I'll take "dumb combinations" for $500, Alex.

There is, currently, a movement afoot surrounding the second amendment to the US Constitution. (That's the "right to keep and bear arms" one, for those of you keeping score at home.)

It seems that a percentage of the population that has decided they are protected - under this amendment - to carry their unloaded firearms wherever they'd like ... movie theaters, libraries, churches, coffee houses, grocery stores, restaurants, etc. And, while there is a country regulation on this (again, that'd be the US Constitution), there is also local, state regulations that address this idea, too. And sometimes those two boards of laws don't quite mesh together.

Because while it may be alright to be carrying an unloaded gun in downtown Dallas, the folks in Des Moines may not like the idea so much. See - the problem arises when gun-toting Yosemite Sam struts into a coffee shop where Buffy and Jodie are reading with their children while enjoying double-skinny lattes on a Saturday morning. As much as Yosemite Sam has a right to wear "Ol' Betsy" so that he can prove just how manly he is, Buffy and Jodie have an equal right to not be freaked out by Sam's inferiority complex.

PLUS - what exactly is Sam gonna accomplish by wearing unloaded Ol' Betsy anyway? If "trouble" were to arise, is Sam expecting to ask everyone to just wait a second while he fiddles around in his flannel pockets for that one bullet he always carries as a "just-in-casers"?

FURTHER - that whole "trouble" thing. What "trouble" is Sam expecting to run across anyway? A barista that maybe gets an order wrong? Someone is reading a newspaper without having paid for it? Perhaps someone accidentally takes Sam's drink? Is Sam thinking that pulling out Betsy is gonna calm anyone down or maybe ... just maybe ... the sight of Betsy is what is gonna make everyone seriously go nuts?

Add to that that guns and caffeine just cannot be a sane mix, someone calls the cops, who arrive all amped up on the idea of trouble in the burbs and ah hell, ya' can just feel how much of a crappy idea this is now, right?

Sam - and all his brothers - are saying that they have a right to go into that coffee shop while packing heat - and they're right ... they do. But, as business owners are already responding, businesses have a right to refuse service to anyone for any reason at any time. Hopefully the reasons aren't religious or race-fueled or anything awful but yeah - that whole "no shoes, no brains, no shirts, no sales" thing applies here.

So where do I stand on this? Well, the "right to wear my gun" folks are calling for a ban on a couple of the businesses that are refusing them entry into their establishments. As for me, I plan on asking my friends and family to go to those businesses even more.

Here's a link to the blog entry that got me thinking ... http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/scavenger/detail?entry_id=56281 I invite you to make up your own minds because ... well those old guys that wrote the Constitution? I kinda think that's pretty much what they wanted us to do in the first place anyway. Think for ourselves and do smart things for the population at large.

I'm Me And I Approve This Blog

My friend Dana (*waves* hiiiiii Dana), in conjunction the lovely folks at allbarstools.com, is doin' a give-away on her blog (which ya' can find over there to the right - "Cookin' At Cafe D").

Full disclosure: I don't want you to enter your name in the giveaway.

Further disclosure: In fact, not only don't want you to enter your name in the giveaway, I want you to enter MY NAME in the give away.

Fullest disclosure: I've never cooked with Le Creuset because, ya' see, I'm a klutz. I'm convinced that I'd screw up the cookware. That I'd chip it or scrape it or somehow really just muck it up. However, I've decided that I need to get over that fear and just dive in. I wanna do stews, soups, chicken with dumplings, maybe even casseroles and - honestly - I just don't think there's a better tool out there for these kinds of meals.

So yes - please do go visit Cookin' at Cafe D. And, while you're at it, visit allbarstools.com, too. Just if ya' DO decide to enter Dana's give-away, make sure you say you're me and that you want the blue Le Creuset.

Thank you.

On The Record

I want to set the record straight.

(1) It wasn't me.
(2) I've not yet been to New York City.
(3) I haven't attended an art class anytime after 1986.
(4) I've never seen this painting "live".
**************************
January 22, 2010
NEW YORK (AFP) – A significant Pablo Picasso painting was damaged after a woman attending art class lost her balance, fell into "The Actor" and tore it, The Metropolitan Museum of Art said.

The unusually large canvas, measuring 77.25 by 45.38 inches (196 by 115 centimeters), sustained a vertical tear of about six inches (15 centimeters) in the lower right-hand corner in the accident on Friday.

The museum, located on the eastern edge of New York's Central Park, did not elaborate on why the woman fell.

But The Met said the damage did not impact the "focal point of the composition" and that it should be repaired in the coming weeks ahead of a major Picasso retrospective featuring some 250 works at the museum opening on April 27.

Repair work should be "unobtrusive," it added.

Painted in the winter of 1904-1905, the work hails from Picasso's critical Rose Period, when the artist shifted from the downbeat tones of his Blue Period to warmer, more romantic hues.

The period also hints at Picasso's later embrace of abstraction with his signature cubist style.

Donated to The Met by automobile heiress Thelma Chrysler Foy in 1952, "The Actor" features an acrobat striking a dramatic pose against an abstract backdrop. It was painted on a used canvas that already contained a painting.**************************
As someone that has a few extra "klutzy" cards in her deck, even I need to ask - what would one say after falling into a Picasso? "Oooops my bad"? "Wow that just tore right up, didn't it?" "Did you see that? Did ya' see how that painting just jumped right out at me?" "Ummmm - do you take Visa?" "It was like that when I found it - honest!"

Don't Wanna Miss A Thing

A few Novembers back, I was doing volunteer work in another part of the country when the weather got kinda chilly. A bunch of us headed to a nearby drugstore for a junk-food run, where I found a heavy sweatshirt for $6 - on discount because of a badly sewn arm. After about 20 minutes of hand-stitching while sitting on a bunk bed in a cold church multi-use room, I had a new sweatshirt that I would take home with me at the end of that week. It was very warm and soft and, while it had a VERY basic design to it, it was just what I needed. It simply says "Biloxi, MS".

Flash forward:
It is a cold, rainy day. I'm wearing jeans, sneakers, and that sweatshirt, which I chose specifically because it is good at keeping me warm. I'm sitting in my usual coffee shop. It's nearly 10am and I'm watching a few clips online and sending out a few emails - nothing major. A VERY pregnant woman enters the shop and sits at the table across from mine. After a few minutes of clicking on her computer, she asks me if I know how to get online. I do. I guide her to the right windows and, a few minutes later, she's up and running.

We get to talking.

(An aside - this happens to me all the time. Strangers open up to me regularly. I was at this same coffee shop just a few days ago when a couple traveling from Texas walked in. I had extra chairs at my table and offered them one. They misunderstood my offer and sat down with me, which was fine. In their short time with me, I learned that they'd been driving for 40+ hours with stops along the way. I also learned that she was returning to graduate school in the NorthEast and he was driving her out, hoping to get a job there so he wouldn't have to come all the way back home alone.)

Anyway, it seems that this woman, Katie, works for an online company and she was planning on working home today, except her power went out. She likes her job but wishes that her manager, who works on the opposite coast, would allow her to work from home more, especially in her very pregnant state. I ask her just how pregnant she is and she says she's due in three days.

I also learn that Katie and her husband, Steve, met while they were both in the military. She was born in Tennessee but grew up in Texas and Arizona - a "military brat". She served and was stationed in "the South", while finishing her education. I ask her if she and Steve were "out there" (meaning "the South") during Katrina and she says "well, actually, we were at Keesler AFB, which is" and, before she can finish her sentence, I say "in Gulfport, MS at the end of Pass Road, next to 'The Joy Of Coffee'". She stops cold and slowly says ".... yessssss".

I show her my sweatshirt.

We spend the next hour talking like friends who have known each other for years. We know the same libraries and schools, the same roads and shortcuts, the same heart-breaking sights and heart-warming stories (even if they involve different families). In fact , she even knew the building I was in when I was sewing this sweatshirt. She remarks as she's gathering her up her things that I have no Mississippi accent and I tell her that I'm a native Californian ... a recent transplant. I was there just because I had to be there ... just like I moved from CA because I had to be here.

THAT is why I know I am where I am supposed to be today. And why I was supposed to take the path I did to get here. If I'd done any of it differently ... who knows what I would have missed out on?

... And The Home Of The Brave?

First lemme just say that I'm over my rant from yesterday. It felt good to get it out (which is kinda the whole point of a personal blog, as far as I know) but that's all I really needed to do ... was get it outta my system.

That being said, my title from yesterday's writing seemed to need a close ... and after watching John Edwards eat from a large steamy plate of cowardliness this week, my "hero" pick was obvious.

Yes, what a brave, brave thing Mr. Edwards did - stepping up to the microphone with every hair sprayed into place and those nice, shiny teeth he loves to display - to say something like "oh ... ooooooh, you meant THAT 23-month old child? Gosh - yeah, now that ya' mention it, I *did* father THAT child. See ... I thought you meant some OTHER almost 2-year old and heck ... well, that's an easy mistake, right? I mean - toddlers all look alike and they're ALWAYS on the move."

He then had the sack to say that he hoped his child - whom he now accepted with open arms, which was nice since his WIFE had been telling him to do so for months - would forgive him for his accidental denial of fatherhood earlier in her life ... yanno, when it still looked like he maybe had a shot to lead the free world.

Back when he was still apparently confused over which extramarital affair the press was asking him about, he said that there was absolutely no possible way that he had fathered a child from that relationship because of "the timing". He said something like he knew for a fact that this baby couldn't have been his because he'd ended that relationship in 2006. And he was busy being a devoted, loving husband in 2007 ... and especially when his wife, Elizabeth Edwards, stepped to the microphone in March of 2007 to announce that her incurable cancer had returned. So - you see - this nearly 2-year old child couldn't possibly be his! Problem solved!

But oops - not so fast. See, he was wrong about the math, too. The child in question was born on February 27th, 2008 - which means she was created in May of 2007. So while his wife was maybe in a doctors office getting an update on how the fight of her life was going, his mistress was perhaps in another doctors office getting an ultrasound. The circle of life - it's an amazing thing.

But, maybe most cowardly of all, this self-serving slimeball ... this sperm-spewing Senator who wouldn't keep it in his pants and doesn't believe in practicing safe sex (and yes, his mistress coulda done HER part, I agree), this so-called caring, loving, supportive husband who wanted the people of this country to believe in his goals and his ideas for the future of all of us ... has had the nerve to ask his newly-acknowledged daughter to acknowledge HIM.

"It was wrong for me ever to deny she was my daughter and hopefully one day, when she understands, she will forgive me." - John Edwards

Oh don't worry your pretty little head, John ... we *alllll* understand.

The Land Of The Free?

The one and only Internet forum which I occasionally participate in has a thread currently that ... puzzles me. Makes me feel a kind of combination between general sadness, slightly perturbed, somewhat agog, and a tad bit of "oh for the love of all that is holy, is this STILL so shocking, people?!??"

There was a poll recently taken in very well known magazine (that is pretty embraced by the readership it targets) that identified the "Gayest Cities in America". I've read that article and, taking into account the way in which they came to their final list, I have no issues with it, informationally. If the criteria they've listed is how they choose to measure to come up with "most gay city", that's their call. It's their sandbox, after all. (Now WHY they'd want to assign that - or ANY - label is a puzzler to me, but anyway ...)

No, my hackles were somewhat raised by the responses in the thread I mentioned in the first sentence of this posting. Here's a bit of how I wanted to respond - unedited for language so fair-warning:

*without trying to start a turf war and hopefully not coming off as being overly offended or offensive*

May I ask for what-all the rest of the country expects to see when they travel to SF that would identify all 49-square miles of it as flamingly gay? Do you expect to see individuals of the same sex groping each other in public? Blocks and blocks of florists with lisps and weak wrists swishing down the street hitting on anything that moves? Piles of writhing flesh in the back of cable cars? Traveling flocks of dykes on bikes? People on leashes wearing nothing but ass-less chaps and feather boas? Hoards of Ethel Merman and Barbra Streisand wannabes starting slap-fights with Liza Minelli and Bette Midler twins?

'Cause while its true SF does have weekend events (*ahem* the Folsom street fair) that celebrate those suggestions, most of my friends who are gay enjoy the same simple pleasures that a lot of non-gay types do ... liiiiike wandering through farmers markets, having a beer on the wharf, raising children together, having brunch with friends in a busy cafe, catching the symphony for cheap while they go through rehearsal, going to watch the Giants loseerrrr play, etc.

I realize that there's a long-standing "SF is gay" stereotype but come on - have we not evolved just a little bit? I'm just saying that, to me, identifying any city as "the gayest" seems ... kinda ... well, it makes me feel sad, just like identifying any city as "the ugliest", "the fattest", "the dumbest", or "most bigoted". All of those labels say far more about those assigning them than those receiving them, and what they say is "close-minded, judgemental, elitist, snooty". "SF is gay" may have been shocking when being gay was shocking - somewhere around 1975, I guess. That was about the same time that I realized that the word "fag" was in the dictionary ("a student at a British public school who is required to perform menial tasks for a student in a higher class"). I've just checked and it's 2010. Is being gay STILL all that ... different? I mean - really?

(It was after the word "snooty" in that last paragraph that I realized writing a response like this would get me banned for life from ever even USING a computer again. That's why I'm writing this here. If I HAD continued, it'd probably read something like this ...)

And while I understand that a "gay" magazine conducted this poll so it can't possibly be viewed as slanderous (I could argue that too), let's reverse this for just a second. Hmmmm waddya know - I found my imaginary latest edition of "Big Sky Blurb" and wow - here's an totally made up article entitled "Most Close-Minded Cities in America". Oh and the completely unreal "Wyoming Monthly" has a fictional scribble labeled "Places Where Gay People Don't Exist" and hey!!! - it's empty! MY GOD - "THEY" ARE EVERYWHERE!!!!! And, while I've got my stereotype busting rant-pants on, here's a little shout-out to Billy Joe Bob and his cousin/brother and Peggy Sue and her sister/aunt - ya' ain't exactly the sun, moon, and stars to the opposite sex so don't flatter yourself in thinking that the gay community wants ya', either.

In my mind, this ugly label - no matter which city it is attached to - is the same kind of biasedness and bigotedness that is somehow tied together with the life of Emmett Till. Ya' probably don't know that name, but I remember researching the story of Emmett back in the early 90s while working on a high school textbook. Emmett Till was a 14-year old black teenager from Chicago who was visiting his great-uncles home in Money, Mississippi in 1955. Emmett ... who, again, was all of 14 years old ... whistled at a white woman. Nothing more. He whistled at a white woman. But this was the deep south and this was 1955. Emmett was abducted and he was lynched. His killers - white men - were acquitted the following month. His mother decided to have her son presented in a glass-topped casket ... she wanted the world to see what had been done to her child, whose behavior had been oh so offensive that he was required to pay for it with his life. His murder and the images of his body in that casket helped to galvanize the civil rights movement.

Is "Billy Joe Bob" so insecure about being straight that he has need to be concerned about what his neighbors are doing and who they're doing it with? If "Peggy Sue" winds up living in a "gay"borhood, does she need to move?

Or perhaps the better question is this: Is it possible that people who are perceived as somehow different from "us" (whomever "we" are) could want the same freedoms as everyone else ... that they'd like to hold hands with those close to them without being taunted? That they'd like to perhaps kiss their loved ones hello or goodbye without drawing stares? That they'd like to have families and to celebrate and mourn and laugh and cry in the same situations and the same locations as anyone else, sans label?

Can you possibly think of reasons that people who are perceived as somehow different from "us" WOULDN'T want - or shouldn't get - those freedoms?

"Tanks ... but no tanks"

Men and women.
Women and men.
We're so alike.

We're soooooo different.

So the Awesome Boyfriend and I were checking out various electronic games we could play this past week, and it turns out that we're equally competitive, which is nice.

To a point.

One of the games involved tanks. Since we were playing at the same time, the TV screen came up and showed two tanks - one at the top of the screen that was red and one at the bottom that was blue, both on the left-hand side of the screen. I scanned the screen for a couple of seconds and saw a green tank at the right hand side of the screen, in the middle. Clearly, I decided, that was the enemy. That was our target. And, while I was doing that, in those brief seconds, I heard blam!!!!

The blue tank was gone.

It took a second for me to register it, but ... my Beloved ... had ... just blown up my tank.

Yes, my Awesome Boyfriend, with the very first shot he fired - in fact, the very action he took - was to blow up my tank.

Blew it right up.

Took me right outta the game before I had even figured out what we were supposed to be doing.

I very slowly turned my head and, in-between laughing, I finally had enough breath to ask him "so whadya' go and do THAT for, ya' dork?"

He was already laughing before I could begin to speak.

Maaany hours later, as we were preparing to sleep, he turned to me and almost sheepishly said "yanno, I thought that was the goal of the game. I hadn't even seen that other tank."

Women and men.
Men and Women.
We're so alike.

We're soooooo different.

***********************
(And, in case this doesn't read right, please note that I laughed my ass off the minute he pressed the "fire" button. We both did. I thought it was genius, honestly. It hadn't even occurred to me to do it, and I kinda wish I had. We giggled about it later that night, too. We do that. We're the couple that we used to hate and we like it that way. Very much.)

Much to convey,

no words to write.

But ... then ... you already know.

What It Means

It's feeling yourself get angry when you hear about someone not treating them right.

It's brightening up when they walk through the door of the cafe.

It's being sad when you see they're unhappy.

It's wanting to make things right when it feels like things are going all wrong.

It's laughing when their voice cracks as they're talking to you at 11:50pm.

It's wanting to be with them, even to do nothing at all.

It's being logical and calm when you'd probably ordinarily freak out.

It's sitting on the couch, watching TV, and feeling yourself smile when they reach out to hold your hand.

It's not understanding all of what makes them special to you, but being grateful for each little bit of it.

It's giving all of yourself.

That's some of what it means to love someone. Consider this an entry-in-progress.

I'm Not Adopted

My sister called me today while I was in "my office". That's how we both refer to the coffee shop where I start my days, because ... well, I'm there (pretty much) each day. She was updating me on the latest goings-on with her employment (shaky-ish but probably alright ... her company is being purchased by another) and she mentioned that she had a call later in the day with the company doing the buying.

"Hey", I volunteered "if you have to go there in person, give yourself lots of extra time. They've finally begun to close the off-ramp onto the Avenues to start the retrofit so you'll have to find an alternative route ... along with everyone else."

There was silence on her end, but I knew what she was thinking.

I continued. "OK see - there's this thing called the 'Internet' and it was on the top of the electronic page of your local paper ..."

"Oh FINE, ya' wise ass. Geez - figures you'd know that before I would. Oh hey", she said, changing the subject, "I've got good news. The youngest has topped 100 lbs."

It was my turn to be silent. My youngest niece is going to be 3 years old this year, and I haven't seen her for awhile. How could this have happened? Had my sister been force-feeding my niece bacon fat and potato chips by the ton? Would my parents have to get involved? Would child-protective services need to be called?

"The puppy, Smarty Pants, the puppy. Oh sure ya' know traffic patterns across the US but ..."

"Oh thank GOD", I laughed. "I was thinking I'd have to stage a food intervention or something."

We continued to chat and then I looked up and saw a 1936 Ford driving down the street. I mentioned it to her and, where others would say "yeah so?" or "huh", she said "Cool - 3-window or 5?"

And that's when it dawned on me that I'm probably not adopted.

Reasons I'm Awake At 1am on Monday Morning

I realize that I haven't cleaned the kitchen floor this weekend like I told myself I would and I feel disappointed in myself.

I mentally go through the items in the last two boxes of things I've yet to put away and wonder if packing my high school class photo was all that necessary in the first place.

I hear someone using the garbage bin in the apartment complex nearby and think "who has a garbage emergency at 11:52pm on a Sunday night?"

I get up to sort through the dry cleaning that I keep meaning to bring in, breaking it up into smaller bundles so as to figure out which place I'll decide to make my "regular" cleaners, and then wonder if it just makes sense to give all of it to one place.

I wind up reading every single online review of a restaurant that I didn't even know existed not all that long ago (and that I've not yet been to) and find myself rolling my eyes at some of the comments.

I realize that I'm too warm in my fuzzy new pajamas that my folks gave to me for Christmas and change into a long-sleeved tee shirt ... and wind up putting socks on my feet 15 minutes later when I realize my toes are cold.

I make the mistake of checking the time and say to myself "self? If you don't fall asleep in the next 20 minutes, you're gonna get less than 6 hours of sleep tonight." Half an hour later, I recalculate the threat ... and wonder if maybe the math of the recalculation is what could be preventing me from falling asleep in the first place.

Padding out to the kitchen to get a water for the bedside, I accidentally brush against the Christmas tree and knock off a few of the lowest ornaments. I find secure locations to rehang them and wander back into bed, which is when I realize I still need that water.

I manage to take two sips of water and, as I snuggle deep into the covers, I figure it'd be a good idea to use the restroom before I *really* fall asleep.

I start to convince myself that I'm drifting off when it occurs to me I may have set the alarm wrong for tomorrow morning. I wake myself enough to make sure that's not the case.

I really DO start to fall asleep shortly after 1am, as I'm musing to myself that staying awake to Midnight on New Years Eve was almost an impossible task.

Whachamacallit

Without weighing in on if this year begins a new decade or finishes one, what are we supposed to call it? I mean, how do we refer to ... this? Is it "two thousand ten" or is it "twenty ten"?

I was reading up on this debate, so as not to appear naive ... and came across an article that I'd hoped would answer my question.

It seems the very appropriately named National Association of Good Grammar ... or NAGG ... has decreed that the general population should be saying "twenty ten". I have a nagg-ing (ha!) question, 'tho ... if this is twenty ten, then did we just finish with twenty nine? And did we really decide to elect Bush Jr. president in "twenty"? (Actually, no "we" didn't ... but apparently someone did.)

NAGG's argument is that "twenty" follows "nineteen". And they're right, of course. They also suggested that the word "aught" should have been used for the placeholder zero in the past nine years. However, no one that *I* know walked around saying "Happy twenty aught nine" last year.

(It should be noted that NAGG also has issues with signs in grocery stores that read "10 items or less" ... arguing that they should read "10 items or fewer" and it was when I read this bit of information in the article that I decided NAGG ... was.)

Well ... whatever ya' call it, let's just have a good one.