History Interlude

I have been reading the excellent Civil War Daily Gazette, which--in honor of the sesquicentennial--has been presenting daily updates on the war as it happened, 150 years after the fact, beginning with the November 1860 presidential election. The reaction to Lincoln's victory played out like this in Savannah:



Click to embiggen, or just take my word for it that the flag of secession they've hoisted up there at the foot of the obelisk has the familiar Don't Tread on Me snake on it, accompanied by the phrases "Southern Rights" and "Equality of States." On the same day, the Charleston, SC newspaper stated “The tea has been thrown overboard, the revolution of 1860 has been initiated.”

I probably don't need to point out our own modern-day tea-festooned mobs brandishing snake flags and howling about states' rights, or, say, Arizona's legislature pursuing a Nullification bill, or even more generally the entire right wing of America losing its collective shit after another "black" candidate gained the White House.

Go read the Gazette, starting with the November 2010 archives. It's fascinating, and, after only a few posts, alternately depressing and terrifying.

Brrrrrr.

The desert spent most of the day in the mid 30s, with enough of a wind to make it feel like the mid 20s. Positively balmy from the perspective of, say, my New Hampshire readership, but for mid-elevation southern Arizona, it was frigid. Two days ago we had a raging sleet storm that covered the ground in pea-sized ice for a few minutes. Today it's sunny and chipper and Arctic.

If it's an occasionally dry heat in the summertime, it's also a very dry cold. I wake up and make a beeline for the water bottle in hopes it will convince my throat--which glued itself shut in protest overnight--to open up and play nice. I jump in the shower and the hot water feels sharp against my parched skin. Half a bottle of lotion later, my dermis says oh, did something just happen here I was supposed to notice?

Tonight promises a low of 21 or something, with tomorrow night's low expected to be a tad more stupid than that. The portable plants have been brought inside; the ground-bound ones have been shrouded and grimly bid adieu. I crack open the door and prod the dog. She glances over her shoulder just long enough to convey you have completely lost your mind and hightails it back to her spot near the flow from the living room heat vent. This being Arizona, where cold air is generally more highly valued than warm, the vents are situated high on the walls. I'm sure it's very comfortable up there somewhere by the ceiling.

Tea, soup, more tea, red wine, thick socks, blankets, extra pillows to pile on top. Getting in and out of bed has become complicated. Here's hoping my plumbing doesn't turn into a giant Otter Pop overnight.

A Point of Geographic Clarification

You've most likely heard about elitist big-city mayor Michael Bloomberg hiring private investigators in Arizona to go to gun shows and see how many guns they could buy after telling the dealers private sellers "I probably wouldn't pass a background check" (answer: a lot). Jan Brewer is predictably steamed, and took the opportunity to see how many times she could string "Arizona," "Constitution," and "Second Amendment" into sentences (answer: at least two).

The official response from the Crossroads of the West gun show people insisted that they are completely law-abiding, and then added a slightly baffling geographic twist. I will give you exactly one guess about where they got their verbiage.

These forays into America's heartland committing blatant acts to entrap otherwise innocent gun owners is an unlawful scheme that is created by Bloomberg's task force.

Heartland? Really? If Florida is America's Wang and Alaska is America's Ear, southern Arizona isn't exactly the heartland. We are more America's Hamstring, although America's Groin Pull should get some consideration. America's heartland. Sound familiar? You betcha.

Arizona Strives to be Number One in yet Another Mind-boggling but Somehow Unsurprising Way

Well, the final fatality in the January 8 shootings was buried at the end of last week, so the time was ripe for some Lake Havasu mope in the state legislature to bust out with SB1201. Heavens to Betsy, the circulation must have gone plumb out of his hands after sitting on them for three whole weeks before giving Arizona yet another gift that will keep on giving, the Firearms Omnibus Bill.

Senate Bill 1201, sponsored by Sen. Ron Gould, R-Lake Havasu City, would do a number of things, including:

- Allow people to carry firearms into all government-run facilities and many public events. The only places or events that could ban firearms would be those that post the correct sign, provide firearm lockers and have armed security and a metal detector. The law would apply to university classrooms, city buses and community festivals that get government permits. It would not apply to K-12 schools.

- Change the wording of last year's concealed-weapons law to require an individual to answer "truthfully" when a law-enforcement officer asks whether the person is carrying a concealed weapon. The current wording requires the person to answer "accurately." Law-enforcement officials say the change could give leeway to a person who, for example, forgets a gun in a bag and inaccurately tells an officer he or she isn't carrying one.

- Change the wording of Shannon's Law to make it a crime to "knowingly" discharge a firearm within city limits. It's currently a crime for someone to discharge a firearm with "criminal negligence." Bill opponents said the change would mean people could be convicted of violating this law only if the prosecution could prove they knew that shooting the gun could result in someone's death or injury.

- Allow people to sue if they feel they were illegally stopped from carrying a firearm into a government facility or event. If a person wins the lawsuit and the government agency doesn't pay within 72 hours, the person has the right to seize as payment "any municipal vehicles used or operated for the benefit of any elected office holder" in the relevant government agency.

Hoo-eee! That last provision is pure gold. I am sorely tempted to mosey over to Black Weapons Armory for an AR-15 that I will then carry on to city buses, into MVD offices, and through county-sponsored Oktoberfests until I've won enough lawsuits from sluggish agencies to have seized so many cars that I will need to build my own personal parking deck. If I play this right, Jan Brewer's Escalade will be mine within the year. I got yer return on a $1,499.99 investment right here! Boom!

But seriously? Seriously, Jesus Christ. We're looking to let untrained and barely vetted people carry guns just about everywhere, make it easier to avoid consequences for lying to cops about having a gun, make it easier to avoid consequences for being an idiot with a gun, and make public agencies skittish about appealing punitive awards against them for saying is it too much to ask that you not bring your goddamn Glock and pocketsful of extended-capacity magazines into the D.A.R.E. Family Fun Fair? Too soon? It's Arizona. Apparently here it's never too soon.

What's the Limit on Saying Here We Go Again?

Perhaps you've heard that Arizona is in somewhat dire straits. The state is wrestling with--and losing to, badly--an epic budget crisis that has resulted in hundreds of thousands of low-income people (we have more than any state in the nation) being kicked off of state-provided healthcare (including a few people who have died after being removed from the organ transplant list), mental health services being slashed, aid to developmentally disabled people being gutted, public schools closing, state universities eliminating departments and not hiring new staff to fill positions left vacant (250 university professors were just offered a year's pay to retire early and go away), and state parks being shuttered (leaving priceless Native American sites vulnerable to looting). The private sector economy is just as bad, with high unemployment (in fact, we just added to our worst-in-the-nation trophy case on Monday, when we found out that we have the highest rate of teenage unemployment in the country, a whopping 31%).

So, naturally, the Republicans and tea partiers who were freshly elected or reliably re-elected on the strength of campaigns touting them as fiscal saviors have gotten right down to business. With a slew of bills restricting abortion even more than it already is.

First up is Steve Montenegro (R-Litchfield Park), offering a pair of nifty bills intended to crack down on the rampant practice of sex-selection abortions. Well, both bills ban sex selection. One also tacks on a race-selection ban.

HB 2443, crafted by Rep. Steve Montenegro, R-Litchfield Park, would require a woman to sign an affidavit she is not seeking an abortion because of the child's sex or race. Montenegro has a separate measure, HB 2442, dealing only with abortions based on sex selection.

Any doctor who performed an abortion knowing race or sex selection was the reason would face felony charges. And the legislation would permit the father of the unborn child, if married to the woman having the abortion, to sue the doctor for damages.

This must be a significant problem in Arizona for Rep. Montenegro to have taken the time to write two separate bills addressing it, no? Oh.

Neither Montenegro nor independent searches of state records and the Internet provided any information indicating a significant number of women are seeking abortions for those reasons.

Montenegro promised supporting data when interviewed initially last week, but as of late Wednesday had provided none. He said he will have more specifics to back those claims today.

I will, of course, stay glued to the Daily Star today so that I can bring you those specifics just as soon as they hit the wire. He at least had the courtesy to give us a little tease.

But Montenegro said he has information "that there are targeted communities that the abortion industry targets." He said for the purposes of his ban, an abortion based on race would include situations where the parents are the same race as the fetus.

OMG TARGETED COMMUNITY IS TARGETED. And no more aborting because you're white and were really hoping to save on the plane fare by popping out an Asian baby. Or because you're Mexican and were hoping to change things up a little with a Norwegian. Or a puppy. Or something.

It becomes slightly more ominous, though, when Montenegro explains his "targeting" claim by pointing out that abortion rates are higher for nonwhites than for whites. Which makes it hard to read his proposed ban on situations where parents are the same race as the fetus as a particular ban on nonwhite women having abortions.

Our other entry comes courtesy of Rep. Kimberly Yee (R-Phoenix), co-sponsored by only 34 other Republicans, which brings Oklahoma-style mandated ultrasounds to our fair shores. Doctors would be required to (a) explain what the ultrasound shows, (b) show the woman a picture of the ultrasound, and (c) play audio of the heartbeat if one is audible before the woman can give her final consent for the procedure. No word on if the woman will also be required to sit in a rocking chair with an appropriately flesh-toned plush fetus-doll and read it Goodnight Moon before the abortion can take place. All of this is completely necessary, of course, for a very simple reason.

Yee, who said she opposes abortion, believes some women do not have a full understanding of what they are doing.

But the girls who want to keep the baby because then the guy will finally love them and the baby will love them and sit quietly all day and not bring any undue disruption or hardship to their lives? They totally fully understand what they're doing.

It's morning in Arizona. And it sucks.

In Case You're Interested

I broke down and got a tumblr account. Pictures and stuff are here.

And.... Scene.

So much for the good feelings that briefly enveloped our little desert burg. Well, really, the vitriol only hiccuped for a second or two there while it stayed near the surface. People started grousing about Sheriff Dupnik right away, as well about the order in which victims' names were listed in news stories and about who went to what funeral and about people cheering at the memorial service instead of weeping.

In the past few days, the reliably unhinged crew of regular commenters on the Arizona Daily Star's website have even begun sniffing dismissively and derisively at Rep. Giffords' impending transfer to a rehab hospital in Houston. Why doesn't she stay in Arizona for rehab, they whine. Why do people feel the need to turn out to line the streets to watch her ambulance go by on the way to the airport, they grouse. Why does she even say she's from Arizona if her husband lives in Texas, they howl.

Distasteful, stupid, and not worth the energy. As long as nobody stands out there with a sign demanding that Giffords apologize to Sarah Palin, I don't much mind their going on and on and on. Better to let all that bile out than keep it bottled up until someone has a coronary, I suppose.

Some of these folks, however, aren't content to just plaster their stupidity across the discussion boards of a mid-major newspaper that doesn't get a whole lot of pageviews outside Arizona. The Pima County tea party people have decided to plaster their stupidity all over the public right-of-way and inevitable TV cameras outside Sheriff Dupnik's headquarters next Friday, in response to Dupnik having had the temerity to point out that Arizona has become the epicenter of stupid in this country a "mecca of prejudice and bigotry."

Pima County Tea Party Patriots say they plan to "indict" Dupnik for politicizing the shootings, blaming free speech for the crime without evidence, failing to protect Giffords, failing to recuse himself from the investigation, and embarrassing the community in front of the nation.

Oh, honey child. Arizona has already done plenty on its own to embarrass itself in front of the nation, despite Tucson's best efforts to mitigate some of the state's crap act. We would be remiss, of course, if we failed to point out that the founder of the Tucson Tea Party (no relation, apparently, to the county-level patriots) has already let Dupnik off the hook for one of those charges, having placed the blame for the failure to protect Giffords squarely on Giffords herself (she should have known better than to go out in public without security, because there are lots of people running around in public in Arizona with concealed weapons, which the tea party has campaigned for vigorously because having lots of people running around in public with concealed weapons = safety!).

And so the curtain comes down on Act I with a resounding oh, for fuck's sake. I do not know how Act II will unfold.

Maybe I Should Just Give Up and Be Comforted by Consistency

So much for thinking charitable thoughts. Yesterday, Brewer and Pearce went back to not failing to disappoint.

Gov. Jan Brewer and Arizona Senate President Russell Pearce said they see no reason for Arizona to limit the sale of high-capacity ammunition magazines.

I can think of nineteen reasons. Here, and here, and here, and here.

Saturday Morning, Again

A week after the shootings, I walked the few blocks over to University Medical Center--where Rep. Giffords and three other victims are still hospitalized--and spent some time looking at the ever-growing and morphing shrine that is now taking up most of the hospital's front lawn. Many people were there, wandering among the offerings and quietly chatting. I was pleased to see that someone had left small stacks of supplies for posting signs, lighting candles, and propping up flowers, and equally pleased to see that people were using them and then carefully returning the lighters and markers to their original places and keeping them neatly piled up for the next person to use.

I took pictures with my not-great cellphone camera.

The candles, flowers, pictures, and everything else under the sun covers the grass.

You know that "COEXIST" bumper sticker? That is Tucson right now.

Buddha nestles amongst the veladoras.

There is something for everyone.

Including solar power.

This is why I love Tucson.

Hope.

Memorial

Did you watch the memorial/pep rally tonight? With the exceptions of Janet Napolitano and Eric Holder--hey, the recovering Catholic in me felt completely at home in the familiar Old Testament-New Testament structure of the Mass, but then I remembered this wasn't church, so it felt more than a little off--everyone who spoke knocked it outta the park. Even Jan Brewer managed a coherent, appropriate, moving speech. Daniel Hernandez was simply stunning. And President Obama absolutely exceeded my very very high expectations for this event. Forty minutes! And I hung on every word.

When he said that Giffords had opened her eyes, I cried.

On we go.

Please

Sarah Palin, shut. the. fuck. up.

Tucson

The weirdness continues.

I live close by University Medical Center and drive past it every day at least once. The access roads bristle with satellite trucks, dishes, and antennas, techs with headphones milling among the cops and correspondents, cables snaking the sidewalks. Clutches of people still surround the makeshift shrine on the lawn, day and night, harshly illuminated after the sun goes down in the strange cold light of the TV cameras.

Tucson still leads the newscast on NPR. Still the banner on all the major news sites. Maybe even still on the BBC, although I haven't checked in a while.

Saturday had dawned cold but clear, and by the time I had walked to the university for coffee and back, the sun was warm enough for me to take off my hat and gloves. It was a perfect day for a stroll, so I dawdled and sipped my coffee, and then spent a happy hour or so puttering around in the yard and half-assedly dusting and sweeping inside. It was a perfectly mellow morning.

Then my girlfriend called and said to turn on the news. My jaw does not often hit the ground. But I sat there for the next ten minutes, my mouth hanging open and my hands on my head, watching and listening, stunned at what had happened and taken aback by how much of my brain was insisting that this simply could not be real. I thought to call my ex, who lives in the vicinity of the Safeway where the shootings happened, to make sure he hadn't stopped for milk at a bad time. His wife answered his cell. He had been hit by a car while riding his bike that morning, and was in the UMC trauma unit, having arrived about twenty minutes before the shooting victims.

And the world slipped one more cog and reeled even more off center.

My girlfriend came home and we sat and watched and listened, all afternoon. I finally set out for the store late in the afternoon when we realized a leftover bag of Wheat Thins wouldn't do it for the evening, to Safeway--not that Safeway--and it was like going out at seven on a Sunday morning rather than late Saturday afternoon. The streets and the store were fairly empty, the few people out subdued and quiet, sad, wary. I went home. We huddled.

One million people live in the Tucson metropolitan area, but this is still a small town in many ways. I don't know any of the victims personally, but two of my friends do. It seems everyone knows someone who knows someone, or who lives nearby, or was having coffee across the street when it happened, who heard the helicopters coming closer and closer and suddenly realized in rapidly succeeding waves of comprehension that something terrible had happened.

The vitriol has been flying. Sheriff Dupnik pissed people off by speaking frankly about the ugliness in the nation finding a Mecca in Arizona. Sarah Palin's people yapped about surveyor's symbols. The gunman turned out to be a nutter and one of the heroes of the day admitted he almost mistakenly shot one of the other heroes in the heat of the moment, but the legislature responds by trying to figure out how to get more people carrying guns and forgets the part about Arizona gutting funding for mental health care. The president is coming tomorrow and will be speaking mere blocks from my house. I almost don't want to think about the possible outcomes, verbal, legislative, or otherwise.

And the candles continue flickering on the UMC lawn, under the sun and under the lights.

Giving Credit Where Due

When John McCain says something I completely agree with, I am happy to put it right here. I hope you enjoyed your foray back into lucidity, Senator. Why not stick around a while?

“I am horrified by the violent attack on Representative Gabrielle Giffords and many other innocent people by a wicked person who has no sense of justice or compassion. I pray for Gabby and the other victims, and for the repose of the souls of the dead and comfort for their families. I beg our loving Creator to spare the lives of those who are still alive, heal them in body and spirit, and return them to their loved ones.

“Whoever did this; whatever their reason, they are a disgrace to Arizona, this country and the human race, and they deserve and will receive the contempt of all decent people and the strongest punishment of the law.”

Jesus Fucking Christ

Rep. Gaby Giffords (D-AZ8) was shot in the head this morning at a Tucson Safeway while holding a regularly scheduled meet 'n' greet with the public. If you were anywhere near a TV or computer today, you've heard and seen. Giffords managed to survive a through-and-through to the head with a 9mm slug at close range; among the dead are federal judge John Roll and a nine year old girl. The shooter is a 22-year-old dipshit who has yammered on YouTube about mind control, an amazingly poor grasp of the Constitution, and the gold standard (!). He is in custody.

There are no words.

It has been a surreal, sickening day.

Oh No She... Did.

The plus side? Arizona Governor Jan Brewer appears to be aware of the literary device called "metaphor." The downside? Picking apt ones is still a leeeeeeetle bit out of her reach. She was sworn in yesterday and, while she did manage to get through her speech without any agonizing dead air or giggles, the actual words she put together into sentences included these:

"When I took the oath of office two years ago, I took the helm of a marvelous state that had been poorly commanded, badly navigated and was dead in the water," Brewer said. "Worse, it was leaking, and sinking fast."

"You and I, will be forever guided and sustained by God's grace in a calling that draws us together on this mighty ship - Arizona - now fit for any peril on the sea," Brewer said.

Um. Yes, Arizona was indeed a mighty ship. Unfortunately, it's also sitting on the bottom of Pearl Harbor and is full of corpses.

Pick your scenario, and, as always, death is not an option: (1) she has no idea what image "Arizona" + "ship" automatically brings to mind for Americans, even ones educated in Arizona, or (2) she knows exactly what image "Arizona" + "ship" automatically brings to mind and still thinks it was the best way to characterize the state.

New New Year's Resolution: drink far, far more.

Tom Horne Rides Again

You can't help but... well, since "admire" doesn't quite ring true here, let's go with "notice," so *ahem* You can't help but notice former Superintendent of Education and brand-new Arizona Attorney General Tom Horne for his ability to stick to his guns.

Exhibit 1: The Combover.

While he was still the head of the worst educational system in the US, Horne went Don Quixote (English-language translation only, por favor) on the windmill of the Tucson Unified School District's ethnic studies program, in particular its Mexican American Studies program. Now that he's the state's top lawyer, Horne has vowed to make it his top priority to enforce Arizona's new anti-ethnic studies law (really) by jabbing the windmill with his lance, blowing it up, stomping on the rubble, and bonking dissenters in the head with any bricks that are left over.

The law, which went into effect Friday, prohibits courses that:

• Promote the overthrow of the U.S. government.

• Promote resentment toward a race or class of people.

• Are designed primarily for students of a particular ethnic group.

• Advocate ethnic solidarity instead of the treatment of students as individuals.

Horne was the author of the first draft of the statute, which was amended in the Legislature.

Never mind that TUSD is largely Hispanic, or that Tucson sits smack-dab in the middle of a hunk of the landscape that actually was Mexico until the US bought it in 1854, or that quite a few of the families whose kids might like to take a Mexican American studies class have been living in Tucson for a couple hundred years longer than Tom Horne has been living in America. You know, since he was born in Canada to Polish parents who--in a strangely familiar story--immigrated in search of security and a better life for their children.

No word on whether proficiency in White Privilege Studies will now be required in order to graduate from Arizona high schools, or if it will simply continue to be assumed.

Happy Christmas

Tree is lit, turkey is stuffed, stockings await, kidlets are still snug in their beds, and I'm having a quiet cup of coffee while watching my girlfriend wrangle more onions. Have a lovely day.

Forward, Back, Forward, Back

Goddammit. President Obama's "Out of many, we are one" moment had me hopping out my chair with a swelling heart yesterday morning. Then there's this.

Barry, honey, wrestle with it on your own time. You essentially told Commandant Amos to wrestle with the concept of out gay Marines yesterday morning because, as you said, we are not a nation that says, "don't ask; don't tell." Because it's the right thing to do. Our clock is ticking. Do the right thing and sort out your discomfort later.

Score One for St. Joe

In what was probably intended as a punishment, Mullah Bishop Thomas Olmsted of Phoenix has stripped St. Joseph's Hospital of its Catholic affiliation for its Satan-inspired decision to perform a life-saving abortion on a pregnant mother of four who was at a nearly 100 percent risk of dying from pulmonary hypertension.

"In the decision to abort, the equal dignity of mother and her baby were not both upheld," Olmsted said at a news conference announcing the decision. "The mother had a disease that needed to be treated. But instead of treating the disease, St. Joseph's medical staff and ethics committee decided that the healthy, 11-week-old baby should be directly killed."

Olmsted is correct that the disease needed to be treated, but forgot the part about the only treatment being ending the pregnancy. Ah, but why split hairs when the Church needs to remind people that "dignity of the mother" is just another handy Catholic hierarchy catchphrase that sounds very measured and logical and thought-through but really is just a flapping red flag meaning: warning, oppression ahead (see also: intrinsic moral disorder)?

My lingering question is whether the administrator nun Olmsted excommunicated for approving the abortion gets her job back now. Well, that and why anybody willingly lets this guy be their spiritual authority.

End Times

End of the year, that is. Despite the changes that rolled in, moving some people around the country and sending some people into eternity, the calendar relentlessly marches along. Christmas knocks on the door and dances inside, trailing familiar players and trappings in a cloud of new traditions and arrangements. I'm not sure who's in charge now that my grandparents are gone. I think it might be me. My parents and uncle and aunt spent a week here, sightseeing and helping prep for our annual holiday party. Now they are back home and I'm taking a breath before the next wave of relatives from my girlfriend's side of the family come to town and trying to remember that we're still waiting for Christmas Day to come.

My grandparents' bedroom was always off-limits in December, partly to shield scattered unwrapped presents from prying eyes, but mainly to shield my grandmother's dignity from relatives seeing the utter chaos that lurked behind the door during those 24 days, paper and ribbons and boxes covering every horizontal surface as if a Christmas bomb had gone off mere moments before, no matter when you looked in there. I went back into my own bedroom this morning to retrieve my shoes and realized that one more circle has come full. Jesus. The Christmas Bedroom Bomber has tracked my genetic code 1,600 miles from southern Illinois and detonated several megatons' worth of paper, ribbons, and boxes all over every horizontal surface. And so it goes.

Holiday Hiatus

The boy is back from college, the family has descended on Tucson in droves, the annual holiday party is looming, and I've had waaaaaaaaaay too much egg nog. Posting will be sporadic for a while.

Uh, No

Anthropologists have been thrown into turmoil about the nature and future of their profession after a decision by the American Anthropological Association at its recent annual meeting to strip the word “science” from a statement of its long-range plan.

Well, I'm a fuckin' scientist. With stats and graphs and everything. Screw the Triple Ehs. The end.

Straight Privilege and Double-Dipping in Illinois

The Illinois legislature passed a civil unions bill earlier this week that gives same-sex couples all of the same rights the state accords opposite-married people. Medical access and decisions, inheritance, immunity from testifying, pension survivors benefits, the whole deal. And there was much rejoicing.

When it became apparent that the legislation would sail through Governor Pat Quinn's office, barely stopping on his desk long enough for him to scrawl his signature on the giddy bill, the what's-next discussion turned to whether civil unions will be a stepping stone to full marriage rights in Illinois or a final, second-class destination, although, absent changes to the federal DOMA, it looks like semantics at this point. As in, about the only change you could make to the Illinois civil unions to advance them into the "marriage" sphere is to go ahead and start using the word "marriage;" the state-level rights are in place--although whether insurance companies or benefit managers might try to be dicks about it like they did, for example, in New Jersey after that state enacted their own civil unions--remains to be seen.

However, what's next is something I didn't quite anticipate: straight people, and old straight people in particular, want in on the action.

While celebrated as a historic step forward for gay rights in Illinois, the new civil union bill that awaits Gov. Pat Quinn's signature also offers opportunities for heterosexual couples who don't want to wed but seek many of the legal protections of marriage.

Granted, this is likely to be a narrow swath of the population, but those who drafted the law felt it important to be inclusive, particularly given that the bill's intent was to open up rights that had long been denied to a demographic group.

"It just seemed wrong to me to write a law that would be discriminatory," said state Rep. Greg Harris, D-Chicago, the bill's chief sponsor in the House.

He said some senior citizens lobbied for the bill. Seniors with survivor's benefits from Social Security or a pension could lose that income if they remarry. A civil union allows them to keep that benefit while providing the same state-level rights as a marriage.

"If you go to a senior building, you'll find a lot of people who face this dilemma," Harris said. "They may be the largest single group of beneficiaries by number."

In other words, a demographic that (1) spent much of their lives benefiting from their (and their parents') ability to marry and (2) historically has opposed extending those same benefits to gay people now (3) want to keep the benefits they accrued by being in a state-sanctioned opposite-sex relationship while simultaneously (4) glomming onto benefits that are now being extended to people in same-sex relationships who historically have been denied the exact kind of financial security the oldsters are loathe to give up now that they've met someone new.

I understand why it is important that a law about inclusion appear to be as inclusive as possible, even including groups who, at first blush, do not seem to need the protections extended by the new law because they are already covered by existing laws. And I understand that some straight people don't want to get federally married for realz until equality is extended to everyone. That's lovely, y'all, really, thanks.

But it wears on my very last nerve when one of the loudest responses to this legislation is BUT WHAT ABOUT THE STRAIGHT PEOPLE. But what about the straight people who want this new, lesser-than status? What about the straight people who want health benefits without having to get married first? What about the straight people who don't want to give up a Social Security survivor's benefit?

Well, what about them? If you're in Illinois and you trip-trap down to the courthouse for a shiny new civil union because you've been going out with this guy for a few months and really need health insurance, well, surprise, when you decide to dump him after you land a job that gives you your own coverage, you're going to find that CUs don't just approximate marriage fairly well. The process of getting out of one also approximates divorce to a T. If you're in a CU, you're married without the feds and federal programs being involved. There is no advantage if you're a straight couple. And then there's this:

Courtney Greve, spokeswoman for Cook County Clerk David Orr, said the clerk's office gets weekly calls from heterosexual couples who don't want to marry but are interested in some sort of domestic partnership. Some, she said, are young couples facing a loss of health insurance, who want to wait to get married until they can plan a more elaborate wedding.

Yeah, fuck that. Civil unions, flawed as they are by being limited to state-level legislation, are still closer to the brass ring than anything in Illinois has been before. People have fought for this stuff for years and years. They fought for domestic partnerships and the small set of protections those brought. Now they finally won civil unions, the culmination of decades of struggle, and... young straight people want to use them as a stopgap measure until, you know, they can have the real wedding of their dreams, and old straight people want to use them as a double-ended scoop that gives them the benefits of both their former marriage and their new relationship.

Can we just have our nice thing, please? Or as nice a thing as we can get until civil marriage simply means civil marriage across the board?

And There You Have It

Grandma was the organist and music director at St. Joseph's Church in Olney, Illinois for... 30 years? 40? 50?--a very long time, in any event, before finally giving it up a few years ago--and was a stickler for precise performance. She insisted on playing the organ for one son's wedding and two grandchildren's weddings, for a great-grandchild's baptism, and for countless other weddings and funerals besides a million or so regular Sunday masses.

The choir sang at her funeral mass this past Monday, of course, but the current organist was out of town, leaving them without an accompanist. But--but!--back in 2004-2006, the current music director had spent many sessions making digital recordings of Grandma playing the choir's entire repertoire on an electronic clavinova in case they ever found themselves without a backup organist...

And that's how Grandma managed to pull off the exceptionally rare trick of playing at her own funeral. WIN.

Life Continues, Chapters 1 and 2

Thanksgiving week really throws a wrench into things like, say, funerals that require people to travel from a couple different states, so Grandma's wake and funeral has been put off until Monday, allowing us to spend just enough time dithering on Travelocity to watch ticket prices magically jump $200 in the 5 minutes it takes to confer on whether 44 minutes is enough time to change planes in Phoenix (it isn't) and then decide to take the flight that turns that layover into a whopping two hours and eighteen minutes, all the while gritting our teeth and trying not to think about the fact that it only takes ninety minutes to drive to Phoenix.

Whatever.

So if the first step in what is turning into Mary's Epic Funeral Week Extravaganza was booking flights and cars and hotels and wrangling family members who have decided to make the coming weekend the opening ceremonies for the Douchecadet Olympics, the second step was more of a side trip in the completely opposite direction. That being the road to Mesa and my (still very alive) maternal grandparents' house for Thanksgiving, where we were joined by some elderly second cousins and two neighbors from Calgary. Suffice it say that it was fairly pleasant until the inevitable spectre of politics popped in for pie, and the consensus around the table (with one abstention; I'll let you guess who) was that George W. Bush will be deemed by history to have been one of our greatest presidents, possibly the greatest ever. Also: if you voted for Obama to prove you're not racist, who are you going to vote for to prove you're not stupid? I almost think "Sarah Palin" is supposed to be the totally sincere answer to that one, but it was hard to tell.

It went ever so slightly downhill from there, so I graciously excused myself before I stabbed somebody in the face with a pie fork.

The grandma we're burying was a passionate Democrat. End of story.

Anyway, here's a preview of Chapter 3: get up insanely fucking early on Sunday, inconvenience a friend by getting her to give me a ride to the airport, fly on a goddamn airplane to Phoenix, sit around for 2 and change, fly on another goddamn airplane to St. Louis, take a shuttle to the rental car lot, drive two hours to the tiny ancestral Illinois hometown just in time for the wake, endure the wake for three hours, get carryout from an actual Mexican restaurant in the tiny hometown that's gotta be filled with guys wondering what cracker nightmare they wandered into, for fuck's sake, have a drink, go to bed, wake up the next morning, go to funeral mass, drive to the next town over for the burial, drive back, have a drink, hope that the moroseness devolves into bad singing rather than factionalism and gunplay, go to bed, wake up, kill a morning, drive to St. Louis, fly to Phoenix, sit around for another two and change, get back to Tucson at 11:30 pm.

So much to do, so little patience for doing it.

Grandma

Crazy. Everything has been crazy since Friday night. My beloved grandma had a stroke, and finally died early Sunday morning. I have been in a daze since then, trying to make travel arrangements back to Illinois (at the end of the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, LOLOLOLOLOL) and trying to sort through my feelings while texting with my brother nonstop. The consensus is that we want a time machine set for our childhood, equipped with a giant PAUSE button.

Grandma was a prodigiously talented musician and a gifted teacher who guided generations of students through Every Good Boy Does Fine and everything that flows therefrom. In 1988, the town where she and my equally talented grandpa lived and taught hosted a salute to them, inviting 40 years' worth of students back to sing, dance, and celebrate their touch on their lives.

Want a story? All you had to do was say Grandma, tell me a story and she'd say all right, give me a minute, and after 20 seconds or so of gazing intently at the far wall, would launch into a richly detailed and complex yarn--all from scratch!--populated by some of your favorite children's literature characters plus new ones of her own invention. Twenty minutes later, after hanging on the edge of your seat to find out what would happen, you marveled at the story. And she went back to whatever she was doing without skipping a beat.

Her house is gone now, sold to a younger guy in the small town she stayed in until the end. My childhood is now consigned to the realm of memory, my heart forever living in the yellow house on North Avenue, at the end of the long gravel driveway, where the screen door slapped shut and you walked across the porch and through the Dutch door into the kitchen. If it was winter, the heat blasted you in the face with a wave of coffee and whatever had most recently roasted in the oven, a pie or a cake on the counter, Grandma up to elbows in flour or soapsuds, always delighted to exclaim your name and put down her work to come hug you. If it was summer, the buzzing green floor fan carried the scent of lemons from the pedestal dish on the table to your nostrils, followed by the scent of the old wood in the walls.

Forever, if I want to be back in Grandma's kitchen, I only need to briefly hold a lemon to my nose, close my eyes, and breathe deep. And I am there. But she is gone.

Well now, she would say briskly. Well now, let's get on with it. Forthwith, Mary Elizabeth Collins (January 9, 1918-November 21, 2010).

1920, age 2, wearing the baptismal gown her brother George (left) had worn before her, subsequently worn by her sons, me, my brothers, and my son.




















1922, age 4, Lawrenceville, Illinois.
















Age 10, roughly, with her mother, Maude, and beloved father, George Sr. George was an Irishman who could do a mean jig.





















Age 12, more or less, on a pony whose name was not recorded for posterity.




















On a college trip to St. Louis (middle) with a friend and her beau and future husband, my grandpa Gus.





















Wartime mom with my oldest uncle. He was born while Grandpa was stationed in Blackpool, England, directing the US Army band.





















Flash forward to 1997. Tromping through mayapples while mushrooming in southern Illinois.

















On her 90th birthday.

















The last picture I took with her, July 2008, on her back patio, Olney, Illinois.

Helpful McCain-English Translat-o-matic

Oh, good. John McCain went on Meet the Press this morning and clarified the little kerfuffle involving his wife, a video camera, and a jaw-dropping twelve hours during which we thought there was a voice of reason in that marriage. In case it isn't clear, we're giving the senator a hand with what he's actually saying.

McCain: "I respect the First Amendment rights of every member of my family."

Actually means: But fuck if they get to exercise them. This isn't a fucking democracy here. So forget what the trollop thinks she thinks. There is one opinion here, and it is mine.

In the same vein, you may recall that Walnuts said he'd accept a DADT repeal if the military leadership wanted that, and then, after the military leadership said they wanted it, McCain said no, what he really wanted was a Pentagon study. Now that the Pentagon study has been leaked, well--quelle surprise--he doesn't want that either.

"A thorough and complete study of the effects, not how to implement a repeal, but the effects on morale and battle effectiveness, that's what I want," he added. "And once we get this study we need to have hearings, and we need to examine it, and we need to look at whether it is the kind of study that we wanted."

Actually means: We need to look at whether the study shows that the fags will destroy the United States military, because that is exactly the kind of study we wanted, where "we," of course, means John McCain.

And, apparently, if he gets the kind of study he wanted but the results aren't quite what he was banking on, he will call for hearings in his new now-with-38%-more-Republicans Senate. Because if there's one thing the GOP can do like pros, it's move the goalposts and spin and massage until the original facts become the truth they want.

McCain: I'm John McCain.

Actually means: I am the shameless asshole in charge here, and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

Never Mind

Wow. Well played, Cindy McCain. Well played. You totally got me with your appearance on that NOH8 video, where you took the brave step of calling out your dickhead husband's position on Don't Ask Don't Tell as a major contributing factor to an atmosphere that leads gay kids to off themselves. I mean, I was really impressed. We've all seen Walnuts blow a fuse or two, and since probability dictates that you two have a one-in-eight chance of randomly ending up at the same house at the same time somewhere down the road, we figured you were setting yourself up for some unpleasant interactions with the hubby but still spoke out for what was right anyway, just because it was the right thing to do.

Seriously, you totally had me going, so, wow, the lulz are totally on me this morning when I see this:

I just hope your husband didn't call you "cunt" too many times in whatever little discussion led to your tweet yesterday. Later, Cindy. It was nice while it lasted. Enjoy the small private plane.

In Which I Take It Back

During the '08 campaign, I snarked on Cindy McCain for saying the only way to get around Arizona is by small private plane. Oh, that's still a dumbass thing to say, coming from a place of way underexamined privilege, but I'll give her a pass on the Cessna because she came out and did this:

What a fascinating dynamic they must have at home. I wonder at what point Walnuts realized he'd blundered by failing to realize that his knockout blonde millionaire heiress trophy replacement wife also came equipped with both a functioning brain and a conscience.

Won't You Please Share Your Opinion?

Please take a few moments to let the Family Research Council know exactly what you think of them. If you just get stuck on some of the questions, here are some of my responses for inspiration.

I forgot to add "Tony Perkins' soulless dead eyes."

Well, they asked.

Which is also why I avoid Chick-Fil-A, though it breaks my heart. Curse those crazy Christians and their delicious, delicious chicken!

I hope I hear back from them, after taking all that trouble, but as far as I know the Corinthians never wrote St. Paul back either, so I won't hold my breath. Surveys are fun!

WCQ Wrapup

Nothing like an unexpected loss to propel a match previously considered a gimme to the primetime spotlight on ESPN2. The surest indicator that people were suddenly thinking about the US women's national soccer team, or at least one part of it? This blog got triple its usual number of daily "abby wambach girlfriend" hits in the three hours leading up to kickoff time. go figure.

Anyhoo, the... Mollies? Does anyone remember when the US supporters made a tentative attempt at getting that nickname to stick, in honor of Molly Pitcher? Would've been so cool, even without the bared bosom. Whatever we want to call them, the US women won last night on the strength of three goals, all in the first half, two by Sarah Huffman's girlfriend. Lauren Cheney got the other.

What did we learn? Mostly, that the US is indeed able to move the ball smartly around the field when they are largely unopposed. The precise passing game was lovely to watch for the first 25 minutes, until I remembered that Costa Rica is ranked 46 spots below the US in the FIFA rankings, and noticed that right there around minute 25--perhaps out of frustration at the decided lack of an avalanche of goals--the US reverted back to long balls flung into the box from 40 yards away, hoping to find Wambach's head. The goals came when they settled down after another 10 minutes or so, but the final one came on a counter after a Costa Rican forward broke free down the middle and screamed in alone on goal, only to put the ball wide when Barnhart came out to challenge. Six inches to the left and it might have been a very different dynamic at the end of the half.

And Amy Rodriguez came in as an early second-half sub to play on the wing. Interesting! And with that, having waited to start watching the DVRed game until 9:00, I promptly passed out on the couch. So I have no idea how that worked out, although the score didn't change. I like Cheney up top with Abby, and still hope we see a three-front on the chance they make it to Germany this summer.

So it's on to Italy, then Chicago. We will see.