Dec 17 2008

Shout out to the ‘No in “Milk,” yo

Sean Penn in Milk

The climax of the film is coming. The build. The vote on Proposition Six… and then… and then…

He says it. He says it loud, he says it proud, Harvey Milk (Sean Penn) refers to “Fresno” in the major motion picture, “Milk.”

It was another one of those MY TOWN IS SUCH THE POP CULTURE REFERENCE moments and I was… I was speechless. So speechless, in fact, that I immediately turned to PIC and near shouted, “FRESNO!! HE SAID FRESNO” to the delight, I’m sure, of all the other moviegoers.

I don’t think they noticed, actually, because they were all mumbling the same thing to their respective partners-in-crime.

SIDE NOTE: I loved the movie. I’m such a softie– I cried in the opening credits. (But then again, I’ve been known to cry at the Barney song, so that’s not saying much.)  I thought the whole film was really well done– even the sex scenes, which always, always embarrass me regardless… all I think is, “Wow, is her/his mom watching this? Is her/his mom seeing him/her naked on top of that other naked person OHMYGAWD I SAW BOOB/BUTT/SIDE BOOB/(yougettheidea).”

And I really liked how the characters really LIKED each other. I don’t know how else to explain that. Great cohesion amongst the cast?

Last thing– Penn was spot on.

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Dec 5 2008

So anyway, like I was saying…

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted here. I’ve repurposed content (slut!) but haven’t dedicated my self to my ME account because… I don’t know why. I’m flighty. But I’m back.

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Nov 19 2008

Thanksgiving Toast: To my dad

As I scurry about in these waning days before a great family feast, I must pause and raise a glass.

The Thanksgiving of my childhood was filled with amazing food and copious amounts of relatives. My father was one of five kids, and as such, he insisted every year on inviting all of his extended family; my mother’s sister and her family; both sets of grandparents; and any nearby straggler to our moderately sized home for a feast that would rival a medieval king’s. Naturally.

My dad was the consummate host and thus would provide an elegant setting for his guests. Annually, he would borrow tables and folding chairs from the church’s men’s club and my siblings and I would line them up across the dining room and into the living room and up to the front door. It began with dad arriving in his truck, shouting for help; and usually ended in blisters. I remember carrying those enormous, cold metal chairs with a seven-year old’s grace across the cold, misty front yard and into the house. So began the hours-long set up.

Friends of my parents owned a linen service, and would loan us enough matching table cloths to make the enormous, rectangle folding tables set end to end look halfway decent. Inviting, even. My folks would splurge, renting plates and wine glasses and mom would put out the candlesticks.

As is typical of a wife of a consummate host, my mother made every side-dish imaginable; and upon the gentle insistence of her husband, would make his second-generation family’s favorites. It is hard to describe such food to families who prefer the boxed and canned flavors of today. You can’t really buy artichoke-heart and wine stew.

The feast took on the flavors of extended family as well. One aunt married an Italian, thus the introduction of ravioli’s at the feast. Another was fascinated by jello, and so arrived the lemon-jello-with-bananas-and-marshmallows “salad.” There were at least two types of rolls and more casseroles than you could shake a stick at (so don’t even try, because you’d just be shaking, shaking a stick all day long). And pie. Three kinds. And many of each kind. And of course someone always had to bring a cake of some sort. Because in this enormous family, SOMEone—maybe even three someones—was having a birthday.

And, of course, there was wine.

My father was a wine fanatic. I am sure there is a better phrase for it—amateur sommelier? Aficionado? Drunk? (JOKE!) I grew up in Sonoma County, where the harvest is a big deal and even our politicians were vintners. I grew up hearing my dad’s famous refrain: “If you want auto parts, go to Napa. If you want wine, go to Sonoma.”

He, of course, was right.

The two food items I miss most from the Thanksgiving of my childhood are my father’s stuffing, and his turkey. I have the recipe for his stuffing which—though truly fantastic and in every way the greatest stuffing known to humankind (fact)—somehow doesn’t taste as good as when my father made it. He created it and perfected it, and changed it up a bit every year.  I make the recipe he e-mailed me some ten years ago, which he humbly named, “Harry’s World Famous Turkey Stuffing.”

As for his turkey…From the first major event, when some 30 people joined us to the very last time he ever prepared the bird, my father huddled in the open garage or under a covered porch with the uncles and other menfolk (who would break away from football), over two to three (depending on crowd size) Weber barbeques (ALWAYS WEBER). Until I moved across the country and spent my first Thanksgiving away (at age 27– *sob!*), I’d always had barbequed turkey. It is – along with dad’s stuffing—one of the greatest foods known to humankind.

Thanksgiving is a bittersweet holiday for me. Food, family, friends. As a child, I remember being surrounded by dozens of once-a-year relatives while suffering in a dress of some kind and tights (we always wore nice clothes for the occasion). As a teen, I remember being aloof and bored. And I remember dishes. Years and years, yards and miles of dishes.

But I also remember the great conversations and laughter; playing football in the street after dusk; hours of Dungeons and Dragons with my cousins; having deep political discussions with my deeply opinionated family; and the year I turned 21 and my brother in law making everyone—including my grandparents—do shots. I remember discussing the subject of boys with my girl cousins. Every year. For many, many years.

And I remember the year I finally got it—the year I came to understand and appreciate my parents great effort to have us all together.

With that, these years, I remember my dad. He passed away several years ago, but (as you likely can tell) Thanksgiving was HIS holiday. His turkey. His stuffing. His generosity and his magnificent ability (along with my mom’s) to host such a large crowd, year after year.

And so I head into a weekend of cooking and cleaning, of mediating family arguments, of football on the TV, of chasing pets, of caring for kids, of roasting and of toasting, I will raise  my glass first of all with a fine wine from Sonoma, to the man that embedded my Thanksgiving traditions: To my dad. I’m so grateful for the memories. Miss you, old man.

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Sep 2 2008

I don’t care. SUBTEXT: NEITHER SHOULD YOU.

Dear Gossip Mongers:

I am an unabashed liberal. A proud liberal. I believe in states rights, civil rights, families’ rights, government assistance when you truly need it, a woman’s right to a safe abortion, equal pay for equal work and volunteerism. I believe in the separation of church and state and with that, every person’s right to practice—or not to practice—their spirituality, and not have other’s religious views foisted upon them.

I believe that two consenting adults should be allowed to marry each other, regardless of race, gender, or sexual orientation.

I believe that two consenting adults should be allowed to live together in love and harmony and raise a family and not be forced to marry.

I respect that others disagree with my beliefs. I hope that they can treat me with respect, knowing that I respect their divergent beliefs as well.

On the list of things I don’t care about:

Various politicos trying drugs in their youth. That Bill Clinton smoked pot in college, whether he inhaled or not, I absolutely, unequivocally do not care.
Various politicos having made bad choices in their pasts. George W. Bush’s drug and alcohol problems as a young man are his alone, and his to own. Good for him for getting past it. Not an issue now. I don’t care about it.
Whether or not someone served in Vietnam. Don’t care. A lot of people got deferments. A lot of people served elsewhere and elsewise. My point: It was 40 years ago. Let’s all move past the choices of their youths, and of their parents to help the children they loved to avoid being forced to serve in what was the Iraq of their generation (meaning: A big, highly-unfavorable, terrible war).
The reported extramarital affairs of the various politicos, including but not limited to: Speaker Newt Gingrich, Gov. Eliot Spitzer, Sen. Gary Hart, Gov. James McGreevey, Bill Clinton, JFK, FDR, Thomas Jefferson, Grover Cleveland, Woodrow Wilson, Dwight Eisenhower, etc. Their lives. Their bedrooms. Their karma. DON’T CARE.

As such, I want to be clear:

I do not care and do not want to hear about Sarah Palin’s daughter. She is 17. She made a choice and is dealing with it. Had she chosen abortion, I would feel the same. HER LIFE. HER CHOICES. NOT MY BUSINESS. We owe this girl nothing less than privacy and respect.

I do not care about some 20+ year-old incident on Palin’s husband’s driving record.
LET IT GO!

Leave her family alone, media. While you’re at it, leave Joe Biden’s family be, leave Obama’s family alone, leave McCain’s family alone. All of them. I DON’T CARE.

Let me say this again:
I am a proud LIBERAL. Liberal is a good word, and there are many, many of us with these beliefs who are good, caring, intelligent, patriotic people. And there are many of us who are idiots (Hello, Mike Malloy). Just as there are many, many ridiculous and idiotic conservatives (I’m talking to you, Anne Coulter), and many good, kind, intelligent, patriotic conservatives, including some of my very own family members.

THAT SAID:

I DO care when people try to associate such muckraking with one side of the political arena or the other.

It’s ignorant.

Yes, there is a liberal media (Hello, ABC). Yes, there is a conservative media (Hello, FOX).

Yes, both sides try to capture viewers/readers and be opinion leaders. They make MONEY. Most times, raking muck is how they do it.

But media, there was no part of me that was ever going to vote for the McCain ticket. And seeing how Palin’s daughter ISN’T ON the ticket, nor Palin’s husband—leave them out of it. Talk about Palin’s track record. Talk about Palin’s ability to govern.

Some choice that was made or something that happened 20 years ago to a member of someone’s family? I DON’T CARE.

I freely admit that I acted like an asshat 20 years ago.

I presume that WE ALL ACTED LIKE ASSHATS at various points in our lives.

Thank gawd I have changed.

Thank gawd you have too.

So let’s also presume that politicians have changed over the course of the last decades, just as we have, and get back to actual, important, valid, kind and respectful political DISCOURSE.

Thanks.

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Aug 27 2008

OhGAWD– That’s ME?!

My biggest fear about growing old was growing boring. As I watched my parents age, it seemed to me they never did ANYTHING. I mean, they went to school events and drove us places. They went to church. But they never actually DID anything, you know, FUN. And from my 13-year old perspective, it seemed like all the married couples I knew—like my parents friends who came over most Saturday nights for dinner—were exactly like my folks. They, too, eventually entered this great long boring phase, comprised solely of raising a family.

It felt like my parents had given up on life. Like suddenly, they didn’t care about the world, but rather, had become more content simply existing in it. They were always tired, always busy with horrible things like work and cleaning and my siblings. They didn’t do anything. They were just married. Therein lied the excitement of life: Wake, shuttle, work, home, clean, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Upon recognizing this pattern, my 13-year old self decided I would be different. I decided would not be like my parents—not in that way. There had to be more to life. I could be famous! I could live in foreign lands! I could DO ANYTHING!

Fast forward 25 years—to a time when I can actually reference my past in epoch-like chunks, aka, NOW.

My life does not revolve around my kids. It IS my kids. Lots and lots of kids. Whether driving kids, or attending functions for kids, or worrying over kids, or helping kids fall back to sleep or making food for kids or cleaning up after kids or shuttling kids from place to place… In general: Kids.

My life is also my partner, whom I am grateful to spend quality time with between the hours of 10:30 p.m. and 5:45 a.m. Time which sometimes includes conversation; usually about 5 minutes of reading; and generally 7 hours of near-constantly interrupted sleep (see previous paragraph).

My life is also work. Like most people, I work for money, which pays for living expenses. Living expenses, you know, like water and food and a place to live and gas and clothing, and more food. For kids.

I sometimes lay wake and examine our life, and I wonder how I missed the left at Albuquerque.

I didn’t understand that all the boring that I saw in my parents’ world was the gap created by what my parents had given up for me. They gave up on the FUN things and became dull because they were good parents.

I was late in this realization– it came in labor, actually, mid-push– that when you have kids, you are no longer the center of your universe. You simply cannot be your primary focus AND still be an engaged parent.

Because part of being an engaged parent means shuttling kids around. And worrying. And working so they have food and clothes. And cleaning and cooking so they grow and are fed and yadda yadda yadda.

And even though I do all these boring, boring, ungawdly boring things, I realize didn’t end up like my folks after all.

See, all those other married couples I knew? They were my parents’ friends. Yeah—my parents had FRIENDS. People that came over for dinner, or that went on family vacations with us. People they laughed with and with whom they enjoyed conversations—ACTUAL grown-up conversations.

When was the last time my partner-in-crime and I had anyone over for dinner?

When was the last time we were social outside our little family unit?

*crickets*

Our kids may be the sun in our world, but even the Earth needs the moon to function effectively.
Clearly, I need to start acting like my parents’ type-of boring.

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