grateful I'm not this creative. I know L'Ailee is, too!

Hot links for a cold night

While my wife is definitely more than hot enough, there has been some other hotness burning through my computer wires the past couple days, and so I'll be sharing it. I'm starting off with sports--hey, don't you groan at me! I'm ending with other subjects, and anyway, at least there will be no mention of any golf players named after big cats here. (Well, after that one.)

* The Pittsburgh Penguins made their annual trip to a local children's hospital bearing gifts for kids who can't go home for the holidays. Awww. The only thing cuter would be *real* penguins in Santa hats. You know the Pens are secure in their masculinity just by looking at their sweaters. How about their big, bad enforcer Eric Godard (center) and their tough winger Bill Guerin (right) playing tea party in pretty tiaras? You wouldn't see any Flyers doing that!

* The beautiful and talented Tony Stewart presented his Stewie Awards to other drivers. It's mostly an opportunity to joke and swap stories. Smoke and Juan Pablo Montoya, who I also rather enjoy looking at, ended the season at Homestead on a mature, classy note by deliberately spinning each other out and ruining each others' cars. But, as you can see from this clip of Montoya accepting his award for best in-car radio communication, they really don't hate each other at all! Hope they remember that at Daytona next year! And if they don't, I hope they have the decency to have their fist fight in front of a camera, 'cause that will replace the sea goddess above as my blog logo.

* Speaking of racing, the story of the year is finally settled. Danica Patrick will be racing part-time with JR Motorsports, a/k/a Dale Earnhardt, Jr's company. Honestly, I have not been as impressed with her as, um, some of my readers. But she isn't at all bad to look at in a fireproof suit, and I hope she opens the door for other women. (Not just because that would be a fantastic day for a bi NASCAR fan, either.) I'd love to see her win Nationwide races!

* Sinead O'Connor celebrated her 43rd birthday yesterday by getting angry at the Pope. Again. But this time, she used her words. Good words, too, though she needs a proofreader. (I'll volunteer! I've got lots of experience with proofreading for smart, gorgeous women who can't spell or punctu...OW, damn it!) There's also this interview about her feelings toward the Church and her new single for the GEMS charity.

* Like every other woman-loving femme in NYC, I adore Rachel Maddow. It's easy when you see things like her awesome takedown of an ex-gay ministry promoter who had it coming.

* In Uganda, a bill is currently being debated that would force gay and lesbian people to undergo conversion "therapy." That is actually sort of good news, sadly enough. I am extremely interested in how American "pro-family" groups will respond to this modification.

* I thought Pottery Barn's ultra-neutral Christmas trees were awful. Then I saw this War-on-Christmas, or "CHRISTmas", tree for people who think regular trees just aren't Christian enough. No, it is not a joke. Yes, it's ugly and tacky and joyless and even, um, not really appropriate for celebrating the *birth* of Jesus. Consider the people who'd buy such a thing! See more, if you dare, at Boss Creations' website.

* How about something to put under that CHRIST-mas tree? Cory Silverberg at About.com Sexuality came up with this illustrated luxury sex toy gift list, and then another list with a more realistic budget. You know, for that hard-to-buy-for relative. I don't have to tell you these are completely and totally NSFW, right?

* There was actually some good panda news! When I saw the subject line "Zoo Atlanta panda announcement", I clicked with fear and dread in light of DC's beautiful boy Tai Shan leaving us soon. But only Mei Lan, their three-year-old girl, is leaving soon, and like Tai's departure, it's on schedule. The parents are staying five more years!!!! I'm *very* happy about this, because this bodes well for the DC panda parents sticking around, too.

* Finally, the inevitable happened. Christmas carol burnout hit my office. Here is a cure. I discovered this last year and made an entire department howl "That is SO WRONG!" by sending the MP3 file to my work husband. Now you can appall, astonish, and delight someone else with this YouTube rendition of the infamous "Chipmunks Roasting On An Open Fire," complete with lyrics.

A tale of two fandoms

Over at Pensburgh, a Pittsburgh Penguins fan blog, I recently started a series of cocktail recipes/commentaries that highlight individual players' notable achievements, from screaming "Aw, fuck!" really loudly on live TV to cleaning some jerk's clock in a fight to a five-point game with a hat trick. Alcohol is about the only creative medium in which I can make something worth sharing. That or furniture.

I named one the Lucky 13 after Bill Guerin for scoring a game-tying goal with less than a second to spare. I liked it almost as much as I like seeing him in his undershirt. I thought the combination of apple cider, pomegranate liqueur, and bourbon would be good for Thanksgiving dinner, and suggested it to my brother when he visited.

"So why 'Lucky 13'?" my brother asked.
"She named it after the hockey player she is going to leave me for," L'Ailee joked.
"That is so wrong," I said. "I mean, you're the one who introduced me to hockey. I wouldn't even know who or what a Bill Guerin was if it weren't for you. So it would be really cruel if I ran off with a hockey player. Anyway, you know I'm leaving you for Tony Stewart."
"You bisexual women are all the same!" she tried to fake-sob. (She has a mean-spirited bitch concerned lesbian friend who's been trying to convince her that I'm going to run off with an attractive pizza boy for the past few years.)

My brother and sister-in-law had many questions after that. L'Ailee and I get a lot of questions from a lot of people, in real life and online. "Why do you like the Penguins if a Red Wings fan got you into hockey?" "How did you let her become a Penguins fan?" "How did a Russian become a NASCAR fan?" "Why do you like Kevin Harvick?" "You're from Florida--why would you like hockey?" And, of course, the ever-irritating, "Be honest--are you *really* into it, or are you just trying to please her?" So, I decided to answer some of them here, and now I have a little time. I'm putting several bits and pieces that I hinted at before together.

I was quite literally born into racing fandom--my mother was 8 months pregnant with me when my father got into a fiery wreck on a dirt track (he was okay, thank the Gods), and went into labor almost instantly. Daddy always liked to watch racing with me when it was on TV. We went to the Daytona races every year, too. He venerated Richard Petty and taught me to do the same. I yearned to be the first woman to win the Daytona 500. My father encouraged me, but he died when I was seven and the encouragement went with him. I feel so connected to my father and paternal grandfather whenever I watch--well, maybe not so much when I start playing NASCAR-edition Cyanide with my friends, but still. As I mentioned in my last post, it is also one of the few "safe topics" I have for some of my living relatives.

I always love the middle of February, because it contains both Valentine's Day and the Daytona 500. My great-uncle had asked me whether I wanted to go to the 500 with him. He said I could bring a guest. Of course I said, "Hell yes!", though there was no available guest in sight. L'Ailee and I still lived apart in February 2004, her in NYC and me in Orlando, though we were engaged. She surprised me days before the race by telling me she'd bought a plane ticket and was coming down for Valentine's weekend. What do I do, what *do* I do? Well, I took a shot and asked her whether she'd like to go to the race, fully prepared for her to tell me "no" and then some. Much to my surprise, she said "yes"! "You love that race so much," she said. "Since we are going to be married, I think I need to try to understand why you love it." Um, okay, sounds good.

I have also mentioned that she's shaved her head almost continuously since our senior year of high school. She was trying to let her hair grow for our wedding, but it was still very, very short. People stared at her. When the second kind older woman started waxing sympathetic under the assumption that L'Ailee was brave-facing her way through chemotherapy, she decided she really needed a cap. The number 29 one went with her gray T-shirt and black shorts. "Is this a good driver?" L'Ailee asked. I had to think a second--oh, it was Kevin Harvick! "Yeah, Harvick's decent. He took over Dale Earnhardt's car after he died and did a really good job of it." L'Ailee bought the cap and kept an eye on the car that matched her outfit during the race. Harvick does well at Daytona.

I have loved Tony Stewart since his rookie year in Sprint Cup (1997). His driving style is exciting without being overly stupid, he can slice his way from the back to the front like a chainsaw through butter, and he's ridiculously easy to read. I had a crush on him before I even really knew what he looked like. He does well at Daytona too, but he's never quite sealed the deal at the 500. It's so strange to me that he and his red #14 merchandise are really popular now. At the time, wearing his orange #20 gear required the ability to debate and handle trash talk--I used to joke that my having been part of a champion high school debate team prepared me to be a Tony Stewart fan.

Our section was full of Dale Earnhardt, Jr's number 8 red T-shirts. Stewart came so, so painfully close to winning. Junior came up behind him in second. (Remember when that was a threat, NASCAR fans?) I started cheering loudly for Stewart. L'Ailee noticed that I was alone, and started cheering for Stewart herself just to make me feel less lonely. Junior won it. In the parking lot, L'Ailee told me, "Don't be sad. If Tony Stewart had won, all of these Junior fans would have torn him apart after the race." Wow, she'd picked up the subtle nuances of the sport *fast*!

From there on in, she was hooked. She learned NASCAR's point system quickly, even started totaling points for the drivers we liked herself on a legal pad during the race. She easily understood why short track racing is different from superspeedway racing. She asked me the differences between "clean air" and "dirty air", or "tight" and "loose" race cars. She decided that Kevin Harvick really was a good driver. She likes her drivers aggressive--Kyle Busch and Juan Pablo Montoya are also favorites of hers. L'Ailee also likes that Ryan Newman has a college degree, but he doesn't have enough of a killer instinct for her taste.

L'Ailee grew up in a very different part of the world than I did, in Eastern Siberia. Hockey was simply what everyone watched and followed. I will never forget her quietly explaining that the Miracle on Ice, a/k/a the US team defeating the superior-on-paper Russian team in the 1980 Olympics, wasn't so miraculous for her. Being a very small, fast, and flexible girl, she was expected to participate in gymnastics year round and to figure skate during the long winter. She did both. But in that tiny girl body beat the heart of a hockey defenseman. Her uncle sawed off a hockey stick for her, and she went out on her figure skates to kick boys' and a few bigger girls' asses.

L'Ailee followed NHL hockey shortly after emigrating to the US in her teens, though she didn't really have a favorite team ("The Rangers, I suppose. I was in New York."). She preferred to play with her big male friends during the winter, and she was overjoyed to discover field hockey in high school, where a fast little girl could kick ass on the grass. Then the Detroit Red Wings took on some amazing Russian players. L'Ailee and her best friend A. became extremely interested in the Russian Five, and by extension, the Red Wings and the NHL. Though the Red Wings are now dominated by Swedish players, L'Ailee and A. still love Pavel Datsyuk, their Russian center. They wear their Datsyuk jerseys proudly.

I moved to NYC in the autumn of 2004. Hockey wasn't an issue then, because of the lockout. However, the NHL was a going concern again in the 2005-2006 season. Since she'd learned my sport and enjoyed it, she expected me to give hockey a chance. I couldn't get into it. As a proud Florida Cracker, I thought of hockey as something only "transplants" watched. I turned up my nose at it--it seemed to go along with Northerners telling me I talked too slow and bitching about how we had no culture. But as L'Ailee pointed out, I was a transplant now, in a place where there were actual winters.

Sometimes L'Ailee could guilt me into staying on the couch with her and watching a period. It helped that she liked to deep-kiss me to celebrate a Wings goal. Also, she felt like "celebrating" when the Wings won, especially if it was a particularly decisive or hard-won game, so I damn sure wanted to stick around for that. She patiently explained terms like "icing" and "offsides" to me. One day in 2006, I noticed another team, when she was watching a non-Wings game just for the hell of it. They wore these jerseys with hockey playing penguins on them. I liked that--I love black and white animals. "The Pittsburgh Penguins," L'Ailee said. "They look tough, don't they?"
There was this shorter, stockier player moving really fast. He was keeping the puck away from the Penguins' opponents. The camera zoomed in on his face. "Wow, he's young," I said.
"Still eighteen, I think. That is Sidney Crosby."
I have a damn near photographic memory, and that name rang a bell. "I've seen that name!"
"Then you know how good he is supposed to be." She shrugged. "Half of it might be true." Coming from her, that is high praise for a player who is neither a Red Wing nor a Russian. Speaking of which, Crosby changed places with a taller, lankier kid who was almost as fast and just as good at bedeviling his opponents. "Evgeni Malkin. He is also young, and he's Russian. Very good player." I found myself liking their energy and teamwork. The minutes slipped away, and we both realized I'd watched almost an entire hockey game without complaining. Later, I looked up the Penguins online. I liked what I saw. As with Tony Stewart, I also liked how several of the Penguins, especially Crosby, were as easy to read as the Cat in the Hat. Since Crosby was so young, I figured I'd get in on the ground floor of something good, like L'Ailee with Kyle Busch. I didn't realize that the ground floor had started before his voice first cracked.

We didn't realize quite a few things, like how quickly gifted young players such as Crosby, Malkin, and their goofy goalie Marc-Andre Fleury would propel the team from the Least of the East to the Stanley Cup. We didn't know that our teams would face each other in the Stanley Cup Finals two years in a row and become rivals. We didn't know that we'd snipe at each other over it, to the point where I had to say last year, "Look, it's just a game. We can't let it get to us like this." (We've decided that we're going to kiss each other on every goal no matter what the next time the Penguins and the Red Wings play.) I certainly didn't think I'd ever like this team enough to buy jerseys, let alone plan a trip that revolves around watching our teams play live at home. No, what L'Ailee knew at the time was that I finally took an interest in her sport and understood the need for her to have the NHL Center Ice cable package. She used to pay for it out of her own checking account. We now pay for it out of the shared "household" account.

L'Ailee has divided loyalties and a few pieces of Harvick, Busch, and Montoya merchandise, which she'll wear together in different combinations. I have a blue Crosby jersey, a white Crosby jersey, a Crosby jersey-styled T-shirt, Penguins earrings, and a few signs and stickers. I want a Guerin T-shirt. We have been told that if we're real fans, we'll watch when the other one isn't watching. This has held true. NASCAR Sprint Cup (top tier) races were delayed until Monday twice due to rain. L'Ailee usually has Mondays off. She watched and texted me updates throughout both races, as well as a couple that I missed because I took interior decorating jobs. She's usually exhausted on Friday nights due to a large load of classes at her gym, and I have watched Friday night Penguins games while she slept or kept tabs on her Red Wings.

Sports are never *just* sports. There are so often other connections involved, whether familial or geographic or romantic. No wonder teams and drivers can take such a hold on peoples' minds. For L'Ailee and I, our sports provided us an opportunity to understand each other that much better. We've casually taught each other new things about our lives during commercials--that sawed-off hockey stick that was still too thick for her tiny hands, the car I constructed out of milk crates, duct tape, and bicycle training wheels and "won" several Daytona 500s in as a little girl. We've taught and learned from each other. We've smiled as that knowledge took hold in the other. When she pounded a couch cushion because Kyle Busch was out of the Chase for the Championship, when I cussed because the Penguins were losing their entire defense to injuries, we knew. We weren't just "giving it a chance" to please each other anymore. There was no more "her thing" and "my thing." They were both our things, to enjoy together.

Links, in case you can stand to read any more:

Remember that same-sex marriage vote in the New York State Senate? Queens senator Hiram Monserrate voted "no." He has just now been sentenced to three years' probation for domestic violence against his girlfriend. LGBT New Yorkers, when you're hungry for a shining role model to teach you what real morality's all about...

Same-sex marriage debate flow chart, or, why I get burned the fuck out.

New study: Monkeys can recognize their friends in photographs.

Part of the fun of getting older is that Gen Xers can wring our hands over a new generation's entertainment. For instance, in this piece about how to talk to teenage girls about New Moon, the Twilight saga, and Bella. It's not just concern-trolling, though--there are some good points.

The next right-wing media mogul

Since the decade is winding up (thank the Gods!), there are lots of "best/worst of the decade" lists coming. This list of embarrassing political moments will make you laugh and cringe.

Don't you wish Sinead O'Connor had a new CD or something coming out? Well, I do. Until then, I have to content myself with an awesome new remix of "This Is to Mother You." Buy it, and you're making a small donation to help girls caught up in sex trafficking. Mary J. Blige and Ali Shaheed Muhammad are also involved, so you know it's good.

The piper must be paid

Shortly after I started my Blogspot blog in the summer of 2005, a panda cub was born in Washington, DC. The National Zoo put up a PandaCam that allowed us to watch him grow from a squally pink "stick of butter" to a beautiful black and white bear. He would be named "Tai Shan," Chinese for "Peaceful Mountain," and Tai Shan would become a sensation. He reawakened my childhood love for pandas. Of course, anyone who read my blog could see that pretty easily, as I posted links and panda pictures quite frequently.

He'd go to China. We knew that. All American zoo pandas are rented from China, and American-born cubs are considered Chinese property, too. He was supposed to go after 2 years, but his time in Washington, DC was extended to 4 years. Well, now it's time to pay the piper. He's leaving us in January or February 2010. The National Zoo was considerate enough to post a a FAQ, which of course doesn't answer what we really want to know. DCist.com has put up a photo gallery documenting his extreme cuteness.

He's a big boy now, literally and figuratively. He weighs almost 200 pounds and is just about ready to father some cubs. He paces around his yard in the zoo. Of course he needs his natural environment and other pandas around. Of course it's time for him to go. Of course the world needs more pandas.



Tai Shan's personality (pandality?) is as lovable as his sweet face and chubby body. He's a bright, curious animal who sniffs *everything* in his yard and learns quickly. I have faith that after some adjustment, he'll enjoy learning all there is to learn in his large new home. But I still have to promise myself that I'm not gonna cry.

I have three tattoos. One is my home state of Florida above my heart, which I got shortly before leaving for NYC. One is my father's race car number in the crook of my left elbow, which matches the one my brother has. And then there is my tramp stamp, a drawing modeled on this photo of Tai Shan from three years ago:



L'Ailee thought it was hilarious, in a good way: "Your panda is so friendly!" she'd exclaim during an intimate moment. She gallantly said she knew why Tai Shan looked so happy, because he had a good view of my rear. My doctors and women in my locker room have remarked on this tattoo as well. (Not many other people have seen it.) I have a souvenir of the wonderful moments where I could count on Tai's goofy sweetness to heal any little hurts I was feeling, and of course, there are other pandas for me to look at and love, too. One day I may even get to go to China and touch one.

I introduced my mother to the PandaCam shortly after Tai's birth. She lived and worked close to DC. Soon we began laughing about Tai's exploits--climbing, wrestling his mother, staying up in his tree alllll night. The National Zoo pandas and NASCAR were and are "safe subjects" for us. We don't have many, especially not this year. Next weekend, I'm going to DC to meet her. (Probably L'Ailee is, too, but we're not sure yet.) We planned to see the pandas. Now we're going to say goodbye. I don't want to, but I'm grateful that I can.

And it don't stop

Today the New York State Senate finally voted on legalizing same-sex marriage in New York. The vote was "no." Jeremy at Good-As-You has posted a rogue's gallery of state Senators who voted no.

This morning, L'Ailee and I called our Senator's office. We both told their staffers how we spent almost $13,000 on our wedding. (Most of it was helping our relatives and friends with hotel and plane expenses. We didn't tell them that.) We asked them whether they'd prefer the money had stayed in New York instead of going to Massachusetts; in both cases, they said yes. I also told the staffer I got that I'm bisexual. I mentioned that I have loved men, that the love of my life who I married is a woman, and that they are equal in my heart. "No, that's not true," I corrected myself. "[L'Ailee] means more. But the law treats us like it's just trivial, and I could have married a man I knew for a day and had that taken more seriously. I don't think that's right."

"I don't, either," replied the staffer. "That's a new one on me, but that's not fair." I was glad to represent a bi perspective, if that really was a new one on him. He then asked me when I moved to New York. "Five years ago, from Florida, to be with her," I said, hoping to shore up my points. "That's why you sound Southern!" he replied excitedly. Okay. My senator voted yes, anyway.

We didn't lose anything. Our marriage, conducted out of state, is still considered legal here. And now we know where we stand with the State Senate. It's still demoralizing as all hell. We remember how in our last year of high school, lo these many years ago, we thought same-sex marriage would be legal in Hawaii and we'd go there after we graduated college. Yeah, life usually doesn't work out as we plan it when we're 18, I know. But it's getting fucking old.

I was going to post about Thanksgiving, and maybe I still will. It was good, and I actually didn't want to kill my brother even once! I also wanted to write about how L'Ailee and I came to embrace each others' sports, because we've gotten a lot of questions about that recently. That'll come later. So will the (hopefully) fun and interesting links. Tonight we cuddled, and I cried a little, and she held me while she teared up a little herself. I don't have to be patient for that. I don't have to wait on any elected official to find their compassion or pluck up their courage for that. I don't have to appeal to other voters for that. I remembered that the important part, the hard part, has already been done. We found and stayed with each other. I told L'Ailee that, and she smiled slightly. "I feel less tired and less angry," she said.

Pizza Week

I learned today that my beloved L'Ailee refers to the week before Thanksgiving as "Pizza Week." And her friends know exactly what she's talking about. Actually, its full name is "To Hell With This, We're Getting a Pizza Week," though sometimes we get Indian or Vietnamese takeout, too. We are entering do or die time for American home cooks, and I'm starting to stress over a big meal with family and friends just a tiny little bit.

Yeah, I said family! Everything seemed so iffy, but I just found out my brother and his wife are coming up here and staying for the ennnnnntire weekend! The Dorkfish and I will want to kill each other by Sunday morning, and L'Ailee and I will be thrilled to have our house back on Sunday night, but the first couple days are really worth it. Among other things, I'll be happy to see him because he'll fix the turkey and take care of the leftovers with L'Ailee. He loves turkey and is amazing at making it, which is good because I can't stand touching raw meat and I'm allergic to everything that ever wore feathers. I'll make everything else, and our wives will help us clean. It works.

Some of you know this, but some of you don't--my female cousin is married to one of her male cousins. They met at our wedding. They're coming for dinner, too, though they'll be staying at a hotel and blowing out of town on Friday afternoon. My cousin will have just enough time to shop on Black Friday with L'Ailee. They are both very tiny, fiercely competitive women, and I am going to have to make them promise not to fight over shoes or clothing. Once in Florida, my aunt made the mistake of setting up Dance Dance Revolution in her basement for the Cousins, and L'Ailee and my cousin were both fantastic at it. They didn't come up for dinner with everyone else. After fifteen minutes, they said they'd finish in "just a minute". After the turkey was almost completely demolished, some of us went downstairs and found them stripped down to their bras, sweaty hair plastered to their heads, still trying to prove their DDR supremacy. My aunt unplugged the game and pissed them both off. She was brave.

That takes care of most of the relatives I'd miss around Christmas. I finally told my mother we're not coming to Florida for Christmas. (To very briefly recap something I've already agonized over in earlier posts, some of my aunts and uncles are homophobic, and they've always been conservative, but they got downright radicalized since Obama was elected. My mom's going that way, too.) It was not a brief or easy conversation. She kept saying she'd pay for our room or our flight, and didn't quite understand when I told her that wasn't the issue at all. It was really difficult to tell her we were going to go to Detroit and Pittsburgh to watch our teams play hockey in their home arenas instead. (My work husband told me I shouldn't have said that, but Dorkfish knows, and we bought the Detroit tickets from L'Ailee's cousin. Better for her to find out from me.) L'Ailee always chokes up when she needs to say something real and doesn't think I'll like or understand it. I started tugging my earlobes and pressing my lips like she does. It looks like she's trying to find the button that'll make the words come out. I suppose I looked the same way, but TTG, Mom couldn't see it.

Mom accused us of wanting to be "in a bubble" with like-minded people, and then of being superficial. It took a great deal of effort, but I told her how L'Ailee and I both stayed surface-y to try and avoid trouble, how we'd manage to find trouble anyway, how very hard she and I had both worked at family reunions. "We don't want to work anymore, at least not this year," I said. "We think we deserve a real vacation." This set her off anew.

Eventually we somehow decided that we'd like to see each other before the year is out anyway. I'm still not quite sure how we got there. So I'm going to Washington DC the second weekend of December, and probably L'Ailee is, too. We'll have lunch and visit with the National Zoo's beautiful panda family and look at monuments. I'm kinda dreading it, but I'm also kinda glad we found a way to see each other somehow. It'll definitely be more comfortable than a full family reunion.

Of course, it's not just family that can stress me. There's work--not talking about that, it just swings from busy-busy to boring-boring and back like always when the end of the year approaches. And then there's my night/weekend job. I just finished what was going to be a transformation of a room from a home office to a nursery for an expected baby. It blew up into a redo of the whole apartment. Awesome! The clients are a married lesbian couple, and one of the ladies is pregnant. They were thrilled to have a queer female interior decorator. That's good, too.

But...oh, this sounds arrogant...one of the clients seemed interested in me. The other was most definitely interested in the bi female builder who was helping out. And the builder, who is at least single, was flirting with the straight male painter. Much too much potential for drama, and I didn't like it one bit. The project finally wrapped up this Sunday. I was never so grateful to collect my pay and have my traditional post-project drink with the contractors in my life. When I left the bar, the builder and the painter were ordering another drink. Good for them. And good for me, because I got to rush home to my wife.

Fun links for a not-so-fun news week:

How can atheists be thankful on Thanksgiving, or any day? Austin Cline addresses that question nicely. For L'Ailee, my brother, and my SIL, it means thanking people rather than Gods.

"If your mom can impale people, you're cute." Actually, I think baby rhinos are cute anyway.

But it may be easier for some people to see the cuteness in little Yun Zi, the San Diego Zoo's panda boy, who just got his name!

Things have changed a lot for the pandically cute Tony Stewart, but he's still skewering other NASCAR drivers with his Stewie Awards. Here are the nominations. I always love the ones for in-car radio communication.

Finally, Jones Soda recognizes vegetarians with their perfectly revolting Tofurkey-flavored soda. Since tradition must be maintained, I believe Dorkfish and I may be continuing our tradition of daring guests to drink something revolting for money with the help of this soda. The Jones Zilches in the box will be mine. :-)

The State Senate vote didn't happen

Just to update the post I wrote late last night, the State Senate won't be voting on same-sex marriage today. Disappointing, but I can actually be persuaded that the $3 billion budget deficit should take priority. We'll have other opportunities, and not too far away, either.

Thinking about...

I can't sleep. Not my first time at that rodeo. I have a headache, and there's some stuff that's just absolutely making me buzz anyway. So I decided to share some of what I'm thinking about with y'all.

* I'd love to say something smart about the health care vote, but can't. I'm still working out how I feel about it, and what it's all going to be called when it's at home. Part of my day job involves processing benefits paperwork, and I know that's going to change. I only really know that things can't get worse for many people, especially in this economy, and I hope things get better for some. Senate's gotta vote on it first anyhow.

* At least the recession's led to fewer burglaries nationwide!

* Same-sex marriage vote in the New York State Senate tomorrow!!!! I have that roller-coaster sick feeling about it, elated and excited and scared all at once. We just lost marriage in Maine, to a slight majority of voters, in an incredibly nasty high-stakes popularity contest. I don't want to propel the "pro-family" crowd, which always overlooks *our* families and children, to vote on our marriages in New York. Great Green Gaia, we've had two years of that shit in a row! Yet it's ridiculous that we can be considered legally married in New York, but have to go out of state to get married. I'll bet some politicians would simply like to get some marriage license money and make sure some wedding money stays in the state! I know L'Ailee and I would love to have gotten married close to home in Brooklyn instead of having to go to Massachusetts, where we'd never even *been*. (Well, that or go to the Daytona International Superspeedway and marry in the infield right before the Daytona 500, but that dream simply was *not* going to happen for me.)

Living in fear sucks. It's my favorite T-shirt for a reason. My therapist tells me I worry ten steps ahead, and anyway, I don't actually want to surrender to fear or bigotry. Governor Paterson is willing to be brave. Mayor Bloomberg, even though we don't like him, is also standing up for same-sex couples' right to marry. We like him a bit better tonight. There are still some state senators who are officially undecided, and still some time to contact their offices.

* A lot of people are thinking about the Fort Hood shooting for a lot of very good reasons, but Jason Rodriguez' shooting up his former office in Orlando is what made all the blood drain from my face. I'd just been to Orlando for Samhain, and I used to work very close to that office building a few years back. Initial reports said that two people were dead and 17 were injured. One dead and 5 injured is still horrible, especially to their families, but still. TTG, the injured victims are starting to recover.

* Fashion seems like a really trivial thing sometimes, except that there are places where a person can be beaten, arrested, even subjected to amputation or death for their choice of clothing, makeup, and accessories. Pakistan is one of those places, particularly in areas where the Taliban dominate. Last week, they had Fashion Week in the capitol city of Karachi. The designers, models, and stylists knew the security risks and had fun with it anyway. The combination of beauty and bravery is a true inspiration.

* I meant what I said about the NASCAR Sprint Cup season being over for me this year. I worked on an interior decorating project that just seems to keep on growing. But it wasn't over for L'Ailee. Kyle Busch had already won the truck race on Friday and the Nationwide (second-tier) race on Saturday, so L'Ailee wanted to watch her boy go for the weekend trifecta. Nobody's won that yet--poor Kyle ended up just a few laps shy of it because he ran out of gas, and his brother Kurt won the Sprint Cup race instead. Anyway, L'Ailee demonstrated just how well she knows and loves me. She texted, "J johnson crashed out!!!! Only 3rd lap! Hopeless 4 him in race! Game changer!"

Well. I ducked into a closet and called her. I never, ever let myself gloat over a wreck--I consider it very bad karma, for lack of a better word, and anyway, I didn't know Jimmie Johnson's condition. My first question, of course, was, "Is he hurt?" L'Ailee replied, "He is perfectly fine. There was never a problem with him, only his car. You may smile now." Damn if I didn't smile!

* Why the fuck won't the Heroes writers kill Sylar and Matt and Nathan for good, preferably in a really painful and embarrassing fashion?!?! WHY?!?! I am so sick of them all. Most of their female characters stay dead, after all (except Charlie the waitress, for now, and a kazillion super-powered and weak-minded women who all look like Ali Larter). That show is definitely a poor woman's The 4400.

* The remake of V got off to a decent start, though. I fondly remember how the first one gave me nightmares when I was 10 years old and had to sneak to watch it. Speaking of The 4400, I love that the actor who played Tom Baldwin on that show is on V. But oh, Anna (the "visitor" spokeswoman/leader) is deliciously creepy and creepily delicious. She's what Zachary Quinto and the Heroes writers are trying to do with Sylar. I usually don't get crushes on actresses, but damn, Morena Baccarin is fiiiiiiine! I might've made a few tasteless jokes about "doing it reptile style" last week.

* We have five very good Pittsburgh Penguins players who are out due to various injuries. Max Talbot, Tyler Kennedy, Evgeni Malkin (that was the one who made me cry), Sergei Gonchar, and now Kris Letang--three forwards and two defensemen. That is enough to play a game if you add in a goalie, and knock on wood, no goalies will be added. I'm going to TiVo V and watch Tuesday's game anyway, pausing only to see how the Senate vote, if it happens, goes.

Meet the new year, same as the old year

"If the type of hatred, and the name calling and the lies and innuendo is the soul of our party, all is not well with thy soul."--Dede Scozzofava, former Republican Congressional candidate, NY-23

Wednesday morning, L'Ailee and I turned on the TV before anything--feeding the cats, feeding ourselves, taking our bath, etc. We knew that Michael Bloomberg was still our mayor (though more New Yorkers than we anticipated also wanted someone, anyone, else), that Chris Christie was New Jersey's governor-elect, that Dan Halloran from Queens had become NYC's first openly Pagan City Council member. Poor Dede Scozzofava was bullied out of the campaign for NY-23, but at least that jackass Doug Hoffman and his allies didn't get away with it. We learned more details about Anthony Sowell. That was gruesome, and so was the resulting conversation, in which we totally put each other off our breakfast. (At least we can be grateful that this was our concern.) What we wanted to know about was Maine. Well, we all know how that turned out by now, don't we? I'm not just a woman, I'm a Pisces woman, and I cry at least once a day whether I need to or not. I needed to this time.

So fucking tired of these votes, though. These battles. Imagine all the time and money and energy spent on denying same-sex couples legal rights applied to real problems. Imagine all our time and money and energy applied to real problems, too, instead of constantly having to defend ourselves and each other. It sucks even when it's not your marriage and your state. Jeremy at Good As You (G-A-Y) put it so eloquently yesterday. It's a referendum on people like *you* and whether your lives and loves are "acceptable." It's a soul beatdown.

The Pittsburgh Penguins are playing in California this week, which means the games are later for East Coast residents like us. So I TiVo'ed the Anaheim Ducks game on Tuesday night. We decided to watch that, because we needed something to cheer us up. TTG, the Pens delivered after an awful first period. Pascal Dupuis, who never scores goals, scored the game-winner, and Sidney Crosby decided to play goalie and stop a shot with his thighs while Marc-Andre Fleury was distracted. (It happens. I'm anticipating ads for adult ADD medication featuring Fleury one day.)

As usual, L'Ailee gave me the "Stop it, I'm here!" hair tug because I was sighing over Bill Guerin, who wasn't accomplishing much but looked so damned yummy not doing it. It made me think. As a 50/50 bi woman, I could so easily have fallen in love with and married a man. I could have, except that things with the two men I've really loved went south after a few years. The other half of my brain happens to be in another woman's body, and I think that body's rather awesome, too. I never became any better or worse with each relationship. I just get treated better or, in the case of L'Ailee, worse. I'm the same woman with a man or a woman, with the same strengths and weaknesses. If I'd fallen in love with a man, enough to get over my fears of abandonment and commitment and marry him, I'd never have had to remarry because a judge legally invalidated our marriage. I'd never have had to worry about a vote. I have been asked why I didn't wait for a man and make things easier on myself. I want to ask those inconsiderate people, "Why do others have to make it so much harder on people who choose a member of their own gender?"

So that bit of magick that I attempted on Samhain hasn't worked out...yet. We keep working. We keep hoping. We understand that the human mind is the hardest thing of all to change.

I have to tell y'all about the night before Samhain, last Friday. Several of my friends in Florida dragged me out to dinner almost as soon as I got off the plane, and then to clubs. In between, we found a shoe store closing down and offering deep discounts. We stopped in. I found a killer awesome pair of cowgirl boots, stitched turquoise leather on the calves and taupe suede on the feet, very reasonably priced. They actually fit! "Most women won't ask for extended calf," the snarky shoe salesman told me. "That is most womens' problem," I replied. There was a very long time when such a thing would have devastated me, but now I figure, if I want boots that fit right, I need to ask for them. Besides, this guy was very close to losing his job, and I could afford to buy a fun pair of boots. I could tolerate.

I put on these boots right in the parking lot, and we went to a country bar, of course. It was fun for a while. Then this cute redneck guy asked me to dance. I showed him my rings and said, "I'm married, okay? I just wanna dance." The guy replied, "I broke up with a girl last week. I just wanna dance, too." Okay. Now, a good country songwriter could use that as inspiration for a song or three. The one we inspired was Miranda Lambert's "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend". That's right, the woman my erstwhile dancing partner broke up with last week entered the bar and saw us. She decided to shove me and yell at me for stealing her man, despite the facts that I wasn't stealing and he was no longer her man. I tried explaining to her that I was married and going back to NYC on Sunday afternoon. This didn't work. So I gave up on using my words and handed one of my friends my earrings. She was drunk and bat-shit freaking insane, but I had some dude's beer bottle (always my weapon of choice) and a bit of my wife's martial arts training. Then our friends started jumping in. All of us were eventually asked to leave. I changed back into my regular flats, and we went to a "Grown and Sexy" night at a hip-hop club and a 90s Night at another club without incident. It was like I'd taken a time machine back to ten years ago!

As usual, I dragged myself back to the hotel very, very late after our Samhain celebration, just barely beating the sun. The staff at that hotel probably think I'm a hard-core constant partier or something. I laugh at that thought. I slept a bit, then got a breakfast that was absolutely horrible for me from the buffet downstairs (two cinnamon rolls! But they were so good!). I plugged in my cell phone and lingered in bed, just completely sprawled out for once. I talked with L'Ailee for a long time--she was very interested in the bar fight--then watched Penguins highlights. The time came to get re-packed and drag my ass back on the plane. I always mean to stay awake, because I don't want to sleep through a crash, and usually I do. This time I slept. There was no crash. There was, instead, L'Ailee waiting for me at the airport, to kiss me and inspect me for bruises and tell me that the Talladega race was boring as hell so far.

"The executives at NASCAR gave them a lot of new rules this morning," L'Ailee explained. "No bump-drafting in the corners. They said there would be penalties. So all of the drivers are just riding around in a train. All of the Chase drivers went to the back. They are being far too careful." It was as she said. Then there came the inevitable shootout to the finish within the last 50 laps, and--you may wish to avoid this if you are squeamish--Ryan Newman's scary, scary wreck, which found him literally upside down for several minutes. TTG he only chipped a couple of teeth and was sore. He got out, finally, on his own power. I cried and prayed through it. L'Ailee teared up a little, too. "They made this race boring supposedly to keep them safe!" she exclaimed as she held me. It was too much like the Daytona 500 in February 2001, when we lost Dale Earnhardt. Ex-Boy and I were there. We weren't told at the track, but everyone filed out silently. The news came over the radio shortly after we left the Daytona Beach city limits. We pulled over, and I cried, and he held me, tearing up a bit himself. When we finished, we realized that other Orlando-bound rides containing other couples and families were pulled over for the same reason.

The season's over for me this year, even though there are 3 more races. Between that and Jimmie Johnson now having an insufferably long red carpet to his fourth championship in a row, I'll find missing them very easy. I have a nursery to finish anyway. When this job's over, I'll have arms like Michelle Obama's....maybe even L'Ailee's. Roll on February 2010. Next time I cry over a race, I hope it's because Tony Stewart's finally won his Daytona 500.

Links, if you can stand to read more:

12 dead, 31 wounded at the Fort Hood Army base in Texas today. I don't have any enlightening comments, but can't let it go ignored. OhmyGods, it was our soldiers shooting our soldiers.

Justin Bourne, a former minor league hockey player and current hockey writer, wrote an interesting column on homophobia in hockey culture. Greg Wyshinski at Yahoo's Puck Daddy Blog wrote an even more interesting response. The comments are all over the map. Some are tolerant, some are jokes, some are from LGBT fans (I chimed in toward the end at Puck Daddy), and many are hostile. I understood more what happened in Maine looking at them, I think.

What's wrong with The Blind Side and other movies where white people "save" black people.

Nice to see Kirk Cameron staying busy, but I wish he'd find something else to do besides bastardize poor Charles Darwin's theory.

Finally, I wouldn't be surprised if this Onion article about United Airlines actually came true!

The biggest deal of all for Pagans

Other people have written about interesting things. Lately, I feel like I've been more inclined to write blog entries in everyone else's comment spaces instead of in my own space. My blog has been in a holding pattern for a couple weeks, with no updates, but that's because my life has been about the same way. That's all right. L'Ailee and I have learned not to search too hard for excitement, because it comes to us eventually. Anyway, L'Ailee's a bit too tired for excitement, poor baby, because she's still teaching more classes than usual at her gym.

I did a lot-lot of furniture refinishing in addition to my regular work. It amuses me how sometimes people don't understand that some canny country grandfather only "built a chair by hand" in the sense that he assembled it from a kit himself. I also have two interior decorating jobs coming up after Samhain, both turning a second bedroom into a nursery. I've done a lot of kids' rooms for some reason, but that's fine. I like to put together something that fits the kid and their current stage of life, but with an eye for their future. That means a happy but restful color scheme, nothing cheaply built, surfaces that can be easily cleaned, keeping the cartoon characters to a minimum, and lots of storage. I want to give their minds room to grow.

There is movement around us. Samhain's coming up. My plane leaves for Florida late Friday afternoon, and I have a half-day off. I sometimes have to remember that not everyone knows that October 31st is Samhain as well as Halloween, or that they think Samhain's an evil thing. I've lately had non-Pagans tell me that I make it sound "so normal." Since I've been Pagan for 13 years, I suppose it is becoming normal to me. Then again, we do things like put our departed loved ones' names on cupcakes for offerings to them. It smells really striking when we burn those and a rose for each of them in the first bonfire we set, sure, but I think some non-Pagans would find that disappointing. Maybe if I tell them the cupcakes are usually devil's food...

I can't wait to go back to Florida and celebrate this weekend. It is a new year, the day the media acknowledges our existence, a time for communing with our ancestors and departed loved ones, a powerful time for magick, and the third of the three harvest festivals. It is, in short, a very big deal. My Christian work husband is teasing me, telling me that it must obviously be the biggest deal of all for Pagans, because I'll be missing two Penguins games *and* most of Talladega's autumn race. Talladega was rather sadistically scheduled this year--it used to be the far more missable Atlanta track around Samhain. The Pittsburgh Penguins seem to have hit every single autumn, winter, and spring Sabbat in their scheduling as well, and I just know that there will be a playoff game on Beltaine (May 1st).

Anyway. About 10 years ago, I launched a coven with a few people who I'd known in mundane ways, including my best friend Yemaya O'Reilly. We celebrated one Lughnasadh (first harvest, August 1st) together, and decided to keep coming back. People kept getting interested, and we capped the membership at 13. It's supposedly a traditional number, which we got from Wicca 101 authors who probably gleaned them from medieval anti-Witch propaganda, but we also thought it was a good and manageable size for a group.

There are a few original members left, but several of us have moved on. Some have started other covens. A couple became Christians, one became a Muslim, and one became an atheist. But there are quite a few people who return "home" to this coven for Samhain, including Yemaya and I. Maybe it's because we are a family of choice, and it's a fantastic thing to see each other. How wonderful it is to see how the children are growing up and coo over the new babies and shake hands with boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, and new coven members. L'Ailee asked me twice if I felt left out because she isn't going. I do a little, but I'm not going to push it. I'm not the only one with a non-Pagan spouse staying home, either.

We often do works for upcoming elections on Samhain, when we agree. (We don't always, and I'm glad of that.) I usually think it's no coincidence that Election Days closely follow Samhain. After all, they can really change things. I don't think there will be much of a change in NYC. After Tuesday night's debate, where William "Not Bloomberg" Thompson, Jr. did not exactly build his own case, it looks very much like we're stuck with Big Daddy Bloomberg for another term. And over in Queens, we have a Pagan Republican candidate for City Council, Dan Halloran! I wouldn't vote for him, but he's setting a precedent, and I'm grateful for that. I like seeing the Republican Party opening up to faiths besides conservative Christianity, too.

There are some interesting races for LGBT people nationwide. It's very upsetting, because in the cases of Maine's Question 1 (whether same-sex marriage should be legal, as voted on by their state legislature) and Washington's Referendum 71 (whether same-sex couples should have domestic partnership rights), LGBT people stand to have their rights rolled back! I say this so much, but there is a reason why civil rights gains for minorities don't happen as a result of a majority vote.

I hope this doesn't sound whiny, but I cry when I think of people who work so hard, actually devote their lives, to making lives like mine and L'Ailee's more difficult. During the Samhain ritual, we traditionally call out and write down the things that we want to leave behind in the old year, and throw the papers into the bonfire. We have written down everything from "cancer" to "40 pounds" to, in the case of a 5-year-old boy who needed his mother's help, "being picked on at the bus stop." For me, one of them will be the power that professional homophobes have over LGBT lives. I can't change their minds, and we consider it unethical to work for someone to completely lose their livelihood, but we can try breaking their power to hurt. Maybe, you know, they can simply get tired of saying the meanest things they think of and try something else. Flipping burgers would be more useful--that at least kind of nourishes people.

I won't give them any more thought than they deserve today, though. The Penguins won decisively last night over the Montreal Canadiens, 6-1, including a hat trick by Sidney Crosby, and of course L'Ailee and I enjoyed the hell out of that. The New York Islanders and Phoenix Coyotes, which have my permission to beat non-Penguin teams this year, both did. Tomorrow night, I get to have dinner with friends I haven't seen since last year. There will be an amazing woman waiting for me at the airport on Sunday evening. That may scare some people, but I call it pretty damned good.

Links, if you haven't read enough:

If you can't get a job or a loan, cheer up--the recession's over on paper!

I think this is kind of appropriate for Samhain, too. Starting on October 31st, you can vote on a name for the San Diego Zoo's new panda boy!

A history of the intersections between vampires and bisexuality.

Yahoo! killed Geocities and a ton of really awful webpages this Monday, including my own Sinead O'Connor shrine and list of talisman "recipes". This is a decent tribute to Geocities.

Will swine flu or concussions take down more NHL players this season?

Finally, if you want to make some sugar skulls and chocolate coffins, here are some good recipes.

Time is a currency

My wife and I are slacking a bit. My granddaddy used to tell me, "Time is a currency, just like money." We're giving money to the Cause as we can. (I recommend Protect Maine Equality, in Maine of course, where they're trying to keep same-sex marriage from being overturned by popular vote. It is so disgusting how some people so happily arrogate such responsibility for others' lives to themselves and feel they have a fucking *right* to say who can or can't get married...but I've said that before.)

But we want to use our discretionary time on ourselves and each other and our friends right now. So we are not at the Equality March in Washington, DC this weekend, and it's not because we agree with Barney Frank about it being "a waste of time". Frankly, we're simply getting tired. A good tired, but tired nonetheless. L'Ailee's picked up some extra classes at her gym, and I've refinished quite a bit of furniture in addition to things getting busier at my "real job" (a couple of boring afternoons excepted.)

Also, I'm already traveling to Florida to celebrate Samhain with my former coven at the end of the month. One of our neighbor kids, a 16-year-old boy who we pay to water our plants and feed our cats when we're away, is quite disappointed that L'Ailee never goes with me, because he can use some extra money right now. But Samhain isn't her holiday. She's an atheist, and doesn't feel she'll have anything to add to the event besides rolling eyes and stifled giggles. So we spend a couple nights apart every year. The boy really didn't get that! He's Jewish and says he'll only marry a Jewish girl.

We told him we understood that, and we respected that this is important to him, but sometimes people love each other even though there are religious differences. We agree on other very important things, and we respect each other. He shook his head. "I still don't think I could marry someone if we don't even celebrate all the same holidays." I elected not to tell him about my friend S., a Jewish woman who married an atheist man. They also married across an intense sports rivalry--University of Florida Gators and Florida State University Seminoles, respectively. Right after they got engaged, before they even started planning the wedding, they agreed to raise their children (they have five) as Jews and Seminoles fans. It works for them. Anyway, our neighbor will learn soon enough that we don't always get what we ordered from the Divine when we were 16, and even if we do, it isn't entirely what we expected.

Last weekend couldn't have been more awesome for me when it came to sports. Tony Stewart won Kansas and opened up the Chase to the Championship, just as Mark Martin and Jimmie Johnson had supposedly turned it into a "two man race." YEAHHHH!!!!!!! What an awesome way to end Sunday!!!!

The Pittsburgh Penguins won against the New York Rangers, and barely squeaked out a win against the New York Islanders at the Isles' season opener. The Isles have my permission to win against other teams, because I damn sure don't want them to have to move and leave the Rangers as the only hockey team in the NYC area. John Tavares is as good as anyone could expect so far. Our friend A.'s young daughter got to meet her idol and alternate future husband (in case NASCAR driver Joey Logano doesn't come through) Sidney Crosby before the game. He discussed playing hockey with her for a couple of minutes and complemented her black, white, and gold-painted nails. This child's father could win the lottery and clean out Toys R Us, Best Buy, *and* Sports Authority for her in time for her birthday, and that still wouldn't equal that moment for her.

The Isles' fans sure didn't like my Crosby jersey, though. Nor did they care for my wife's Evgeni Malkin T-shirt (L'Ailee is not a Penguins fan, but is a Malkin fan) or A.'s daughter's Crosby jersey. One guy saw this girl giggling with her best friend, who was wearing a Tavares Islanders jersey, and told the Isles fan girl that "you need to find a better class of friends." They are both in third grade. A.'s daughter promptly fired back, "You need to find a better class of *team*!" Move along, honey, he's just a jerk.

Speaking of, L'Ailee and I did not, as we usually do at home, deep-kiss to celebrate goals. Apart from the fact that both of us being women might be a bit controversial to some, we figured the other fans paid to see a show and the show wasn't us. But we decided we could indulge in the parking lot. Big mistake. A guy hollered, "Fuck you, you fucking Pittsburgh dykes!" My back was turned to him; L'Ailee, being talented, gave him the finger with one hand while she was taking my hair out of its ponytail with the other. I suspect that this will be an in-joke with us for a while. L'Ailee says he had a couple of kids with him, too. Charming. At least he didn't pretend he was insulting us "for the sake of his children."

I have a new superstition, too. Amazing how superstitions can start. I've said before that we love winning sports sex. I tend to wear comfortable cotton underthings. Oh, I want it to be well-cut and good quality, and I always wear lingerie that matches my outfits, but I live in cotton. My ex-boyfriend used to regard lingerie of any kind as an obstacle between us, and would rip it off me. I learned not to waste my time and money on it. Besides, the way I see it, anyone who doesn't respect my right to be comfortable doesn't deserve the prize inside my cotton granny panties anyway.

But L'Ailee treats clothing of all kinds (and all my property) with respect, and she appreciates fancy lacy lingerie. So I wore some under my white Crosby jersey for her last Friday night, in happy anticipation of getting, ah, jerseyed by her after the game. She liked it. I did it again the next night, at the Islanders game. She *really* liked that. Like the Penguins themselves, I slacked off on Wednesday night when they played the Phoenix Coyotes and was cozy in cotton. Didn't work for either of us. So the last two games, I wore lace, and the last two games were awesome, plus L'Ailee's Detroit Red Wings started winning as well. It looks like I'll have to itch a bit if I want the Penguins to win this year. At least, thank the Gods, Tony Stewart doesn't need me to wear fancy lacy lingerie to help him win!

Links, links:

Courtesy of Fannie's Room, a couple of thugs thought they'd attack a couple of men dressed in womens' clothing. The would-be victims were cage fighters. Heartwarming, really.

Also, two current NFL football players openly support LGBT equality.

Patti Wigington of About.com Paganism/Wiccan offers an introduction to working with the various Gods and Goddesses across traditions.

Finally, like many an Office fan, I've rooted for Jim and Pam from the beginning, but Television Without Pity highlights what's wrong with them and why they so deserve each other.

Fun for the whole family!

It's time for me to catch up in bullet points, because I've been tired and/or busy and/or flaky for the past two weeks.

* I won't let sports dominate this time, but I must share that the lineup has been announced for ESPN the Magazine's "Body Issue"--the one where athletes will be shown tastefully and artfully naked. They include Bill Guerin from the Pittsburgh Penguins!!!!! I don't even have to make anything up to my darling L'Ailee when I bring it home, 'cause Serena Williams will be in it, too. Alas, there will be no Tony Stewart or Juan Pablo Montoya pictures. Mark Martin (*shudders*) and Carl Edwards (*vomits*) will be representing NASCAR instead, which can be taken as either a built-in bucket of cold water or a pair of free dartboards. ("50 points if you hit where he's covering up with his helmet!") In my house, this is what constitutes fun for the whole family!

* Also, we'll be watching the Penguins raise the Stanley Cup banner on TV this Friday, but on Saturday, we're going to watch them at the New York Islanders season opener with friends! I've never been to the Lighthouse, and L'Ailee's only been twice. I'll be there with long, amber-colored hair in a ponytail, a powder blue Crosby jersey, and zebra-print high-tops with turquoise glitter laces. (I really like those sneakers.) I've been wearing contacts more often, but will probably wear my glasses since contacts still bother my eyes sometimes. L'Ailee...I've described her well enough, haven't I? Tiny, gorgeous, bald (but will probably be covering that up with a cap), most likely wearing a tight black Malkin-in-Cyrillic T-shirt, since she likes to support talented Russian players. We have two very excited third-grade girls going, one a Penguins fan and the other an Islanders fan. (A. says he's "a lucky man" because his little girl's crushes have him going to races and hockey games rather than Jonas Brothers concerts.) I'm almost as geeked up as they are, to be honest.

* I just noticed that I use a hell of a lot of parentheses. Oh well.

* We filled my late friend Maia's position at work. That is a huge weight off my shoulders, and my BossLady's, too. Knock on wood, the new guy seems to be getting along fine. I can't type much more, but my emotions over that alone could be expressed in thousands of words...and have been, by phone. Suffice it to say that I am a very relieved Lilo, though it's still weird to be seeing him. I did something that I think is really smart, though. I asked for, and got, permission to use my second job's skills at my primary job! I rearranged the department's cubicles so everyone would be in a different place, and it would be harder to think of the new hire as being in "her" place. My BossLady liked that a lot, and my work husband says he understand why I did it now.

* Last week offered several opportunities for me to be proud. September 22nd was Mabon, the Autumn Equinox, which I observed with a small and quiet ritual. I also wore tights and boots to work for the first time this season, which isn't exactly a ritual, but is one of my all-time favorite parts of autumn. September 23rd was "Celebrate Bisexuality Day," which I missed. Bisexuality's a gift for me, anyway, not an accomplishment. ;-) September 26th was Pagan Pride Day in NYC, and that was pretty amazing.

I went to Battery Park with my friend Yemaya O'Reilly, her family, and a couple of other people with whom we've circled. It was nice to be surrounded by a large Pagan community again. "I missed all the flakiness of these things," Yemaya whispered, and I knew exactly what she meant. We're always observant about Sabbats and stuff, but we were so much more...*actively*...Pagan when we lived in Orlando. We met new people, we bought stuff, we donated food to City Harvest. We wouldn't consider celebrating Samhain, which is a big huge deal to us, anywhere but with our former coven back home. But we've felt a stronger need to develop ties with other Pagans here in the past few months. That helped. A lot. It was especially amazing to meet other people who had stories about how Marion Weinstein changed their lives after the memorial service for her. I collected several e-mail addresses, cell numbers, and URLs.

* Unfortunately, attention whores aren't an endangered species. Chris Packham, a British nature show host, represents that breed quite badly. He declared that the giant panda is an "evolutionary dead end" and should be allowed to die out. Fortunately, there was a lot of anger against him. If you follow the link, Suzanne Braden of Pandas International not only rebuts Packham in style, but explains why you should donate to her organization. (And there's a picture of her looking sooooo blissful as she cuddles a tiny, fluffy panda cub, as she should in that situation.) Also, Pandas International encourages kids to trick-or-treat for the pandas in Chinese sanctuaries.

* Hope autumn is being good so far to everyone reading!

This isn't a sports blog, but...

I so often end up talking sports, and this post will be almost nothing but.

Saturday was a rather eventful day for L'Ailee and I as far as the sports we follow go. Pittsburgh Penguins tickets went on sale at 10 am. They go *fast*. I was on the phone before 9:30, just waiting. I also had my cellie and computer at the ready. And...I got 'em! Damn if I didn't feel almost like I'd actually won a game myself!

Meanwhile, L'Ailee's cousin, the one who is married to my female cousin, agreed to sell us their season tickets at face value for the two Detroit Red Wings home games that happen close to Christmas. Unlike us, they will be going to Florida for Christmas. They haven't gotten sick of it all yet, the way we have. Plus they're not considered as much in need of correction and convincing as us, because they're straight and Christian. Actually, long before I fell in love with another woman and discovered that people still worship the ancient Gods, which are not completely related events, I got a lot of criticism for everything from my weight to my clothes to my music to my personality.

The first game is actually on the Winter Solstice. Nothing says "peaceful Winter Solstice" quite like watching Brooks Orpik pass out Free Candy and Eric Godard just plain kick somebody's ass, right? I've been joking that when that seems like a more peaceful way to spend the Winter Holidays than going home to see your family, that's a pretty clear signal to stay away from home this year. L'Ailee and I have had to work really hard to salvage Christmas in Florida, especially over the past couple of years, and this year, most of the baby boomers are really scared and angry in...well, the ways lots of conservative Christians are lately. The economic meltdown in Florida isn't helping a thing, though everyone's "basically okay" and "not as bad as others". (And I know that's not at all the same as "good". Trouble is, even if we could help, we wouldn't be *allowed* to.) Frankly, we feel like we'll be "welcome" in the sense that a pair of ten-point bucks would be "welcome" at a gun show.

So. We'll go see her Red Wings at the Joe Louis Arena. She is really looking forward to seeing the Chicago Blackhawks game on the 23rd--they're fierce rivals, and that's always a good time. We have already promised her best friend A., who is both a cabbie and a Red Wings fan, that we will throw two dimes at Patrick "20 Cent" Kane for him. We'll go see my Penguins at Mellon Arena, a/k/a "the Igloo", which will be bittersweet because this is the last year the Pens will play there. I'm glad I'll get to see the Igloo in person. We've scheduled two games apiece for each of our teams--Pittsburgh, Detroit, Detroit, back to Pittsburgh, then home. The guys better win at least one each, damn it.

It won't be completely family-free. Of course not. We'll be spending Christmas with some of her family for once, in Ontario. (You may wonder, why hasn't that occured to us before? Well, the Ontario branch of her family is about evenly split between Eastern Orthodox Christians, Protestant Christians, Jews, and atheists, and nobody can agree on a date!) We will also be seeing my great-aunt, we *hope*, near Detroit. She told me sadly that we couldn't take her to Olive Garden, which is her favorite restaurant, because her doctor won't let her eat that kind of food anymore. I told her that was good, because we probably won't be able to afford it, and she laughed. We'll work something out.

Other things....we had to see which twelve drivers would be eligible for the Chase for the Sprint Cup at Richmond last night. Only four--Tony Stewart (yeahhhh!!!), Jeff Gordon, Jimmie Johnson, and Denny Hamlin--were locked in at the beginning of the race, meaning that ten other drivers were competing for eight spots. It added an extra layer of excitement to the race. The Chase is like NASCAR's playoffs, which is still a weird concept for me as a longtime fan. This is its sixth season.

Whether or not Kyle Busch would make it in was the topic of the night. My friends and I had a betting pool, about evenly divided between "yes" and "no." A.'s 8-year-old daughter wanted in, but he thought it was bad enough to let her stay up until midnight and wasn't about to let her gamble! I told her she could say what she thought before the race, and if she was right, have the satisfaction of being right. "That's not as good as money," she said, but she took it. "No," she said. "Sorry, [L'Ailee]. Kyle's had too much trouble, and he's gotten worse, but Brian Vickers is getting better. Plus there is Matt Kenseth, and he's good, too." Turned out the child spoke true, and looked daggers at her father for being too responsible to let her chip $5 into the pot.

Eight fucking points! Brian Vickers beat Kyle Busch by eight fucking points to get into the Chase! He cried in his car, he was so overcome. Well, he should've. Vickers won one race so far; Busch won four. L'Ailee pounded a cushion on the couch for the second race in a row, then threw it at the TV when the reporter got to Vickers. Busch was shockingly classy about it in the post-race interview, though. We figure he's going to spoil at least one Chaser's day, just completely give himself over to winning or dying trying since he doesn't have a championship on the line, and we can't wait. (Non-Chasers still race and can win individual races.) My friend Mona reiterated, "Consistency don't put butts in seats." Most of us think winning needs to be rewarded more. "Talladega Nights" got that much right, with Ricky Bobby failing to win championships because he either wins or wrecks, no in-between.

Meanwhile, the lovely and talented Tony Stewart is definitely in the hunt. There have been three sponsors of the championship and therefore, three trophies--Winston, Nextel, and Sprint. Smoke has a Winston Cup and a Nextel Cup. He is the only driver who would be able to get one of each. And Denny Hamlin, who grew up near Richmond, Virginia, won the race! I like to see drivers win at their hometown tracks. It's always a really special and emotional moment. Hamlin was cute when he talked about having his late grandmother's St. Jude medal in the car with him. It was Darrell Waltrip who said, "Drivers ain't superstitious--that would be bad luck."

Oh, and you might have heard about this already, but Serena Williams completely lost it at the US Open. L'Ailee may have gotten me into hockey, but tennis is a bridge too far for me. No, really. I have seen her attentively follow things that are not a little yellow ball when Serena plays. So if she wants any more said about *her*, she knows how to get her own damn blog!

Links, links:

Crazy's going around right now--Kanye West epitomized class at the MTV Video Music Awards I'd still rather listen to Kanye than Taylor any day of the week, but...still!

Maybe I shouldn't bother writing my dystopian/steampunk epic anymore, since the likes of Glenn Beck seem to have that genre covered.

Finally, yet another group wants to Rescue Marriage in California! "Hell is eternal, just like your marriage was supposed to be." Check out the T-shirts for sale!

"Things used to be very different"

Once again, I wasn't going to go to the September 11th memorial. Once again, I got pulled into it. Once again, I'm glad it was an icky gray blustery day, and not a beautiful blue-sky day like in 2001. The weather seemed right, and so did the sea of black umbrellas. L'Ailee met up with me, and my work husband B.'s wife met up with him. Then L'Ailee's two best friends in the world, her brothers from other mothers, could come as well. We tried to text very discreetly, sound turned off on our cellies, so we could all find each other. TTG we managed to do so quickly, but I don't think we were the only ones. The six of us stayed very close once we got together.

Once again, we left early, too. We stayed longer than we had in the past, but there was only so much any of us could take. We left as soon as B.'s wife heard the names of the two friends she lost on 9/11. We decided to go have brunch and talk.

There was a lot to talk about: "Some designers actually put on fashion shows this morning. Of course I had to miss them, even though there are some good ones." This from L'Ailee. And once we'd turned the sound back up on our cell phones, we were greeted with texts about the Coast Guard's extremely, to say the least, ill-advised training exercise on the Potomac. "OhmyGawds, can you believe they'd even consider such a thing today? The fashion shows seem like a great idea now, babydoll." That was me, the only Pagan at the table. Mostly, of course, we talked about what we were doing that morning and the friends that four of us lost.

I have shared this story before. I want to keep it short now. I was in Orlando at the time, frantically calling what was my girlfriend at the time on her cell and landline as she frantically looked for friends and tried donating blood. (She's never allowed to, wasn't even allowed on 9/11, because she's just under their height and weight minimums. Since we have the same blood type, I always tell her I donate for both of us.) I couldn't reach her until past *midnight*, and then I screamed at her for making me worry! When we could all fly again, I was on the next flight to NYC even though I couldn't exactly afford it. My first night there was the first time she'd slept a decent amount or eaten a full meal since that morning.

B. was in a sorta-big city in Alabama at the time. His cute Dominican co-worker, who'd been transferred from New York City and was experiencing , to say the least, horrible homesickness and a bad case of culture shock, was trying to keep it together at work. She was allowed to make a ton of personal calls on the company phone, and couldn't quite find everybody. He comforted her as she kept trying to reach people she'd left behind. A few months later, he'd find another job, and she'd realize she missed that "hick who kept bothering her," and they'd began to date.

So when we think of 9/11, we think of a really horrible day for the women we love. They, of course, think of their lost friends. The friend L'Ailee lost was also a good friend to A. and his husband. At the time, A. was a new father, married to a woman who outearned him by a *lot*. They in fact married because of the baby. (Yes, I know, that's the plot to "Knocked Up", only I'll admit that A. is way more attractive and together than Seth Rogan's character.) They found each other compelling, but most of those around them couldn't figure out why they'd even started dating in the first place. Eventually she would kick him out, and he would move in with his other best friend, and they would fall in love even though A. only barely acknowledged his bisexual feelings and had never had a same-sex experience in his life.

We discussed all that had changed since that morning, and, amazingly, made each other laugh out loud in places:

"[Our friend] knew you two would have to move in with each other," A.'s husband told me and L'Ailee.
"He would not have expected you two to move in together, though!" L'Ailee replied.
"Oh, he would have expected [my ex-wife] to throw me out. I think he had a betting pool," A. said.
"No, I did. And I won," L'Ailee joked. We all laughed at that. Most of us love gambling in small amounts, and when we can't afford that, we "pride-bet."
"No, he would not have expected us," A's husband reflected. "He was tolerant, but he would have been very surprised to see [A.] go in my direction. [Our friend] probably would have wondered if he was finished with all of the women he wanted!"
"I can't even see you two with anyone else," B.'s wife mused. "I know how you love your daughter, but you two seem fated."
"Things used to be very different," L'Ailee said.
"That's the song of the day," B. said. We all nodded.
"[Our friend] might have wondered if gayness was contagious and he was next," A. told us.
"You know," B. deadpanned, "I think it really is. Just yesterday, I found myself thinking the UPS guy had a pretty good body."
"Our UPS guys at work?" I asked. "Hell, honey, that doesn't mean you're gay or bi, that just means you're sighted!"
"Well, I know you like them."
"We have, like, the best-looking UPS delivery people on the face of the planet," I explained to those who don't work with us.
"Really?" L'Ailee's eyes and lips narrowed, but she couldn't sustain it very long before she laughed.
"We have to come by your office all of the time," A's husband remarked.
"Why, when you have me at home?"
"I'm coming by for lunch next week," B's wife told him.
B. shook his head. "You know, back home I would never have told a joke like that. I think my daddy would stroke out if he heard it!"
"Aren't you glad you're here now?" I asked with a smile.
We all pondered. We all came from somewhere else...from the Dominican Republic as a baby, from various parts of Russia as teens, from the South as adults. B. finally answered, "Yeah, I really am glad I'm here. Even today."
A. lifted his glass. "To all of us being here, even today." We toasted to that.

We reluctantly said our goodbyes for the afternoon, lingering over hugs. Awkward side hugs between B. and the other guys, but hugs anyway. I wanted to say, "We'll see each other again, we will," but I'm too superstitious to dare. Too much like famous last words for my taste. Besides, that's the most horrible part of that morning. Lots of people knew for sure they'd get to see each other again, and...didn't.

Links, links:

Remember the runner who endured speculation and medical testing regarding her gender? Poor Caster Semenya withdrew from a race this weekend. The really sick sad part is that if it's true about her being intersexed, she almost certainly won't be allowed to run again unless, as the article put it, her "condition is treated." An intersexed person can't compete in a sport they love otherwise, no matter how good they are.

Mean police officers in Washington State closed down an enterprising young man's small business. Guys, cross your legs before you click!

The ACLU offers, ironically enough, a Facebook quiz that demonstrates how invasive most Facebook quizzes are to your privacy.

Finally, the Pittsburgh Penguins took the Stanley Cup to the White House last night. They cleaned up nicely. I think hockey players are more used to suits than NASCAR drivers, though fireproof suits are far more flattering than hockey uniforms. Our American boys did us proud--Bill Guerin defined "swagger," even standing in the group shot, and Brooks Orpik almost completely turned off the crazy eyes. Oh, he still looked intense, but, you know, nowhere *near* as homicidal as usual.

The Associated Press video is short and fun; it features Evgeni Malkin taking pictures on his cell while he is on stage and President Obama joking about Sidney Crosby's size. (He's average-size and wouldn't stand out on a college campus, but that's kinda small in hockey terms.) Don't worry, you probably won't become a mind-controlled Obama zombie if you watch this!

And the summer ain't over yet

This is another depressing post, though I know many of my blogfriends are going through problems of their own right now, bigger ones than mine. I'm still emo and touchy right now. You've had your warning.

For me, Labor Day, not Mabon (a/k/a the Autumn Equinox), is my end-of-summer celebration. Verily, I am an all-American Witch. But there wasn't a great deal of celebrating. I have said frequently that this has been one hungry summer, claiming lots of souls. It still goes on.

As long as I've been up here, friends of L'Ailee's have hosted a Labor Day party. They couldn't this year. Couldn't afford it. We definitely understood that. Lots of people can't afford lots of things. So we went to the Dreamland amusement park at Coney Island for its last day instead. I've really loved Coney Island. I spent my childhood around Daytona Beach (and spent lots of time there as a teenager), so if there's anything in the world that I understand, it's unabashed tackiness by the ocean.

This spring, Dreamland was opened where the late, lamented Astroland used to be. It was shut down two weeks ago for nonpayment of rent, but the landlords let them reopen for one last end-of-summer hurrah. I underestimated how depressing it would be. Maybe if I were in a better frame of mind, I'd have been okay with it all. But I wasn't. It was a funeral for an amusement park, and I'd already had that when Astroland closed down. Didn't need it. Just didn't need it. So we left, and I ended up spending the day in bed because I'm just that well-adjusted. L'Ailee and the cats joined me, at various times and in various capacities, and eventually I felt better.

Plus I learned yesterday that Marion Weinstein died this July. She was the author of my, and a lot of peoples', first Witchy book, Positive Magic. She was a very modern, urban Witch in New York City, blessed with a wonderfully common touch and a great sense of humor, and she publicized the reality of modern religious Witchcraft at a time when most people wouldn't touch it in a haz-mat suit. I remember how refreshingly manageable her advice was, how I felt like I'd finally found something for my life.

Thirteen years ago, at 22, I was spiritually adrift and at sea. I only knew what I wasn't...not a fundamentalist Christian, not a Jew, not an atheist. Marion Weinstein showed me something else. She adapted with the times, too. In the 1970s, she had a radio show about the Craft. In recent years, she posted videos on YouTube. She won't get the fanfare some others who died this summer did, but she definitely left a legacy behind. I post this because I am a small part of that legacy. She literally changed my life, and it sucks that I never got to tell her except in e-mail. There will be a memorial service for her at NYC Pagan Pride Day, September 26. I am so there.

Today I was going to watch Alex Ovechkin drive a Zamboni down Sixth Avenue. Seemed like it would be something to see, and since I won't be able to stalk Tony Stewart go to the NASCAR Sprint Cup Championship events this year because the idiots moved it all to Las Vegas, I'll take my sports spectacle where I can get it. However, I couldn't go because it was too far from my work and I was too busy to consider leaving.

Actually, I would rather have made out with Ovie for five full minutes, pausing only to tell him how hot his new Japanese tramp stamp is, than gone to work this week. (For those who don't follow Eastern Conference NHL hockey, this is not something a Pittsburgh Penguins fan, or anyone with taste, would usually say.) We figured that since our friend and co-worker Maia died and all, we'd have to accept that she would not be coming back from FMLA leave after all, and someone else would have to be hired for her former position. Guess who the lucky duck who gets to plow through the applications, call in applicants for interviews, check backgrounds, etc. is? Thaaaaaat's right. I've been telling myself to "cowgirl up" a lot. I remind myself that this isn't replacing *her*, it's filling a necessary *position*. And I'll be nice to the interviewees and not tell them stories or make any comparisons in my head....

The fact that it's 9/11 Week (the anniversary is this Friday) doesn't help my mood, either. But this does. L'Ailee laughed at what I typed just above. "Don't you redneck women love to make out with Russians?" she teased. "You have an expression for that."
"Get along like a house on fire?" I asked.
"Yes. Rednecks and Russians get along like a house on fire." In my family, they do, too. Not only am I married to L'Ailee, but her male cousin is married to my female one, and one of my male cousins is married to a Russian woman.
L'Ailee laughed throatily, then climbed in the computer chair with me and proceeded to prove the expression correct for a few minutes. I even told her how hot her little bat tattoos are. "Not as hot as your panda tramp stamp," she told me. We nearly broke the chair, but it was so worthwhile.

So we'll remember the good things. It's Fashion Week, and L'Ailee's enjoying it even though things are a bit scaled back. The participants in the Chase for the NASCAR Sprint Cup Championship will be decided on Saturday night in Richmond, and we sincerely hope Kyle Busch will be one of the 12 Chasers at the end of the race. The weather's cooling down. My great-aunt is doing better. Things change, they grow, they end, they get made new. I'll deal with it, even if occasionally I tear up in a goddamned amusement park and take to my bed on a holiday I normally love.

Current events, lists of links, etc. to return later.

Good ride, cowgirl

"And now, I'm glad I didn't know/the way it all would end, the way it all would go/our lives are better left to chance/I could have missed the pain/but I'd have had to miss the dance."--Garth Brooks, "The Dance"

Thanks to everyone for your hugs and sympathy, first of all. I really appreciate it.

My great-aunt gets out of the hospital later today. She will have a home health aide coming to her house for now. This is a huge concession for her, but she really can't do for herself right now. The aide will at least relieve her daughter a little, which is good.

My work husband B. and I arrived in the Outer Banks area of North Carolina on Tuesday night so we could make it to Maia's funeral and wake on Wednesday. I'd heard about those beaches, and not just from Maia, but have never been. I'd like to see that area again, in happier circumstances. We got dinner from Sonic (we miss it here), and had to go through the Brew-Thru, which is, I am not kidding, a drive-thru liquor store that she told us about a few times. We even got T-shirts for ourselves and a couple friends from there. He and L'Ailee's best friend consider each other good friends, too, and we looked at each other and knew he'd need a Brew-Thru T-shirt, "the biggest you've got."

It was a hard night. B. couldn't sleep, either. So we went and sang karaoke in the hotel bar, choosing the most upbeat songs we could manage. It helped get his voice in tune to sing at the funeral, anyway. (The song he sang was "The Dance," by Garth Brooks.) We both spoke, too, a couple minutes apiece. Pretty much everyone did.

So many people were there from all across Maia's 44 years of life. There were a lot of strangers with only one person in common hugging, crying, and talking. As we talked, we put together, like, a mosaic. Her parents were really eager to see me and B. They said she "talked about you like her brother and sister." They wanted to hear about her time in NYC and what she did at work. We liked hearing their stories of her childhood and adolescence, too.

It's been hard to pass her empty desk and chair. I'd almost managed to block out why I found it distressing. Now I realize she'll never, ever be there again, and the feeling's as fresh and painful as it was in June. It's not going to stay empty, though. We have to hire someone to take her position, if not her place. We can't keep spreading her job functions out. B. and I promised each other that we would be kind to the new person, that we would not compare them to Maia or tell them stories, that we would not hate them for things that are not their fault. I was sort of in that position once; I'd replaced a woman who got pregnant and decided to become a stay-at-home mother. She seemed to take on ever more sterling qualities in her former co-workers' eyes, and though I did the actual job competently enough, I always came up short. I wanted to scream, "Look, I'm sorry she's gone, but it's not my fault and I can't be her!" I won't do that to another person, and I write it down here so I can remember.

I managed to get the muscadine grape pie down there in one piece. It took some pretty clever packing. I made one for L'Ailee, too, because she loves it as much as Maia ever did, if not more. I'd rather share a recipe than go on writing my own stuff, actually. This one's from About.com Southern Food. Muscadines or scuppernongs, nothing else will work in this. Both are ginormous grapes that grow in the South--muscadines are the purple ones and scuppernongs are the green ones. They are very sweet, with tough hides. Bite through that hide and you're rewarded with a juicy burst of flavor. But they're not around long--they're a late summer/early autumn treat. L'Ailee and I buy lots, even though it's not cheap in NYC.

Ingredients:
pastry for 2-crust 9-inch pie
2 quarts ripe muscadines
2 tablespoons lemon juice (about 1/2 lemon)
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 1/2 cups sugar
1 tablespoon butter, cut in small pieces

Preparation:
Line pie plate with half of the rolled out pastry. Refrigerate pie shell and remaining pastry until ready to fill pie. Mash muscadines. Separate hulls from pulp. Strain so as to get juice, leaving pulp and seed. Cook hulls in juice until tender, adding a little water if needed. Let cool, then add lemon juice, flour, and sugar. Put fruit mixture in prepared bottom crust. Carefully arrange top crust over fruit, lattice style, if desired. Flute edge. Cut several slits in top if top crust is left whole. Bake in a 400° oven for approximately 10 minutes, then reduce heat to 375° and bake 30 minutes longer.
Serve with whipped cream or whipped topping, if desired.

Links about happier things:

NY Governor David Paterson may try for same-sex marriage equality again.

Mike Szymanski offers a list of bisexual pride symbols. Yes, we have them.

Next week is Fashion Week! I won't be seeing much of L'Ailee. But there's one show I'd kinda like to see: Snuggie's "sexy" fashion show! That's right, the blanket with sleeves. And if you think that's wrong, dare ya to click on the NSFW Snuggie Sutra link, which explains how to, well, do it in a Snuggie. With stick-figure illustrations. It's got a heterosexist bias to it, but that's not why my beloved wife murmured, "No. Just no." when I showed it to her!

Finally, while I was distracted, the All You Can Eat Schadenfreude Buffet was being set out for me. First, Alex Ovechkin, the Washington Capitals' showboating left wing, got himself perhaps the world's stupidest tattoo this summer. (Commentary is often funny, but there's homophobia and just plain grossness in it, fair warning.) This is waaaaaay better than, say, Ruslan Fedotenko's new tattoo. Then Carl Edwards, who is fourth in the Sprint Cup Championship points, fractured his foot playing Frisbee. Right before Atlanta, which is one of his better tracks, and the Chase (a/k/a "playoff") order being set next week. I actually feel kinda bad for the guy, to be honest.

Speaking of the Atlanta race, James Dobson may be there to smear it with his culture war slime during the pre-race invocation, but his Focus on the Family organization is hurting, to the tune of 75 more staffers being laid off. Oh, and not only is Glenn Beck a paranoid nutjob who whips up fear for fun and profit, not only is he hemorrhaging sponsors, but he fails at spelling. Honestly, this is yummy and all, but I don't think I could handle another bite...

Greedy hungry summer

Several of us came in from lunch today to see one hell of a horrible thing in our e-mail boxes. Sunday morning, my friend Maia was found dead in her sleep. This isn't at all surprising, which doesn't make it any better. She'd been dealing with ovarian/cervical cancer that had metastasized even after aggressive treatment. She left my company early this summer, saying that dealing with the cancer had to be her full-time job for now. I talked to her a lot. It was pretty obvious that the "job" only got harder. We never replaced her. We all hoped she'd come back, especially my work husband B. Maia was wonderful to both of us during times when we really needed it; it was just her way. She was always so amazingly calm. The cancer ripped a hole in my office, and I don't even want to contemplate what it's done to her husband, her daughter, and her parents.

I should be drinking chamomile tea or something right now. Instead I'm drinking Diet Mountain Dew Ultraviolet mixed with gin, which is so not what I need. Maia used to tell me I needed to drink less soda and that my love for blatantly artificial food dyes was no good for me. I hate food lectures, and lectures of any kind. I would pay my entire savings account to hear Maia gripe at me about this drink.

I'm getting a few things taken care of at work tomorrow, then B. and I are going to her funeral. We'll blow into and out of North Carolina, less than 24 hours in all. Our bosses act like sending us counts for their attendance, too. Our wives can't go. They both have to work. I wanted to take a bit of my vacation time before Samhain. I damn sure didn't want it like this. There's nothing for me to do at all but show up, which I hate. I'm making and taking a muscadine grape pie for the wake anyway. It had never occured to Maia to put grapes in a pie, and when I gave her a slice to taste, she loved it and made several herself. B. is singing because she told him a couple of weeks ago that she would want him to. I understand why she would. He's taking this hard, though, of course.

Also, late last night, my mom called to let me know that my great-aunt got out of intensive care. I'd had a pretty good weekend--the zoo with my best friend's daughter, surfing, some quality time with my wife. I didn't even know she was in the hospital at all, and she seemed fine last week. It seemed she was coughing up blood on Friday, though. She had a hernia that needed to be taken care of, and also has stomach ulcers. She was touch and go for a while. Again, not completely unexpected. She is 89. She is still in the hospital, but will be released soon. Her daughter thinks she needs to go into a nursing home. My great-aunt is very independent-minded, and probably hurt herself doing things like clearing stumps on her property. Her daughter and I do not like each other very much, but I don't envy her having to tell my great-aunt they need to try something different.

Mom and Future Stepdad were going to see her this autumn. L'Ailee and I were going to see her around Yule, while we were in Detroit. We're thinking we need to try going to her earlier. I'm just grateful this hungry, greedy Summer 2009 didn't claim her too, knock on wood.

Bullet Points, Nicely Illustrated

I'm sorry to go to bullet points again, but it's just how I'm thinking right now. You'll see I'm not thinking that deeply. I did promise more frequent updates, though.

* Ted Kennedy died last night. Everyone else seems to have something to say about him, but I don't, not really. Just don't feel much connection. (I felt the same way about Michael Jackson.) I hope the replacement senator works out. I feel bad for his family, because they also lost Eunice Kennedy Shriver very recently. I am amazed by what a hungry, greedy summer this has been. Maybe it's because there's been so much stress and uncertainty in the past year.

* Above all else, I want this autumn to be calmer. Don't think I'm the only one.

* I am reading an incredible book called The State of Jones. (If you look at the Amazon reviews, it's a real love-hate of a book, and some people claim it's inaccurate. I love that some people find it too sensationalized, while others think it's too dry!) It is non-fiction, though I think it could make an awesome movie in the right hands. The State of Jones concerns a very obscure Civil War-era figure who should be much less obscure, Newton Knight. He was a poor farmer who was drafted to fight for the Confederacy in the Civil War. He was anti-slavery and didn't want to risk death for rich landowners who felt they were too good to fight their own wars. So he and a group of other fed-up people, black and white, set up a stronghold in the Mississippi swamps and fought for the Union, without the Union's knowledge or consent. Read it read it now now now!

* I saw the button of the year today: "Health care town halls make me sick!"

* Check out this nicely stocked beer cooler. Even I found something I liked in it, and I only barely tolerate beer:



That would be Bill Guerin from the Pittsburgh Penguins celebrating with the Stanley Cup. He had his day with the Cup on Long Island recently. (Until last spring, he was a New York Islander. He's been on a lot of other teams, too.) The Keepers of the Cup also posted pictures of Guerin with his lovely wife and adorable kids. *sigh* Well, I also have a lovely wife. I can still enjoy watching Guerin on Sidney Crosby's line next season. An entire season of "You aren't actually following the puck, are you?"! Can't wait.

* No, L'Ailee doesn't regret making me watch hockey with her and teaching me how it works, why do you ask? Well, she doesn't regret it yet, anyway. ;-)

* I really don't regret getting her into NASCAR. (Of course, as an exclusive lesbian, she doesn't look at drivers *or* hockey players that way, though I'm sure she'd enjoy seeing a few women in fireproof suits.) I was happy when Kyle Busch won Bristol last week, since my beloved Tony Stewart couldn't, but she was literally on the edge of her seat, grasping onto my hand with her left and pumping her fist in approval with her right. So cute. Then we had to make everyone get the hell out of there. One day we'll do it for Kevin Harvick and Juan Pablo Montoya, too.

* No race next week, so I'm going surfing no matter what the waves are like! I'm so due. I'll go even if there's another tropical storm nearby! I've had people joke that I brought hurricanes and tropical storms up north with me. It really is freaky.

* One thing we'll definitely not want to see in the Atlanta race week after next is the invocation. I may even want to go surfing for that, too. Now, usually L'Ailee and I let it slide. My friends and I tend to think of it as a time for going to the bathroom, making drinks, etc. But this time, James Dobson from Focus on the Family will be delivering it! Of course, he's not a minister, he's a child psychologist by trade, but why the hell not? It makes me angry. He made his living on the backs of people like me and L'Ailee. If you are a fan of NASCAR but not James Dobson--and believe me, you don't have to be queer to have a problem or three with Dobson and Focus on the Family--please consider letting the Atlanta Motor Speedway staff know how you feel about this.

Also, try e-mailing NASCAR themselves at fanfeedback@nascar.com. I know there are not a lot of LGBTs or ex-Christians or whatever who will be watching the race, but NASCAR has been trying to reach out and be inclusive. Let them know that Dobson is exclusive, hurtfully exclusive, and you don't appreciate having to hear a message like his before the race. At the very least, I hope someone tells all the Dale Earnhardt, Jr. fans in attendance that Dobson is a *big* Kyle Busch fan, so he'll get booed and have to duck beer cans. Shit, I've watched NASCAR since I was *three*, but I'll bet money that fucking Dobson doesn't even know who Kyle Busch *is*....

* Over at the San Diego Zoo, their three-week-old panda baby is growing quite well. Look, he's a precious little pocket panda now, and no longer resembles a naked molerat at all! And he's so squirmy and happy! (Well, we think it's a "he" over at the Pandas Unlimited community, but they don't know at the zoo yet because his mother Bai Yun doesn't let him out of her sight long enough for the vets to examine him...um, it. Can you blame her?)



* Finally, there have been some odd Twilight product tie-ins, but how about DuWop's Twilight Venom for lips? It combines their Lip Venom lip plumper with red stain to give an, I don't know, blood-drinking look or something, though Twilight vampires don't actually suck that way. I'm not trying it because my lips are already plenty plump enough, like most everything else about me, and L'Ailee thinks Lip Venom's burn and strong scent give it a very bad hassle-to-reward ratio. Her lips are just fine without it, too.

Kissing and competition

"We both believe that there's not enough love and affection in the world, because most people are afraid to show it. We should never be afraid of brief, unimposing displays of affection. There is nothing wrong with a hug, a kiss on the mouth, a kiss on the cheek."--David Badash and David Mailloux, organizers of the Great Nationwide Kiss-In

I'm still astonished by this, and so is everyone else I know. No doubt y'all remember the small plane and the helicopter crashing over the Hudson River last weekend. I was working in Manhattan when it happened. I didn't see it, but I did hear it. The air traffic controller was too busy talking to his girlfriend or girl who's a friend or whatever on the phone. I'm all for silliness at work and conversations with friends and lovers, but...damn. Just, damn.

I saw the Time Traveler's Wife tonight. Only watch it if you really love Eric Bana (hi, Ange!) and/or Rachel McAdams. If you don't, read the book. Hell, read the book no matter what, particularly if you don't mind crying and/or suspending disbelief. I hope District 9 will be better.

Tomorrow's going to bring an absolutely delightful protest that I can't attend because I have to finish up my interior decorating job!!!! I have to repeat five of my favorite words in the English language to myself: "On time and under budget." I'm going to be mature and think about my referrals. But damn, I really wanted to spend the day kissing on L'Ailee! Yes, August 15th is the Great Nationwide Kiss-In. Everyone's supposed to be synchronized at 2 pm EDT. While people of all gender identities and sexual orientations are welcome to participate in whatever combination, it is a protest against recent attempts to punish same-sex couples for expressing affection in public. I'd like to think I'm way better at kissing than making posters. Some people, such as Peter LaBarbera (a/k/a "Porno Pete") from the ironically-named Americans for Truth, are very much against even kissing, just kissing, by same-sex couples. They want to shield "the children" from it. That's really a good reason to do it, I think.

L'Ailee and I are pretty ladylike, sticking to hand-holding and little pecks in public. It's easier to be ladylike now--we did have our moments at airports in our long-distance days. We know it's still a bit of a statement to hold hands at NASCAR races and hockey games, events where same-sex couples don't often express affection, so we do it anyway. (At least we don't deep-kiss to celebrate one of our drivers being up front or a goal by a member of one of our teams, like we do at home!) We have kissed in public just to make a point before, several times. The point is always this: "Don't you *ever* fucking think you have the fucking self-declared authority to tell us, two fellow adult citizens, your legal *equals*, that we aren't fucking *allowed* be ourselves within your line of vision." My favorite of these incidents happened shortly after I moved into L'Ailee's place for good. We exchanged a quick little kiss on her--oops, our--front stoop before parting. A Muslim woman in a chador came up to us and ranted about how we were "showing off our sinfulness" in front of her children. Always the children. *sighs*

I tried to engage the woman in a civil debate. I did that more often then, before I started to lose my appetite for trying to plead my case to people who had made up their minds about me and mine already. L'Ailee never had any patience for that sort of thing. She's far less verbal and far more into direct action than I am. My hair, then as now, reached the middle of my back. She bent me so far back that the ends of my hair brushed the ground, took off my glasses, and proceeded to deep-kiss me like she was going off to war! When we finally came up for air, we found we had some spectators. The Muslimah wasn't among them. I kinda wish she'd come back. Porno Pete is also welcome in my neighborhood. ;-)

Going in another direction....I have mentioned before that my wife is absurdly competitive. L'Ailee nearly got thrown off her high school field hockey team more than once for her on-field demeanor, and was only allowed to stay because she, um, won games for them. Even today, a casual game of chess or preference (a Russian card game that's similar to bridge) will find her trash-talking her friends, possibly sweeping everything off the table if she loses. I have only played anything against her a handful of times in our many years together--Mortal Kombat once, checkers once, and street hockey twice. I don't like to do it often. It sets her teeth on edge when a NASCAR driver expresses hope that he finishes in the top 15 (out of 43) before a race. "He should hope to *win*," L'Ailee says. "He should have his car taken away and given to a real driver who will try to win. I'm sure there are many on those small dirt tracks." Those kinds of drivers get one of her deepest insults, "useless," quite a bit.

Her best friend A. dated L'Ailee when they were teenagers, before she came out as lesbian. A. is doomed to spend his life surrounded by competitive women. His ex-wife is one, too, though her arenas have been academic and professional rather than athletic. His "almost nine year old" daughter is turning out to be another. She was both a star and a holy terror on her youth hockey team last season, and sees no reason why she can't become the first woman to win the Stanley Cup. (Neither does her father.) Her mother put her on a kids' bowling league this summer. She wanted to practice on the sidewalk when she wasn't playing. She trash-talked members of both older and younger teams. She quite vocally refused a "participation" certificate, calling it....wait for it...."useless." Even getting second place hit her a bit hard. It took everything L'Ailee and I had not to die laughing at one incident. She made a boy on her team cry. He was, in her words, "dragging us all down." So she informed him that "if you aren't here to win, you're just taking up space." It fell to A., then to me, to try to explain why she needed to be much nicer to that boy and others like him. It did take, in the sense that she was permitted to complete her season in that bowling league.

So of course I thought of those ladies when I got this in my e-mail from TopFive.com yesterday, and wanted to share.

The Top 5 Signs Your Recreational Sports League Has Gotten Too Competitive

5> Little Timmy refuses to bat because the pitcher's mom is holding his dog at gunpoint.

4> The CEO of your aerospace engineering company just traded you to Chuck E. Cheese for a future draft pick.

3> Your volleyball coach doesn't consider it a successful kill shot unless it's followed by a homicide investigation.

2> Motto of your med school hoops league: "No autopsy, no foul."

1> Penalty kicks don't even involve a ball any more.

Hehehehehehe!!!!!

Rain rain go away....

Oh, it's been rainy rainy rainy rainy on the East Coast! It's rainy now! The Watkins Glen race got rained out on Sunday, too, making this the second NASCAR Sprint Cup race in a row (and the kajillionth this season) that got delayed by rain. Once again, L'Ailee texted me updates on Monday. Once again, I've held on to her updates longer than I should have. It's just so sweet, though. I mean, she'd have watched them anyway, but I love how she made sure I knew what was going on. Also, I'm glad we have unlimited texting!

I do have to say I liked the outcome:



That's right, the lovely and talented Tony Stewart won it! Third race this year (not counting the All Star, which doesn't contribute anything to a driver's championship points total), fifth race at Watkins Glen (making him the winningest driver there right now), and all he has to do is show up at the Michigan race next week to clinch his place in the Chase for the Championship. Awesome.

You know, though, I really can't complain about the rain. For one thing, people in Taiwan and China have had it, like, a million times worse than us on account of the rain they've had. For another, missing those races meant I spent more time at my client's house fixing it up. I'd hired a subcontractor to paint, but like many New Yorkers, his paying job subsidizes his "real" job, and his real job is preaching at a small church. So while the painting pastor preached, I got my client's permission to spend the whole afternoon at her place and finished the painting all by myself. I'm not bad at it, after all. Gotta love being way under time and budget. Knock on wood, all I need is to get some furniture and things delivered, and we'll be collecting our full pay and having celebratory drinks this Saturday!

Another small thing that felt good all over is that the two corn stalks I grew in my terrace garden as an experiment this summer finally yielded corn! Two lovely perfect wonderful ears of corn! Of course, that meant one for L'Ailee and one for me last night. I sometimes grill corn with marinades of chipotle and lime and such, but this time, it was accompanied with a classic bit of butter, dash of salt, and dash of sugar. (I grew up on corn boiled in salt-and-sugar-water at the late, lamented Zellwood Corn Festival in Cental Florida. So decadent, so tasty.) L'Ailee swore up and down that hers was the most deliciously perfect, perfectly delicious ear of corn she had ever had in her life and that she would be sorry when it was gone. Me, I literally did savor the flavor of each kernel. It's nice to know I could do it. I think I'll let someone else grow my grains for me next year, though. Tomatoes and peppers and herbs are fine, just fine.

Links, links:

A listing of openly bisexual politicians in America

Sally Wild of Vancouver makes Witches proud by claiming that she was kicked out of an "energy healing" program for being Wiccan...and that her "hereditary gifts of intuitive power and perception" are a disability.

Are you one of the "infectious" people online?

The Texas Board of Education literally wants to rewrite history.

When it comes to breast reconstruction surgery, nipples can be made to look more realistic now.

Finally, Hope Solo is a diva, a showboat, and a bit of a jerk...and that might be great for womens' soccer

Harvest Time

"Put yr cell on vibrate. Race starts soon....Best race ive seen in wks! Sorry but its so good.....Tonys 14 car v v bad. Kyles 18 car bad too....Johnson 48 car needs work. Lots. He cant win....Montoya might win!....Hamlin wins....Hamlin crying in car. V overcome."--L'Ailee's texts to me, Monday afternoon, during the Pocono race.

Work has been quite busy. Plus, thankfully, I have an interior decorating job, after months without one! A good-sized one, too. It is such a relief. There's nothing worse than the feeling that you used to write, used to decorate, etc. and won't be doing it again anytime soon. I hope more will be right behind this one. If anyone wonders why I made a big deal out of the prospect of skipping Christmas with the family back home in favor of watching our hockey teams play at their home venues a couple weeks ago, well, I told my mom about the job, and her response was, "So you'll have lots of money for Florida at Christmas!" No, but I will be able to get a large diet soda and buy a Bill Guerin jersey-styled T-shirt, if such a thing exists, before a Penguins home game without feeling any guilt or pain. So I know she means it about not reading me and my brother's blogs. I've commented at a few sports blogs and answered a few e-mails, but otherwise not had much time to play around online this week.

I'm happy that the Senate confirmed Sonia Sotomayor as Supreme Court Justice today. Finally! I'm so happy that Laura Ling and Euna Lee came back to America! Bill Clinton does still have some usefulness to him. It did occur to me that on the flight to the US, he might've suggested a way that these two attractive women could thank him, but seriously, it's awesome that he could get through to the North Korean government even that much. Also, yesterday, the San Diego Zoo's panda mama, Bai Yun, gave birth to her fifth cub! The baby looks like a little pink naked molerat now, but you can watch her or him grow into a cute black and white teddy bear here.

The Pocono race was rained out on Sunday. I don't know what the deal is with all these damned rainouts, but I'm getting sick of them. I was planning to miss half of it to work on the job, but instead I spent all Sunday afternoon there. Probably for the best. But I have a day job, and I needed to be there on Monday. L'Ailee solved the problem once again. She gets Mondays off, and she stayed home to watch the race. "It's much better than Jerry Springer anyway," she joked. She texted me and a few select friends play by play updates, beginning at noon with "Put yr cell on vibrate. Race starts soon." I suppose I could have gotten more official text alerts from Speed TV or something, but their writers wouldn't have tailored it to me by apologizing that "Tony wont win today sorry." Her best friend's 8-year-old daughter was home from school, and also finagled permission to text updates. (At least I sincerely hope she had permission. Plus, her mother really hates her NASCAR habit.) I know it sounds kind of naff, but I haven't deleted their texts yet. Denny Hamlin won, snapping a 50-race winless streak. I never mind that. Plus, his grandmother had died in the past week, so the poor guy was really emotional. The important things are, Tony Stewart is still on top of the points, and L'Ailee's boy Kevin Harvick is finally doing better, and Watkins Glen, where all the drivers we really like excel, comes up next week.

Earlier in the weekend, we watched Funny People. Decent movie, far better than I'd have expected from Adam Sandler. Earlier yet, on Friday night, I celebrated Lughnasadh, the first of the three harvest festivals, with my best friend Yemaya O'Reilly and the loose-knit group with who we celebrate most Pagan sabbats. What we have in common are that we worship multiple Gods, don't want to celebrate alone, and don't really have another affiliation here in NYC. There isn't much besides that. Yemaya and I had an amazing experience with our home coven back in Florida, Chemin Brigitte. We founded it with four other friends whom we'd known in our mundane lives for a long time, and then we were real selective about adding new members. It's still capped to 13. We're not the only former Chemin Brigitte members who've moved away and go back to Florida to celebrate Samhain, our truly mega Sabbat, with them. We know we can't have that again, and we're thinking that we need to invest more into a community here, since neither of us intend to leave the NYC area anytime soon. The point of Lughnasadh is seeing the seeds, actual and metaphorical, that you've planted in the past year grow into something worthwhile. You can't expect to get the best result out of something you've only given minimal effort.

So Yemaya and I took on the responsibility of planning the post-ritual dinner. We've both been to this rodeo before. Yemaya actually cooks for a living. But we had a difficult time coming up with something good and cohesive that everyone would eat. My best friend also has an 8-year-old daughter. She listened to us go back and forth. Then she piped up.

"What about pasta?" she asked. "That's grain, right? For the harvest? And you could use whole grain to make it more, um, grainy and harvesty, but of course you need a good strong sauce." We looked at each other. This seemed like a good place to start. We asked her what else she was thinking. "You should make the sauce out of vegetables and stuff from your gardens," she said. (Yemaya and I both have terrace gardens. So do several members of our group.) "Make salads out of your vegetables, too," she suggested. "And for dessert, Grape Nut ice cream!" Now, Yemaya is Jamaican, and Grape Nut ice cream is a Jamaican treat, and her daughter happens to really love it with real maple syrup on top. But we like it too, and it did seem appropriately "harvesty," yet more in keeping with the weather than the traditional cakes. She even had an idea for beverages. "Agua frescas. They're more natural than soda, and they're lighter than juice." We really could not improve on that. We both hugged her and told her we were using her ideas. She was so excited, especially when we told everyone that she planned the menu for us. She wants to be an Olympic swimmer when she grows up, but if the swimsuit controversies get to be too much for her, Yemaya and I are convinced that the child has a future as a chef or a caterer. The fact that she helped in the kitchen some without complaining cemented that idea.

Yemaya, at least, is seeing seeds she planted grow in her daughter. I don't have a child, so I have to look elsewhere to see how my seeds are doing. I see movement too, though. It's a wonderful thing, even if Lughnasadh is the beginning of my least favorite month. It's easier to see a purpose for August in NYC than in Florida, anyway. I hope everyone reading this sees growth and movement in their lives, no matter your beliefs. I hope you see everything good you've started grow like crazy.

Links, links:

The American Psychiatric Association finally flat-out admitted that ex-gay therapy is ineffective and a bad idea on multiple levels.

You can't convince the Birthers, so you may as well laugh at 'em with this Kenyan birth certificate generator. Thanks to Vanessa for this.

How is America going to end? Choose your own apocalypse!

Why thinking oneself more enlightened than past generations makes one "real dumb, real fast" Sometimes you gotta eat the fish and spit out the bones....

Finally, you omen readers (and those who put up with us) will have a good laugh at this from the Onion: Solitary Crow on Fence Portending Doom, Analysts Warn