More links.

Posted on October 17, 2011 by Pat Greene

Mike Huckabee suggests taking steps to prevent people in Ohio from voting.  Already claims are being made that he was “only joking.”  Given other efforts to suppress the vote in Ohio (and why the hell is he stumping for a bill in a state that he has no stake in?), I doubt it. Anyway, there are things that are not funny, and this is one of them.

The usually reliable Onion has screwed up: they reported that Americans would pay more under Herman Cain’s “9-9-9” tax plan.  The problem? According to Politifact, this is in fact true.  Given that people assume, rightly, that anything coming from The Onion is satire and therefore to be automatically classed as fake, this really could mislead voters.  It seems odd to be chastising an organization for telling the truth, but there it is.

Finally, regarding my post “Stolen valor? or free speech?,” the Supreme Court granted cert in United States v. Alvarez.  I will certainly be interested in how they rule on this one.  I have no prediction on what they’ll do; I gave up predicting the Court a few years ago.

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If it weren’t for Wilfred Owen…

Posted on October 17, 2011 by Pat Greene

…I would have half the traffic that I do now — or less.  I am once again the top hit for the words “children ardent for desperate glory,” i.e., for people searching for Owen’s tragic, moving poem “Dulce Et Decorum Est.”  Between that and people (probably high school students) looking for “little known heroes” (I’m the number three hit for that phrase), I have enough traffic to fool myself into thinking this is a worthwhile exercise.  Which it is, if only to help people discover Wilfred Owen and Harry Burn.

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Brought to you by the campaign for factual accuracy in political discourse

Posted on October 17, 2011 by Pat Greene

A couple of links I would like to share:

First of all, regarding an email/Facebook post regarding a proposed 28th Amendment: this post is mostly false.  It contains oft-repeated claims about Congress exempting themselves from health-care mandates and sexual harassment laws.  Snopes does its usual thorough job debunking this.

Also, when faced with people who complain that so many people in 2009 did not pay taxes, hand this to them: an analysis of the actual tax burdens people carry.

I am separating these two links out from other posts, because I do not want to muddy the waters with attempts at persuasion.

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Trick or treat

Posted on October 16, 2011 by Pat Greene

I have often thought that Chopped was by far the toughest cooking show on Food Network.  Tougher than Food Network Challenge.  Tougher than Iron Chef America. The episode I am watching tonight simply reinforces that opinion. And we’re just through the appetizer round.

The mystery ingredients? Poblano peppers, black radish, fruit candies … and chicken feet.

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Stolen valor? or free speech?

Posted on October 15, 2011 by Pat Greene

There are a number of petitions before the Court that look to be quite interesting this term.  There is a takings case from the 9th Circuit, and some Establishment Clause cases, and a couple of cases involving who can be sued for torture.  Normally, that last one would have commanded my attention the most, but the case I  most hope the Court grants cert for is United States v. Alvarez, concerning the constitutionality of the Stolen Valor Act, which makes it a crime to misrepresent that you have been awarded military medals.  The issue before the Court is whether the act infringes upon free speech.

I am normally a free speech zealot (see my reaction to the Westboro Baptist case).  But this time, I just  don’t know…

Perhaps it is because next month it will have been fifteen years since my dad died.  Dad was one of the few, the proud… He was a Marine, and in many ways it defined his life. He served in the Pacific during World War II, and in China after the war, where he was tortured by having his teeth pulled out. In later years he clearly suffered from what would today be diagnosed as PTSD.

He took his oath seriously, even after he was no longer in active service.  One of my clear memories of the 80s was watching the Iran-Contra hearings with Dad: when Ollie North stated that his duty was to follow his commander-in-chief, Dad yelled at the television: “No, it’s NOT! It is to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States!” He went on to call North a disgrace to the uniform.  For a mostly conservative Republican (which did not mean then what it means now), that was significant.

Three years before he died, he and my uncle, a career Marine who had served from the Pacific Theater to Korea through to Vietnam, got into a dispute about a battle in the Pacific.  I don’t remember which battle, now, nor does it matter much.  What matters is that my uncle insisted heatedly that Dad could not have been there, and Dad even more heatedly insisted he was.  What I remember was that the island in question was the scene of fighting for some time, so I suppose it would have been possible for Dad not to have been in the first wave but have been there subsequently. Dad died never having been reconciled to his brother and a couple of my siblings were all for banning my uncle from the funeral, until Mom stepped in and put a stop to that nonsense.

Dad abhorred lying.  “Liar” was one of the worst things you could call someone, and you damn well better have proof of knowledge of the untruth and active intent to deceive.  My siblings and I had that drilled into us.  There is a strong difference between “You’re mistaken,” or even “You’re wrong,” and “You’re lying,” and he made sure we understood it. For his own brother to call him a liar was simply unacceptable.  But it went further than that.  He was being accused of lying about one of the most important — and horrific — experiences of his life.

Dad did not really talk about the horrors; most of the war stories he told were of amusing things that happened between battles. One he told me, however, left me stunned.

He was nineteen.  He had landed with his comrades on an island, where they were being cut down by withering fire coming from up in the hills.  Night fell, and he waited for the dawn, to die.  He said that it was not even a matter of simply thinking he might die.  He was sure he was dead.  He spent the night repeating the 121st Psalm, looking up into the hills. (This was the Psalm that we read at his wake, at his request.)  As it turned out, the Japanese had had something happen (I don’t remember what) which left them in some disarray the next morning.  Dad survived.

When I was nineteen, I was trying to figure out if I really wanted to date the geeky kid from MIT, and whether history would make a good major.  I was not sitting on a hunk of rock thousands of miles away from my home and loved ones, waiting to be shot to death.  The enormity of it seemed beyond my comprehension.

That is, until Steven Spielberg made Saving Private Ryan.  I made myself watch it, even though I don’t handle violence in movies well: I figured it would help me understand a little of what Dad went through. (I avoided Terrence Malick’s Thin Red Line, which supposedly did for the Pacific what Saving Private Ryan did for the European theatre.  I just couldn’t handle it.) The first twenty minutes made it crystal clear all of a sudden why the argument between my dad and his brother was so important, to both sides.

For someone to go through what soldiers experienced in battle, and come out the other side, would mean to be changed forever.  To have that experience, that horror, negated would be beyond infuriating.  Similarly, to have seen such death and destruction, or to have known those who did, would make one very protective of those who survived and the memories of those who died.  For someone to falsely claim kinship in that fraternity would be almost sacrilegious.

So, I don’t know.  I think the Stolen Valor Act is fine: that to falsely claim equivalence with those who put their lives on the line, and especially those who acted with such valor as to be recognized for it, is akin to fraud.  Fraud on all of us who, whatever our views towards the particular wars in which they are sent to fight, have a deep and abiding respect for our men and women in uniform.

I think Dad would agree with me.

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Sooo…

Posted on October 15, 2011 by Pat Greene

It’s Saturday night, and I am sitting in a Starbucks, with a bunch of what appear to be college students (it’s the SB closest to Stanford on El Camino, for those keeping score).  The Rocket Scientist had another obligation this evening, and I decided to leave the house before I committed actual violence on my sons. (I am trying to refer to them as something other than children: at nearly 21, 17 and 15, they are emphatically not children any more, no matter how they might act sometimes.)

This blogging every day business might be harder than it looks.  After a couple of actual substantive posts, I feel I have nothing really to say.  I have you guys for company, but that is a little like talking to my imaginary friends.  I know you’re there, I just can’t see you.  (Not to say that you guys are imaginary… oh, hell.  You are intelligent people, you can understand the simile.) Not to mention that some of you won’t read this until tomorrow, or the day after, or next week.

It is not that there are not a lot of things out in the world to comment on: Occupy Wall Street keeps on keeping on.  Today, cops arrested people who were trying to close their accounts at Citibank.  That’s one way to keep customers.  Arrest them.  So much for the “free market” and “voting with your feet.”

The fact that both Citibank and Bank of America have been so desperate to prevent people from taking their money elsewhere — say to a local bank or credit union — supports what the protesters have been yelling about.  People are not citizens, or even customers.  They’re cattle to be milked.

I am trying to figure out why every SB I have been in is so freaking cold. Maybe it is to create an incentive for people to buy more hot drinks.

I have gotten some good feedback for my “Silence = Death” post, for which I am grateful.  It was one of the hardest posts I’ve ever written, but it felt important.

I am not following the baseball playoffs any more.  After the Rays were eliminated, I kept paying attention only to see if the Yankees advanced.  Thank you, Detroit!

This morning I worked at a walk-a-thon for a nonprofit I volunteer at, which specializes in grief and bereavement counseling.  I wasn’t able to walk (see previous post, “Venting,” about my FMS, which has abated a little but which still makes walking more than about 100 feet difficult and painful) but I did oversee the volunteers running registration. It is important work, and I am glad I can support it.

Be careful what you wish for:  I expressed a longing a couple of weeks back for a corset.  I am now the owner of a blue and black brocade corset with a Victorian sweetheart neckline.  (It was a gift.) I have been told that I look great in it, but am not sure if a) it is clothing or lingerie and b) if the former, exactly where I would wear it. I have pictures, but in keeping with other people’s sensibilities, not to mention my own sheepishness, I am not going to post them here.

Oddly enough, now that I am writing, I am finding it a little hard to stop.  Rambling on seems much  more interesting that checking FaceBook or LiveJournal.

Maybe I’ll go check out SCOTUSblog and see what’s coming up.  I’m sure you’ll hear from me later.  If not, I hope you have a more exciting evening than I am having.

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What about a *woman’s* right to live?

Posted on October 14, 2011 by Pat Greene

Every so often the House of Representatives does something which takes my breath away.  And not in a good way, either.

Yesterday, the House passed H.R. 358, the so-called “Protect Life Act.” You think H.R. 3, the bill that would redefine rape for the purposes of insurance coverage of abortion, was atrocious?  This is worse.  Much worse.

Under this bill, women could die.

Currently, the Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act (EMTLA) requires hospitals to provide life-saving care and to stabilize patients who come through the doors of their E.R. If they cannot, they are to facilitate a transfer to another hospital.  This was originally designed so that people would not be allowed to die simply because they had no insurance or the means to pay for treatment.

H.R. 358 would exempt abortions from those requirements.  If a woman came into an ER needing an abortion to save her life, and the ER were attached to, say, a Roman Catholic hospital who refused as a matter of principle to either perform an abortion or transfer the woman, she could die.  They could legally watch her die.

Pregnancy is a hazardous business.  Sometimes an abortion is required so a woman will live.  This Daily Kos diarist describes one such scenario; and a ruptured placenta previa would be another, as would severe preeclampsia.

These bastards do not seem to care.  How they can reconcile “protecting life” when what they are doing may well cost it, is completely beyond my comprehension. It is not as though the fetus will come to term if the mother dies, is it?

Oh, I forgot.  Fetuses are more important than grown women. Silly me.

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Posted on October 14, 2011 by Pat Greene

Remember my post about Occupy Wall Street?  There has been pushback, of course.  A lot of it from very hardworking Americans, who point out “I’m making it, I don’t see why other people aren’t.”  There is a lot of blaming of poor people going around.

One of these has been popping up various places, from a guy who calls himself a “53 per center.”  He draws on his own experiences to castigate those who are not making it, telling them to “suck it up” and calling them “whiners.”

Here is a wonderful answer to him, which says what so many of us feel about America today.

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Silence = Death.

Posted on October 14, 2011 by Pat Greene

I should have published this on Tuesday.* 

My nickname is gender-neutral.  The name that the Rocket Scientist goes by with his friends is gender-neutral.  The license plate on Vincent, the black Mustang, has both those names joined by “N”. It could be the license plate of a couple composed of two men, two women, or one of each. We also have a prominent “NO on 8” bumper sticker.

I live in Northern California.  Of anywhere in the country, I would think that this area has the lowest level of homophobic bigots looking to inflict violence.  Small numbers or not, they’re still here.

All the vandalism started around the time the Proposition 8 fight hit high gear a couple of years ago and has continued.  The tires of the Mustang have been slashed at least twice.  (Not only while it was sitting in front of our house, either.) The tires on another of our cars have also been slashed.  Acid has been poured on Vincent’s bumper.  The car has been keyed twice.  As far as I knew, nothing had occurred while anyone was around to see it happening…

Until Wednesday.

Wednesday, I found out that The Rocket Scientist had been confronted with the homophobia that exists even here. He was driving around town a couple of weeks ago, and pulled up to a light.  Two people in the car next to him screamed “Faggot!!!” and tried to spit into his window. RS laughed at them and drove off. Fortunately, they were only armed with words and spit, not rocks or guns.

We have no intention of either changing license plates or removing the sticker.

I’m lucky. Because of my life circumstances, I am spared a lot of crap that other LGBT people deal with on a regular basis.  When you are a bisexual woman with kids, married to a member of the opposite sex, the default assumption is that you’re straight. So, yes, for a long time I have been coasting along on heteronormative privilege, telling myself and others that my orientation was only the business of the people I had sex with.  I still believe that to be true, for each and every one of us…

… in an ideal world.

We don’t live in an ideal world.  And it is not enough anymore simply to indicate I stand in solidarity with those seeking human rights for all.  As though I were simply a dedicated but removed bystander. As though it were not my skin on the line as well as so many of my friends.  Silence is complicity.  Just because I am married to a man does not mean that I always will be.  Just because I live in an area where I am relatively safe (although, as mentioned above, not nearly as safe as I would have thought) does not mean I always will.

Silence = death. 

I choose life.

*October 11 is National Coming Out Day.

Posted in Who I am | Tagged | 4 Comments

My life did not flash before my eyes. I was too busy closing them.

Posted on October 12, 2011 by Pat Greene

In my post “One is a wanderer,” I mentioned New Zealand.

Don’t get me wrong, anything in this post notwithstanding, I love New Zealand.  It is the most beautiful country on the face of the earth.  My sole reason for seeing The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring was because it was shot there.* (I figured they would butcher the books completely.  Imagine my surprise when they didn’t.)

The backroads of New Zealand are usually two-lane, although very well paved.  Passing on them is certainly possible, provided one can find a straight stretch without a blind curve. Unless one is a New Zealander, in which case you pass anyway, blind curve be damned.  in 1991, The Rocket Scientist and I were tooling along through the North Island, and we were constantly amazed by the people zooming past us around curves that would give us the willies. And as we were driving, we ended up behind a sheep truck going far slower than we either wanted or needed to be going.

One sheep is a smelly creature.  A entire truckload of them is horrific. For those Californians who have traversed I-5 past the cattle pens, a truck full of sheep is worse.

We kept hitting short stretches of road followed by blind curves.  After about forty minutes of the choking smell (even the air conditioning could not make it bearable) we decided that, at the next straight spell, regardless of a blind curve at the end or not, we had to pass.  We had not seen any traffic in quite a while, so we thought “What’s the harm?”

We got to a straight stretch.  I pulled out to pass, at which point a semi-truck hauling God knows what appeared at the edge of the curve.  It’s a doable pass, but just.  I sped up.

So did the sheep truck.  Damn.  Okay, he’s going to play that game. I slowed.

He did, too.  He would not let me pass, nor would he let me drop back behind him.  On one side of the road is a steep hill, with no shoulder.  On the other side, a steep drop, again with no shoulder. Our choices seemed to be meeting the grim reaper smashed into a bloody pulp on the grille of a truck, or rolling over the edge, again with very nasty results.

I could actually see the panicked face of the oncoming trucker.  He was trying to slow, but a full truck has a lot of inertia.  “We’re going to die we’re going to die we’re going to die…” was all I could think.  I was not even swearing: I was too terrified.

Finally, I closed my eyes (I am not joking about that), floored the accelerator, and eyes still closed managed to swerve back into my lane.  I somehow did not overcorrect, either.  This is not a merely minor miracle.

Because my eyes were closed, I did not see how close we came to disaster.  The Rocket Scientist, a brave man willing to face death head-on, was staring in horrified fascination, and did.  According to his usually quite accurate estimation, we cleared both the sheep truck and the semi by six feet, at sixty miles an hour.

I kept accelerating (after opening my eyes, of course).  The psychopathic sheep truck driver, his attempt at vehicular homicide thwarted, dropped back to his former pace.  I was shaking so badly I could hardly steer, but the Rocket Scientist would not let me stop and change places.  “If we stop,” he said, “we’ll be back behind the sheep truck.” So we drove on in complete and stunned silence, for probably forty-five minutes, when we figured that we were far enough ahead that we could stop for the two minutes needed to change drivers.

I have often wondered if I should take this as a sign: that either I or my children (two of whom had not yet been born at that point) are destined for greatness.  I don’t think so, really, but damn, it does make me shake every time I think of it.

Life is a great thing, most of the time.  It should be appreciated on its own terms, regardless of where it takes you or how much you accomplish.  We can’t all be Steve Jobs.

And you never know when you might run into a sheep truck driver with mayhem on his mind.

*When the Not-So-Little-Drummer Boy and I first watched the movie on DVD, I kept saying “It’s not CGI.  There really are places that beautiful in New Zealand.” When the Fellowship reached the Gates of Moria, and the monster appeared from the lake, the NSLDB turned to me and said, “Yes, I know, Mom.  There really are monsters like that in New Zealand.”  God, I love that boy.

Posted in My life and times | 1 Comment

Oh, my.

Posted on October 11, 2011 by Pat Greene

I have gotten around to listening to the soundtrack to The Book Of Mormon, which I bought some time ago but which had been having trouble downloading from my Amazon Cloud account to my laptop.

One warning: if you are given to laughing out loud at hysterical material, maybe playing it in public is not such a good idea.  I have already been glared at by the woman across the table in the library.

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One is a wanderer.

Posted on October 11, 2011 by Pat Greene

The good news out here on the highway
Is that everything in life is a suggestion
But the bad news lonely on the highway
Is each question just begs another question*
Robbie Schaefer, “Number Six Driver”

I’ve paid my dues because I have owed them
But I’ve paid a price sometimes
For being such a stubborn woman
In such stubborn times
I have run from the arms of lovers
I have run from the eyes of friends
I have from the hands of kindness
I have run…. just because I can
Mary Chapin Carpenter, “The Moon and St. Christopher”

The years roll on by 
and just like the sky
the road never ends
And the people who love me still ask me
When are you coming back to town
And I answer, quite frankly
when they stop building roads
and all God needs is gravity to hold me down
Alison Krauss, “Gravity”

As I look over my music collection, I have a lot of songs which have roaming as a theme.  It’s not any accident.  I am by nature a restless soul.  Every so often I get the urge to simply leave, and go somewhere else.  Part of it is escapism.  And stress.  But the rest of it…

I moved across country three times. I moved from Florida to Massachusetts to Florida to Georgia to California to Virginia to California again (sadly).  I moved while pregnant with each of my children, albeit two of the times only across town. (The Rocket Scientist used to claim that I timed my pregnancies so as to avoid packing, since I was usually too busy being sick as a dog to do much.  I’ve never been quite sure if he was joking or not.) Not to mention various moves within locales.  Aside from moving, I have also driven across country and back, as well as up and down the East Coast and from Georgia to Florida and Mississippi numerous times. On one family vacation, I helped drive from Minneapolis to Atlanta by way of Topeka, St. Louis, Chicago, Washington D.C. and Raleigh, North Carolina.  I have driven in almost all of the states of the union, in Canada, Mexico, Spain, France, Belgium, Germany, The Netherlands and the United Kingdom.  I have driven in Australia and New Zealand.

I sometimes drive Big Sur for the sheer joy of it.  Even aside from economics, there are reasons family vacations almost always involve driving rather than flying. (And I am not — nor is anyone in my family — afraid of flying.) Some people find relief in a bottle: I find mine on an accelerator pedal.**

As crazy as some of that some of that driving has been, I have for the most part loved it.  (I am a good driver, and a cranky passenger.) It has given me stories that become part of who I am.  (Remind me to tell you sometime about my dice with death involving a sheep truck, a blind curve and an oncoming semi in New Zealand.  Or how Spanish drivers are crazier than Parisian drivers.)

Part of the fabric of my life for very many years now is that I cannot roam. I am tied, in ways that I take on with some measure of acceptance, even if grace is sometimes well beyond me.  (That I have lived uninterruptedly in California for 18 years, and in the same house for eleven,  drives me absolutely nuts.) Leaving would mean leaving the Rocket Scientist, who is tied here by love and career, and the kids.

I look towards the horizon with longing, even as I understand fully how much any effort on my part to leave would burden people I love.  Intellectually, I understand that wherever I go would be fraught with many of the same issues I face now, but it would be somewhere new, with new challenges.  And as the kids grow older, and less in need of me, the road calls even more insistently. In three years, the Red-Headed Menace will be out of the house and into college. And then…

I don’t know what I’ll do.

So don’t ask where I’m going
Just listen when I’m gone
And far away you’ll hear me
Singing softly to the dawn
Steven Schwartz, “Corner of the Sky” from Pippin

*I love this song — and this lyric — in spite of how grating I find the misuse of the term “begs the question” to be.
**And I know how environmentally horrible this is.  How I know.  Isn’t the definition of addiction when you do things you know to be bad, and you do them anyway?

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Writing. Some more.

Posted on October 11, 2011 by Pat Greene

I am waffling on whether or not to use November’s National Novel Writing Month as a springboard for creating a disciplined period for my own nonfiction writing.  I know from past experience that 50K is a lot for me — not in terms of words, but in terms of plot.  I just do not have the attention span to handle developing the coherence needed. I used to say that my previous foray into NaNoWriMo ended up with me simply proving that I could type 50,000 words in one month.

Remember Up? Remember Doug?  Yes.  Just like tha– Squirrel!!!*

But… there are a couple of projects I have started/have been thinking of starting.  One is my long-delayed (I started working on the thing in 2005) trivia book.  (I know, it seems like a very long time, but there have been significant periods where I did no work on it whatsoever.)  As I am rather picky about what I think people might find interesting, it is not simply a matter of scanning the Encyclopedia Britannica for random pieces of information. It takes a lot longer to write than one might think, if for no other reason than the time it takes to research.

The other is a memoir of the past twelve years of my life.  I know it is self-indulgent, but I think I have some things going for me that might make it an interesting read, FSV of interesting.  Much of what I would write about I have not written about here.** I probably will opt out of this one, though, as I do want my family and friends to keep talking to me.

So, we’ll see.

In any case, I have signed up for NaBloPoMo: National Blog Posting Month.  A much lighter commitment than NaNoWriMo, participants merely sign on to post every day to their blogs. There is no word limit.  Although you can start at any time — as long as you post thirty days in succession — I plan to officially start in November.

Oh, boy! You get to read even more of my ravings! Aren’t you happy?




*We are having one of my children assessed for ADD, and the psychologist started listing behaviors common to people with the disorder, and I kept finding myself saying, “Yep, do that.  Yep, do that.”  The most surprising one for me (because I had never thought of it as anything but normal) is the need to have at least some ambient noise (usually music, but often television) in the background to be able to concentrate.  It drives the Rocket Scientist up the wall.  We have the fan running all the time in our room, no matter how cold it gets,  because I have trouble falling and staying asleep in an entirely silent room.

** Of course, if I am completely honest with myself, I want to write this solely so I can write a chapter called “The Cherry Red Convertible.”  It’s not actually about cars at all, but I do love the title.

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But… what implications does this have for the Apocalypse?

Posted on October 11, 2011 by Pat Greene

As I said, I don’t read intellectual property cases on SCOTUSblog.

Yet this morning, I struggled through an entire post on Golan v Holder, a case involving both copyright and international law, areas in which I have next to no knowledge.  It was slow going, and I still think I don’t understand all the nuances completely.  There are times I think I have lost my brain.

What would entice me to do such a thing?  The post’s title: “Argument Recap: the Constitutionality of Zombie Copyrights.”

Who can resist something like that?

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Holy moly.

Posted on October 10, 2011 by Pat Greene

A virus has infected the computers used to pilot the U.S. Air Force’s drones.

Wow.  That’s scary. 

I found this paragraph to be the most disturbing, in a “WTF?!?!” sort of way:

But despite their widespread use, the drone systems are known to have security flaws. Many Reapers and Predators don’t encrypt the video they transmit to American troops on the ground. [emphasis mine] In the summer of 2009, U.S. forces discovered “days and days and hours and hours” of the drone footage on the laptops of Iraqi insurgents. A $26 piece of software allowed the militants to capture the video.

The information from military aircraft on top secret missions was not being encrypted?  I’m just speechless.  Yes, I know that hindsight is 20/20, but how could anyone reasonably miss the importance of encryption here?

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