Marriage Party Ruined by Uninvited Guests
Thousands of heterosexual couples woke up today to discover their marriages had been trashed the night before by hundreds of Gays and Lesbians lined up to be married in the eyes of the State of Massachussetts. Okay Jerry Falwell, Pat Roberts, Rick Santorum et ilk, your worst nightmare has occurred. Same sex partners were afforded state recognition of their committed relationships for the first time today in Massachussetts. Yes, fuckit, Gays and Lesbians got married! For the next year at least, couples who want to be married can be. Their marriages will not be recognized by the federal government right away, maybe not for a long time, but I wouldn't bet on never. Here's what most people don't get: Massachussetts is not leading the way. It's just reflecting reality. Same sex couples have been forming bonded legal relationships for years now. There is no compelling reason not to allow same sex marriage outside of religious bigotry, and that is banned by the Constitution of the United States. A lot of states are rushing to amend their own constitutions to "close the loopholes." You know the loophole I'm talking about, the one about establishing a relilgion, and equitable justice before the law. That is just plain sad. They won't win in the end. Bad amendments can be undone, just ask the Women's Christian Temperance Union.
In the next few months, thousands of very normal people are going to visit Massachussetts and get married. Nobody can stop them. You bigots who call yourselves Christians might as well get used to it. This isn't about you. It's about us.
To you men and women who are causing all these problems in Massachussetts by your refusal to participate in your own marginalization, Mazel Tov!
Posted by Houston on May 17, 2004 at 07:07 PM in Gay Marriage | Permalink
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And given the Goopers' love of lucre, I'm amazed that Mitt Romney hasn't been the loudest drumbeater in favor of the SJC's decision. Hetero weddings are a multibillion dollar industry: why shouldn't states be vying to cash in on the homo flava? Just think of all the extra business the florists, bakers, reception halls, etc., are going to be doing in Massachusetts for the next few weeks at least. Wouldn't that go a long way to trimming some of those horrid budget deficits so many states and localities are suffering under?
Posted by: Michael | May 17, 2004 at 07:33 PM
You have got to love Massachussetts. If you go to the old cementary right in Plymouth, read the head stones. Now these go back to the 16 and 17 hundreds. You will see several places where a man and his wife are buried together. Next to his grave you will see his "consort's" grave. It makes me laugh that these are the people that were so religious. That wouldn't go over today. It use to be where blacks and whites couldn't marry, or you had to have a marriage certificate to check into a motel, and so on. People ought to not get their panties in a wad and just let it go. It is just a matter of time before it is legal everywhere. So what? I really think we have bigger issues to worry about than if 2 people love each other and want to commit to each other.
Posted by: CarolC | May 17, 2004 at 07:36 PM
Ain't it the truth! This is a tsuami of change, though. It's not just a wave, but a tidal wave of huge proportions. As blase as I am about everything, this makes me very excited. It is an historic day. I'm writing another post about it even as I distract myself here in the comments.
Posted by: Houston | May 17, 2004 at 07:59 PM
Don't sweat it hon, it's not YOU, it's THEM!
Posted by: wanda | May 17, 2004 at 08:40 PM
I'm a Christian, and I'm in favour of homosexual marriages. And my stance is not unusual in Canada. We have a gay cardinal, and my city has an openly gay mayor (or rather did - he resigned two days ago to run for provincial office). I don't understand what is up with all the intolerance. But then again, we're a big friendly country. It's time all of the US got with the program.
Posted by: ellen | May 17, 2004 at 08:51 PM
You have a Gay cardinal? That reminds me of a story. Several years ago, I was spending Christmas with my friend, Leon Richardson, in East Texas. We have been friends for a long time, and we are much alike in our exuberance. Anyway, we both do Christmas, and we both have certain collections of Christmas stuff. One of those things is Cardinals, as in the birds. Anyways, I was visiting Leon and we'd been celebrating our friendship for about two days when I noticed the towels in her bathroom. There were two beautiful red cardinals on the towels. I washed my hands, powdered my nose and walked into the kitchen and said, "Leon, can I have the towel set with the Gay cardinals on it?" "What Gay cardinals," she demanded to know. Well, her lovely set of towels had a pair of two bright red cardinals. She gave them to me the following Christmas.
Last summer, Ellen, I proposed to at least two fine young Canadians at the rodeo in Calgary. I don't think I'm going to make it this year, but next year, God willing and all, I'll be up there looking for me a husband.
Posted by: Houston | May 17, 2004 at 09:37 PM
We are living through history. This is big, big, big. May be someday people will realize that it is about human dignity. That is a very powerful Supreme Court opinion in Lawrence v. Texas where Justice Kennedy said that people have a right to have their personal relationships recognized with dignity.
We got a little more human today, people!
Posted by: Jaye | May 17, 2004 at 09:51 PM
"We got a little more human today, people!"
Perfect, Jaye. I really, really hope so.
Posted by: andante | May 17, 2004 at 10:58 PM
Ha ha. Loved the gay cardinal towel story, Houston. And yup, Calgary is known for its gay cowboys. Put the saddle on the stove; we're ridin the range tonight yee haw.
Posted by: ellen | May 18, 2004 at 04:46 AM
49 to go!
Posted by: oldcatman | May 18, 2004 at 09:18 AM
I'm just sad that California wasn't the first .... waaaaa
Posted by: TIMMY! | May 18, 2004 at 11:32 AM
Monday, May 17, 2004
Friday, May 14, 2004
Martini Time
If certain drugs were cheap and legal, I might have habits other than the ones I do, but my favorite legal high is a Bombay martini. This has been true since my first initiation into a cult of martini drinkers in New Orleans back in the 60s. I readily concede that gin is not a taste enjoyed by many, but for me it was always the high I was after. My favorite drinking line is, "After one martini, people like me. After two martinis, I like people." In my youth, gin quickened my wit and sharpened my tongue, giving me entree to a very charming society of people wherever I have lived. Fueled with two martinis, there were few individuals who once in my sights eluded me. If it's a good party with direction and focus, two martinis will bring on the next act, dinner. Dessert has always depended on the chemistry of the evening, don't you think? (By the way, we're talking good sized drinks, here, so two is usually adequate. After two, I'm about as high as I'm comfortable being in a social setting, public or otherwise. After three I think you're just drunk. Then you're never as charming as you think you are, and when you're as old as I am you're just pathetic. Been there, wrote the book, starred in the movie.)
The Perfect Social Experience
I love dinner parties at a set table, and I think six is the most optimum number. I've always favored even numbers. I think that's probably something Southern, but I'm just guessing. I think that's silly now, but I still think in terms of even numbers only now I don't get flustered by someone bringing someone extra or someone missing at the last moment.
Heads up here. This is an important truth. There are cheap highs and and there are substantial highs. Here is a parable. An English noblewoman, who knew both of Queen Victoria's prime ministers, Benjamin D'Israeli and William Gladstone, was asked by an acquaintance which of the two was the more interesting, both being considered great. She replied, "After lunch with Mr. Gladstone, I thought he was the wittiest, most brilliant, most charming person on earth. But after lunch with Mr. Disraeli, I felt that I was the wittiest, most brilliant, most charming person on earth."
Through fate and circumstance, I have a few interesting stories about how I came to be in this place at this time. I really can tell stories for hours. To everyone I bored to death in the past 40 years, this is my first, and last, public apology. I'm sorry for thinking I was the only person at the table with stories to tell. I have since learned better. Mine may be better -- or not -- but each of us has a story to tell. The substantial high is to hear someone tell his own story in a magical setting. Oh, yeah.
While I am not a drag queen, I have been influenced by several who taught me that illusion is the most powerful tool in an urban queen's purse. You don't need to bust your balls, you need to set a pretty table, serve simple food, a good wine, good bread. Although I cook well enough, to me it's the social aspect of the dinner party, so I'm happy to get a grilled chicken at Safeway, toss baby greens, steam some asparagus real quick, some good sourdough bread, sorbet for later, wine from my own collection and I've got a perfect evening for less than $20 out of pocket. Served, of course, on Ashworth china, (named for my family), silver on loan from a friend with a good story, but who thought I would have more fun with it (ask me later and say "huntly gordon"). I use wine glasses that I inherited from My dear friend who also left me a house in the country just because he thought his family should know someone like me. (That was mean, Kenny. When I see you in hell, I'm going to give you grief for that. Another story, ask me later.) Of the dozen or so serious affaires des coeurs in my life, only two did I not meet at a dinner party. No, make that three. No wait, four. Maybe five. Let's just say I met several interesting people with whom I later became intimate at dinner parties.
Changes
My social life has changed quite a bit with my moving to Oakland. My place in S.F. was 538 square feet. That's small. I called it my Holiday Inn Condo, after all, it had one window, one door, one bathroom, one closet, with the bonus of a small galley kitchen thrown in as well. That place was so small. The first thing I did was buy a wall bed for $3,000 and mirror every other wall. We urban drag queens know about illusion. At least it looked bigger, and I made it interesting. I owned Holiday Inn condo for 4 years and sold it for $100,000 profit. With the profits, I bought a place in Oakland 3X its size. I had a good life from that tiny place, but I suffered being so cramped. My imagined people had big houses with white columns. In my fantasies we must have always had help, because let me tell you, I have a two-bedroom, two-bath place now and it seems I'm working for it rather than it working for me. I wish I had help keeping it clean.
All of this is apropos of what? I just gave you a snapshot of my life. Not my "Gay" life, just my life. I don't wake up in the morning and say, "here goes GAY Houston off to work." Like Popeye might say, "I 'yam whats i 'yam." We single gentlemen with flair experience real discrimination everyday. I do not walk around with a sign that says, "Queer, Kick Me!" The enmity by which we are held by a substantial number of people in this society finds us all on its own. The problem with bigotry is that it is mean spirited. This punk working and hiding behind the mask of an Immigration clerk, got to be mean and hateful just because. Just. Fucking. Because.
Anyway, it's just something to think about. I'm playing mostly this week-end. Cocktail party Saturday night and theater Sunday evening in Mill Valley. Next week I'm meeting my sister, Michelle, in Sacramento for the National Genealogical Society's annual gathering. I did mention that I'm kind of sort of into genealogy, right?
Bon week-end, mes amis. Bon week-end.
Reading this made me feel as if I were in the company of someone brilliant,witty and charming, why did you have to stop? Write me a book Houston, filled with never ending stories. I want to drink your words like a bottomless cup of coffee on a cold winters night.
Your talent is surpassed only by your charm and good looks. Would only that I were a man or you a woman. What a sweet life we could have.
Posted by: wanda | May 14, 2004 at 10:00 PM
After tee martoonis I would be charmed to know you as a friend. Not a gay friend, you know, just a friend.
Posted by: Dave | May 15, 2004 at 06:09 AM
That's another nice thing about growing mature. Our relationships no longer are based on sexual dynamics. One of the things I love about the straight men I know is that they are the much more physically demonstrative than Gay men. I love getting big physical hugs in the middle of the street and more than half of the ones I know plant big sloppy kisses as well. Oh sure, cheap thrills, but the older I get the more I'm satisfied with any thrill. What I like about women, Lesbian or straight, is -- well, just about everything. I'm one of those Gay men who hangs out with women. It just sort of comes natural. Always have. They're easier to dance with for one thing.
Posted by: Houston | May 15, 2004 at 08:53 AM
Gay, shmay - I don't give a rat's behind who or what my friends prefer as intimate partners. None of my business, and irrelevant to our friendship. All I can say, Houston, is if I had a jammie party, I'd invite you. What fun we would have.
Posted by: ellen | May 15, 2004 at 10:01 AM
BOMBAY GIN......was my sister's favorite--she a diabetic now and shines away from alcohol! When I did drink,
never did go for gin--I preferred a GOOD Vodka, straight up with a bottle of water chaser---one hit of the Vodka and the bottle of water kept me hydrated......
and peeing a lot!
Posted by: oldcatman | May 15, 2004 at 02:04 PM
I don't drink much now at all, can't keep the weight off if I drink, but I used to like to do shots of gin before going out to drink beer. Tanqueray was preferred. We called it drinking christmas trees...
Posted by: Dave | May 15, 2004 at 02:29 PM
I love a good martini. Stirred not shaken. Olive not onion. Teetotaler that I am, two would probably have me dancing with the coatrack.
Posted by: wanda | May 15, 2004 at 10:44 PM
You sound like a real fun guy to be around that's for sure and looking at your photo, I can picture you with that Bombay Martini LOL Thanks for visiting my site by the way, hope you come back :)
Posted by: Kim | May 17, 2004 at 03:24 AM
I hope your weekend went as planned and you had a great time.
My favorite drink is tequila (preferably a stiff Margarita) and it brings out the truth in me (not always in a good way).
I miss dinner parties with friends and laughter. Around here it's more like throw it out there and get back before the stampede!
Posted by: Brenda | May 17, 2004 at 07:51 AM
Martini's are soo cool, but I can't get into them. Sometimes I order them and pretend like I'm cool.
Posted by: TIMMY! | May 18, 2004 at 11:35 AM
If certain drugs were cheap and legal, I might have habits other than the ones I do, but my favorite legal high is a Bombay martini. This has been true since my first initiation into a cult of martini drinkers in New Orleans back in the 60s. I readily concede that gin is not a taste enjoyed by many, but for me it was always the high I was after. My favorite drinking line is, "After one martini, people like me. After two martinis, I like people." In my youth, gin quickened my wit and sharpened my tongue, giving me entree to a very charming society of people wherever I have lived. Fueled with two martinis, there were few individuals who once in my sights eluded me. If it's a good party with direction and focus, two martinis will bring on the next act, dinner. Dessert has always depended on the chemistry of the evening, don't you think? (By the way, we're talking good sized drinks, here, so two is usually adequate. After two, I'm about as high as I'm comfortable being in a social setting, public or otherwise. After three I think you're just drunk. Then you're never as charming as you think you are, and when you're as old as I am you're just pathetic. Been there, wrote the book, starred in the movie.)
The Perfect Social Experience
I love dinner parties at a set table, and I think six is the most optimum number. I've always favored even numbers. I think that's probably something Southern, but I'm just guessing. I think that's silly now, but I still think in terms of even numbers only now I don't get flustered by someone bringing someone extra or someone missing at the last moment.
Heads up here. This is an important truth. There are cheap highs and and there are substantial highs. Here is a parable. An English noblewoman, who knew both of Queen Victoria's prime ministers, Benjamin D'Israeli and William Gladstone, was asked by an acquaintance which of the two was the more interesting, both being considered great. She replied, "After lunch with Mr. Gladstone, I thought he was the wittiest, most brilliant, most charming person on earth. But after lunch with Mr. Disraeli, I felt that I was the wittiest, most brilliant, most charming person on earth."
Through fate and circumstance, I have a few interesting stories about how I came to be in this place at this time. I really can tell stories for hours. To everyone I bored to death in the past 40 years, this is my first, and last, public apology. I'm sorry for thinking I was the only person at the table with stories to tell. I have since learned better. Mine may be better -- or not -- but each of us has a story to tell. The substantial high is to hear someone tell his own story in a magical setting. Oh, yeah.
While I am not a drag queen, I have been influenced by several who taught me that illusion is the most powerful tool in an urban queen's purse. You don't need to bust your balls, you need to set a pretty table, serve simple food, a good wine, good bread. Although I cook well enough, to me it's the social aspect of the dinner party, so I'm happy to get a grilled chicken at Safeway, toss baby greens, steam some asparagus real quick, some good sourdough bread, sorbet for later, wine from my own collection and I've got a perfect evening for less than $20 out of pocket. Served, of course, on Ashworth china, (named for my family), silver on loan from a friend with a good story, but who thought I would have more fun with it (ask me later and say "huntly gordon"). I use wine glasses that I inherited from My dear friend who also left me a house in the country just because he thought his family should know someone like me. (That was mean, Kenny. When I see you in hell, I'm going to give you grief for that. Another story, ask me later.) Of the dozen or so serious affaires des coeurs in my life, only two did I not meet at a dinner party. No, make that three. No wait, four. Maybe five. Let's just say I met several interesting people with whom I later became intimate at dinner parties.
Changes
My social life has changed quite a bit with my moving to Oakland. My place in S.F. was 538 square feet. That's small. I called it my Holiday Inn Condo, after all, it had one window, one door, one bathroom, one closet, with the bonus of a small galley kitchen thrown in as well. That place was so small. The first thing I did was buy a wall bed for $3,000 and mirror every other wall. We urban drag queens know about illusion. At least it looked bigger, and I made it interesting. I owned Holiday Inn condo for 4 years and sold it for $100,000 profit. With the profits, I bought a place in Oakland 3X its size. I had a good life from that tiny place, but I suffered being so cramped. My imagined people had big houses with white columns. In my fantasies we must have always had help, because let me tell you, I have a two-bedroom, two-bath place now and it seems I'm working for it rather than it working for me. I wish I had help keeping it clean.
All of this is apropos of what? I just gave you a snapshot of my life. Not my "Gay" life, just my life. I don't wake up in the morning and say, "here goes GAY Houston off to work." Like Popeye might say, "I 'yam whats i 'yam." We single gentlemen with flair experience real discrimination everyday. I do not walk around with a sign that says, "Queer, Kick Me!" The enmity by which we are held by a substantial number of people in this society finds us all on its own. The problem with bigotry is that it is mean spirited. This punk working and hiding behind the mask of an Immigration clerk, got to be mean and hateful just because. Just. Fucking. Because.
Anyway, it's just something to think about. I'm playing mostly this week-end. Cocktail party Saturday night and theater Sunday evening in Mill Valley. Next week I'm meeting my sister, Michelle, in Sacramento for the National Genealogical Society's annual gathering. I did mention that I'm kind of sort of into genealogy, right?
Bon week-end, mes amis. Bon week-end.
Reading this made me feel as if I were in the company of someone brilliant,witty and charming, why did you have to stop? Write me a book Houston, filled with never ending stories. I want to drink your words like a bottomless cup of coffee on a cold winters night.
Your talent is surpassed only by your charm and good looks. Would only that I were a man or you a woman. What a sweet life we could have.
Posted by: wanda | May 14, 2004 at 10:00 PM
After tee martoonis I would be charmed to know you as a friend. Not a gay friend, you know, just a friend.
Posted by: Dave | May 15, 2004 at 06:09 AM
That's another nice thing about growing mature. Our relationships no longer are based on sexual dynamics. One of the things I love about the straight men I know is that they are the much more physically demonstrative than Gay men. I love getting big physical hugs in the middle of the street and more than half of the ones I know plant big sloppy kisses as well. Oh sure, cheap thrills, but the older I get the more I'm satisfied with any thrill. What I like about women, Lesbian or straight, is -- well, just about everything. I'm one of those Gay men who hangs out with women. It just sort of comes natural. Always have. They're easier to dance with for one thing.
Posted by: Houston | May 15, 2004 at 08:53 AM
Gay, shmay - I don't give a rat's behind who or what my friends prefer as intimate partners. None of my business, and irrelevant to our friendship. All I can say, Houston, is if I had a jammie party, I'd invite you. What fun we would have.
Posted by: ellen | May 15, 2004 at 10:01 AM
BOMBAY GIN......was my sister's favorite--she a diabetic now and shines away from alcohol! When I did drink,
never did go for gin--I preferred a GOOD Vodka, straight up with a bottle of water chaser---one hit of the Vodka and the bottle of water kept me hydrated......
and peeing a lot!
Posted by: oldcatman | May 15, 2004 at 02:04 PM
I don't drink much now at all, can't keep the weight off if I drink, but I used to like to do shots of gin before going out to drink beer. Tanqueray was preferred. We called it drinking christmas trees...
Posted by: Dave | May 15, 2004 at 02:29 PM
I love a good martini. Stirred not shaken. Olive not onion. Teetotaler that I am, two would probably have me dancing with the coatrack.
Posted by: wanda | May 15, 2004 at 10:44 PM
You sound like a real fun guy to be around that's for sure and looking at your photo, I can picture you with that Bombay Martini LOL Thanks for visiting my site by the way, hope you come back :)
Posted by: Kim | May 17, 2004 at 03:24 AM
I hope your weekend went as planned and you had a great time.
My favorite drink is tequila (preferably a stiff Margarita) and it brings out the truth in me (not always in a good way).
I miss dinner parties with friends and laughter. Around here it's more like throw it out there and get back before the stampede!
Posted by: Brenda | May 17, 2004 at 07:51 AM
Martini's are soo cool, but I can't get into them. Sometimes I order them and pretend like I'm cool.
Posted by: TIMMY! | May 18, 2004 at 11:35 AM
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
From all accunts Nick Berg was an alright guy. He was in Iraq looking for opportunity. You know with over $50 billion being thrown around, there's lots of opportunity. He was no more an enemy of the Iraqi people than Danny Pearl was. If its a contest to decide who can be the most barbaric, the bastards that killed Danny and Nick win. They are pigs, and the sty in which they live is one of their own creation. They can't hang that one on us. Before we were ever there, Arabs and Muslims couldn't butcher each other fast enough. Religion of peace, my ass. You're not better than us, so work your way out of the victim mode and figure out a way to create a future. Are you ready to love your children more than you hate others?
We all need to accept responsibility for our extremists. You moderate Muslims own your extremists just as we own ours. If we allow our history with each other to be written by our extremists, we will not know peace in our lifetime. I preach this simple truth with the absolute hope and prayer that someone is over on your side preaching the same truth. Abu Ghraib and the execution of Nick Berg hang around each of our necks like albatrosses. They are related only in that they show both sides the other's potential for evil. You preach to your people. I'll preach to mine.
Most Americans think it's horrible what happened at Abu Ghraib. We're processing it right now, even as I type. It really is against our principles and it violates how we see ourselves. We will investigate it. We'll even make a movie about it. Sure, it'll tell it from our point of view, but we will process it. That's our way. How will you Muslims process this brutal murder of an innocent man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Doesn't it worry you just a little that the men who murdered Nick seemed to enjoy it just a little too much?
For all apperances, Nick Berg was an adventurer, but he was not an enemy of the Iraqi people. He saw opportunity which demonstrates more optimism than by which most Americans see the Iraqi future. Heads up, my friends, not all of us are your enemies.
We all need to accept responsibility for our extremists. You moderate Muslims own your extremists just as we own ours. If we allow our history with each other to be written by our extremists, we will not know peace in our lifetime. I preach this simple truth with the absolute hope and prayer that someone is over on your side preaching the same truth. Abu Ghraib and the execution of Nick Berg hang around each of our necks like albatrosses. They are related only in that they show both sides the other's potential for evil. You preach to your people. I'll preach to mine.
Most Americans think it's horrible what happened at Abu Ghraib. We're processing it right now, even as I type. It really is against our principles and it violates how we see ourselves. We will investigate it. We'll even make a movie about it. Sure, it'll tell it from our point of view, but we will process it. That's our way. How will you Muslims process this brutal murder of an innocent man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Doesn't it worry you just a little that the men who murdered Nick seemed to enjoy it just a little too much?
For all apperances, Nick Berg was an adventurer, but he was not an enemy of the Iraqi people. He saw opportunity which demonstrates more optimism than by which most Americans see the Iraqi future. Heads up, my friends, not all of us are your enemies.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
I have known many mothers. Some women are instinctively good at it, some indifferent to it. The biological function may be the same for birthing, but there's a big difference from experiencing birth and raising a child. Motherhood is about raising the child. I'm old enough now to appreciate aspects not apparent to me when I was young. For example, those who have the instinct, seem to have an unlimited amount of nurturing they are able to pour out on any child they encounter. My sister Michelle seems to have that. I felt it a lot from a lot of women when I was growing up. Believe you me, when you're the cutest kid in the world, you get smothered in a lot of bosomy hugs. I always felt loved. That's what motherhood means to me. Thank you Dorothy for always making sure I knew I was loved. Thank you, Minnie Hyacinth,
for helping Dorothy.
Motherhood is like a marathon race. The challenge is just to finish the course. Your kids are on the sideline throughout the entire race, sometimes cheering you on, sometimes throwing up obstacles. Hell, sometimes they are the obstacles. To those of you in the race, rock on!
for helping Dorothy.Motherhood is like a marathon race. The challenge is just to finish the course. Your kids are on the sideline throughout the entire race, sometimes cheering you on, sometimes throwing up obstacles. Hell, sometimes they are the obstacles. To those of you in the race, rock on!
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Saying Good-bye to Hero
"But the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.'' Ralph Waldo Emerson A passage underlined in a book belonging to Pat Tillman.
Yesterday, a lot of people who knew Pat Tillman and a lot of people who would like to have known Pat, paid tribute to him in San Jose. Gwen Knapp covered the service for the San Francisco Chronicle.
Just when we thought we had a pure and simple hero, a millionaire athlete who gave up wealth and fame to become the ideal patriot, to make the ultimate sacrifice, his friends and family complicated everything. They turned Pat Tillman into a human being Monday, showing us what was really lost during that ambush in Afghanistan, insisting that we question every assumption we've made since he died an icon on April 22.
[Snip.]
Tillman's youngest brother, Rich, wore a rumpled white T-shirt, no jacket, no tie, no collar, and immediately swore into the microphone. He hadn't written anything, he said, and with the starkest honesty, he asked mourners to hold their spiritual bromides.
"Pat isn't with God,'' he said. "He's fucking dead. He wasn't religious. So thank you for your thoughts, but he's fucking dead.''
His brother-in-law and close friend, Alex Garwood, described how Tillman handled his duties when he became godfather to Garwood's son. He came to the ceremony dressed as a woman. Not as a religious commentary. He was doing a balancing act.
"We had two godfathers, no godmother,'' Garwood explained. And what NFL player turned Army Ranger wouldn't don drag to make that math work?
Who on earth was this guy?
[Snip.]
"He talked about gays,'' Lyle Setencich, the former ASU assistant said. "He asked me, 'Could you coach gays?' " Setencich told Tillman yes. He could, and he had. He repeated that at the memorial service, televised on ESPN, in front of the sports world, showing another side of a coach, another side of an American hero.
I wish there were a million more like you, Pat. I would like to have known you better and for a lot longer.
[This is double posted, here and on my new web address here.]
"But the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.'' Ralph Waldo Emerson A passage underlined in a book belonging to Pat Tillman.
Yesterday, a lot of people who knew Pat Tillman and a lot of people who would like to have known Pat, paid tribute to him in San Jose. Gwen Knapp covered the service for the San Francisco Chronicle.
Just when we thought we had a pure and simple hero, a millionaire athlete who gave up wealth and fame to become the ideal patriot, to make the ultimate sacrifice, his friends and family complicated everything. They turned Pat Tillman into a human being Monday, showing us what was really lost during that ambush in Afghanistan, insisting that we question every assumption we've made since he died an icon on April 22.
[Snip.]
Tillman's youngest brother, Rich, wore a rumpled white T-shirt, no jacket, no tie, no collar, and immediately swore into the microphone. He hadn't written anything, he said, and with the starkest honesty, he asked mourners to hold their spiritual bromides.
"Pat isn't with God,'' he said. "He's fucking dead. He wasn't religious. So thank you for your thoughts, but he's fucking dead.''
His brother-in-law and close friend, Alex Garwood, described how Tillman handled his duties when he became godfather to Garwood's son. He came to the ceremony dressed as a woman. Not as a religious commentary. He was doing a balancing act.
"We had two godfathers, no godmother,'' Garwood explained. And what NFL player turned Army Ranger wouldn't don drag to make that math work?
Who on earth was this guy?
[Snip.]
"He talked about gays,'' Lyle Setencich, the former ASU assistant said. "He asked me, 'Could you coach gays?' " Setencich told Tillman yes. He could, and he had. He repeated that at the memorial service, televised on ESPN, in front of the sports world, showing another side of a coach, another side of an American hero.
I wish there were a million more like you, Pat. I would like to have known you better and for a lot longer.
[This is double posted, here and on my new web address here.]
Abu Ghraib Prison
Watched Sec. of Defense Rumsfeld on the News Hour with Jim Lehrer tonight. "The system works," Sec. Rumsfeld said over and over again. The Army already had six investigations going before the story broke on January 16.
My inclination is to believe the details, but my conclusions aren't the same as Rumsfeld. First, I'd like to hear an assurance from Sec. Rumsfeld that there has been no abuse of prisioners since that date. I believe our men in uniform are good, sincere, earnest, dedicated... I could go on, but you get my drift. Sec. Rumsfeld, can you assure us, your fellow countrymen, and the world, that there has been no abuse since then? Sorry to put you on the spot, old sport, but we do need to be reassured.
Sec. Rumsfeld cautioned us all about equating abuse and torture. If the abuse is designed to break down a prisoner's will, that is torture. The reservists have claimed so far that they were being encouraged to do what they did. That is the most serious charge so far, in my opinion.
I have noticed a strong inclination by those in charge of blaming the lowest ranking soldiers involved with the offenses. That makes me very uncomfortable. Even if not a single officer knew what was taking place at the prison, every officer that walked through those gates is as guilty as any SP4 who may have actually had contact with the prisoners. Gen. Janis Karpinski said she wasn't even allowed into that part of the prison. Whoever gave that order should also be charged with dereliction of duty.
Now let's talk about abuse. We promised the Iraqis that we would give them a list of all people being held by American forces. The promise was made in February for April. It is now May, and there is no list of prisoners being held by American forces. None of those being held have been charged. Even warfare has better rules for the treatment of prisoners. There is no excuse.
We have become a force of occupation, brutal occupation. We are not going to withdraw tomorrow, so let's set some ground rules today.
1. A list of names of all prisoners, men and women. That list is to include the dates they were arrested and the suspicion upon which they were arrested. Can't say "charge" very well, can we?
2. Establish a procedure for prisoners to find out the charges against them. If we want to teach the Iraqis about democracy, let's begin by teaching them about habeas corpus. I know Bush and Ashcroft want to get rid of that in this country, but they haven't yet, and we're not going to let them. Whether by design or not, American forces are acting like Nazis in Iraq. That has to stop.
3. The President, Vice President and Sec. Cheney must stop using words that dehumanize the opposition forces in Iraq. The words thugs, hoodlums, terrorists, etc., contribute directly to the abuse of detainees. It's not rocket science, y'know. If the President calls them thugs, is this not permission to treat them like thugs?
This is a black-eye on our military, and on our country. Before the pictures were released, I would have said it was up to the accusers to prove their case. Now, it's up to us to prove that those pictures are not representative of how we are treating the Iraqis.
We deserve better leadership than this.
Posted by Houston on May 04, 2004 at 07:05 PM in Current Affairs | Permalink
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Excellent post. Thank you.
Do you mind if I quote you and this post in my blog?
Posted by: Faramin | May 05, 2004 at 08:54 AM
Yes, the true colors are showing now, or as we say on the golf links, "the wheels fell off"
Posted by: Dave | May 05, 2004 at 09:04 AM
Please do, Faramin, and welcome to my blog. I visited yours quickly, but have marked it so I can visit later and get a point of view different from my own.
Posted by: Houston | May 05, 2004 at 02:01 PM
I agree with a lot of this post.
But I wanted to disagree with something....
"American forces are acting like Nazis in Iraq."
I think thats an absurd comment that American army can be compared to the Nazi regime.
Also, I think Bush should not only stop using de-humanizing words, he should stop using words he would have to look up the meaning in the dictionary for.
Posted by: TIMMY! | May 05, 2004 at 03:25 PM
I think the "like Nazis" comment was a little over the top in retrospect, but consider this. In the middle of the night there's a banging at the door. It's kicked in, soldiers wearing evil looking equipment barge in screaming words at you in a foreign language, hitting you with their rifles if you're too slow to comply. All of the men in the house are hooded, handcuffed, and dragged away, not to be heard of or from for months on end. Besides Iraq, the other picture in my mind of this behavior is Warsaw, 1939 and 40.
We're not Nazis, but sometimes the techniques used seem uncomfortably familiar.
Posted by: Houston | May 05, 2004 at 05:36 PM
I talked about this with a friend today and he said, if we can have abuse of inmates in the Harris County Jail, we can have it in Iraq. We deny that it happened in Viet Nam--see what happens when Kerry tells the truth about it, he gets called "liar" and "unpatriotic" and worse--and what we deny, we do again and again.
What is our response to prison rape--make jokes. The thing that we are afraid of is that these captors are no different than anyone else. They too are someone's kid, father, sister, daughter, brother, husband, wife. Becaue of the potential for anyone to act that we, they must be lead not to behave that way.
Bush said these were not the Americans he knows. Yeah, but we can't say at the same time that what happened was nothing more serious than frat boy behavior. Shit. Can you believe that? I am sure Bush doesn't know anyone raped in prison or while living in a tiger cage in Hanoi. Oh, wait, he knows John McCain but he treated McCain like hell in the primaries.
Denial, what a bitch of a river.
Posted by: Jaye | May 05, 2004 at 06:47 PM
What Jaye said. Excellent post, darlin'.
"have noticed a strong inclination by those in charge of blaming the lowest ranking soldiers involved with the offenses" - bothers me very much, too. It seems contagious in this administration.
Posted by: andante | May 05, 2004 at 06:52 PM
I don't mind if upper ranking officers blame lower ranking soldiers. As long as they take responsibility for not taking care of their lower ranking soldiers and allowing it to happen.
Houston, I understand your comparisons, but as you know, that is what happens in unconventional warfare. Same type of things happend in Vietnam when the "Men in Green Faces" took people in the middle of the night.
Posted by: TIMMY! | May 06, 2004 at 11:59 AM
Came via a link from Faramin's.
Great post. Please do not quit writing about these atrocities. Fortunately or unfortunately, American voice goes farther than non-American one.
Posted by: barak | May 10, 2004 at 09:23 AM
Watched Sec. of Defense Rumsfeld on the News Hour with Jim Lehrer tonight. "The system works," Sec. Rumsfeld said over and over again. The Army already had six investigations going before the story broke on January 16.
My inclination is to believe the details, but my conclusions aren't the same as Rumsfeld. First, I'd like to hear an assurance from Sec. Rumsfeld that there has been no abuse of prisioners since that date. I believe our men in uniform are good, sincere, earnest, dedicated... I could go on, but you get my drift. Sec. Rumsfeld, can you assure us, your fellow countrymen, and the world, that there has been no abuse since then? Sorry to put you on the spot, old sport, but we do need to be reassured.
Sec. Rumsfeld cautioned us all about equating abuse and torture. If the abuse is designed to break down a prisoner's will, that is torture. The reservists have claimed so far that they were being encouraged to do what they did. That is the most serious charge so far, in my opinion.
I have noticed a strong inclination by those in charge of blaming the lowest ranking soldiers involved with the offenses. That makes me very uncomfortable. Even if not a single officer knew what was taking place at the prison, every officer that walked through those gates is as guilty as any SP4 who may have actually had contact with the prisoners. Gen. Janis Karpinski said she wasn't even allowed into that part of the prison. Whoever gave that order should also be charged with dereliction of duty.
Now let's talk about abuse. We promised the Iraqis that we would give them a list of all people being held by American forces. The promise was made in February for April. It is now May, and there is no list of prisoners being held by American forces. None of those being held have been charged. Even warfare has better rules for the treatment of prisoners. There is no excuse.
We have become a force of occupation, brutal occupation. We are not going to withdraw tomorrow, so let's set some ground rules today.
1. A list of names of all prisoners, men and women. That list is to include the dates they were arrested and the suspicion upon which they were arrested. Can't say "charge" very well, can we?
2. Establish a procedure for prisoners to find out the charges against them. If we want to teach the Iraqis about democracy, let's begin by teaching them about habeas corpus. I know Bush and Ashcroft want to get rid of that in this country, but they haven't yet, and we're not going to let them. Whether by design or not, American forces are acting like Nazis in Iraq. That has to stop.
3. The President, Vice President and Sec. Cheney must stop using words that dehumanize the opposition forces in Iraq. The words thugs, hoodlums, terrorists, etc., contribute directly to the abuse of detainees. It's not rocket science, y'know. If the President calls them thugs, is this not permission to treat them like thugs?
This is a black-eye on our military, and on our country. Before the pictures were released, I would have said it was up to the accusers to prove their case. Now, it's up to us to prove that those pictures are not representative of how we are treating the Iraqis.
We deserve better leadership than this.
Posted by Houston on May 04, 2004 at 07:05 PM in Current Affairs | Permalink
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Comments
Excellent post. Thank you.
Do you mind if I quote you and this post in my blog?
Posted by: Faramin | May 05, 2004 at 08:54 AM
Yes, the true colors are showing now, or as we say on the golf links, "the wheels fell off"
Posted by: Dave | May 05, 2004 at 09:04 AM
Please do, Faramin, and welcome to my blog. I visited yours quickly, but have marked it so I can visit later and get a point of view different from my own.
Posted by: Houston | May 05, 2004 at 02:01 PM
I agree with a lot of this post.
But I wanted to disagree with something....
"American forces are acting like Nazis in Iraq."
I think thats an absurd comment that American army can be compared to the Nazi regime.
Also, I think Bush should not only stop using de-humanizing words, he should stop using words he would have to look up the meaning in the dictionary for.
Posted by: TIMMY! | May 05, 2004 at 03:25 PM
I think the "like Nazis" comment was a little over the top in retrospect, but consider this. In the middle of the night there's a banging at the door. It's kicked in, soldiers wearing evil looking equipment barge in screaming words at you in a foreign language, hitting you with their rifles if you're too slow to comply. All of the men in the house are hooded, handcuffed, and dragged away, not to be heard of or from for months on end. Besides Iraq, the other picture in my mind of this behavior is Warsaw, 1939 and 40.
We're not Nazis, but sometimes the techniques used seem uncomfortably familiar.
Posted by: Houston | May 05, 2004 at 05:36 PM
I talked about this with a friend today and he said, if we can have abuse of inmates in the Harris County Jail, we can have it in Iraq. We deny that it happened in Viet Nam--see what happens when Kerry tells the truth about it, he gets called "liar" and "unpatriotic" and worse--and what we deny, we do again and again.
What is our response to prison rape--make jokes. The thing that we are afraid of is that these captors are no different than anyone else. They too are someone's kid, father, sister, daughter, brother, husband, wife. Becaue of the potential for anyone to act that we, they must be lead not to behave that way.
Bush said these were not the Americans he knows. Yeah, but we can't say at the same time that what happened was nothing more serious than frat boy behavior. Shit. Can you believe that? I am sure Bush doesn't know anyone raped in prison or while living in a tiger cage in Hanoi. Oh, wait, he knows John McCain but he treated McCain like hell in the primaries.
Denial, what a bitch of a river.
Posted by: Jaye | May 05, 2004 at 06:47 PM
What Jaye said. Excellent post, darlin'.
"have noticed a strong inclination by those in charge of blaming the lowest ranking soldiers involved with the offenses" - bothers me very much, too. It seems contagious in this administration.
Posted by: andante | May 05, 2004 at 06:52 PM
I don't mind if upper ranking officers blame lower ranking soldiers. As long as they take responsibility for not taking care of their lower ranking soldiers and allowing it to happen.
Houston, I understand your comparisons, but as you know, that is what happens in unconventional warfare. Same type of things happend in Vietnam when the "Men in Green Faces" took people in the middle of the night.
Posted by: TIMMY! | May 06, 2004 at 11:59 AM
Came via a link from Faramin's.
Great post. Please do not quit writing about these atrocities. Fortunately or unfortunately, American voice goes farther than non-American one.
Posted by: barak | May 10, 2004 at 09:23 AM
But one helluva guy. "But the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.'' -Ralph Waldo Emerson A passage underlined in a book belonging to Pat Tillman.
Yesterday, a lot of people who knew Pat Tillman and a lot of people who would like to have known Pat, paid tribute to him in San Jose. Gwen Knapp covered the service for the San Francisco Chronicle.
[Snip.]
[Snip.]
I wish there were a million more like you, Pat. I would like to have known you better and for a lot longer.
Yesterday, a lot of people who knew Pat Tillman and a lot of people who would like to have known Pat, paid tribute to him in San Jose. Gwen Knapp covered the service for the San Francisco Chronicle.
Just when we thought we had a pure and simple hero, a millionaire athlete who gave up wealth and fame to become the ideal patriot, to make the ultimate sacrifice, his friends and family complicated everything. They turned Pat Tillman into a human being Monday, showing us what was really lost during that ambush in Afghanistan, insisting that we question every assumption we've made since he died an icon on April 22.
[Snip.]
Tillman's youngest brother, Rich, wore a rumpled white T-shirt, no jacket, no tie, no collar, and immediately swore into the microphone. He hadn't written anything, he said, and with the starkest honesty, he asked mourners to hold their spiritual bromides.
"Pat isn't with God,'' he said. "He's fucking dead. He wasn't religious. So thank you for your thoughts, but he's fucking dead.''
His brother-in-law and close friend, Alex Garwood, described how Tillman handled his duties when he became godfather to Garwood's son. He came to the ceremony dressed as a woman. Not as a religious commentary. He was doing a balancing act.
"We had two godfathers, no godmother,'' Garwood explained. And what NFL player turned Army Ranger wouldn't don drag to make that math work?
Who on earth was this guy?
[Snip.]
"He talked about gays,'' Lyle Setencich, the former ASU assistant said. "He asked me, 'Could you coach gays?' " Setencich told Tillman yes. He could, and he had. He repeated that at the memorial service, televised on ESPN, in front of the sports world, showing another side of a coach, another side of an American hero.
I wish there were a million more like you, Pat. I would like to have known you better and for a lot longer.
Sunday, May 02, 2004
Last Year at this time
I was curious as to what was going on in my mind a year ago at this time. La plus ca change, la plus ca meme.
I was curious as to what was going on in my mind a year ago at this time. La plus ca change, la plus ca meme.
Misspellings
How fast do you type? I type somewhere around 100 wpm. Oh, sure I can do gusts up to about 125, but sustained speed seldom exceeds 100. Why do I type that fast? Well, that's a longer story.
I had nine weeks of typing my senior year. I wanted to go home early, but this was back in the days when you did what you were told to do (I graduated in 1965). So, forbidden to go home, I took typing. I did all right, but I developed a nervous tic, sort of. I started ghost typing instead of just drumming my fingers. Practice is practice, though and over time, I became a very fast typist.
The very first day I was in the Army, they had us all lined up and trying their best to scare the shit out of us more than we already were. We were about to be dismissed when the c.o., a captain whose name was never important to me for some reason, asked if there were any questions. I held up my hand. "What's your question, soldier?" He barked. They never spoke normally, for some reason. "Sir," says I, "Is this where I tell you I can type faster than you can speak?" Never let a comedian know that you think he's funny. The captain, tightly controlling the urge to giggle, if captains giggle, shot a quick side glance to my drill sergeant who rolled his eyes to keep from smiling, firmly replied, "No, that's later." It did come later, too. My MOS (military occupational speciality) was 93B or Speed Typist. (That number may not be right, it's been too long ago and my DD-214 is at the office, but the Speed Typist is the translation.) My weapon for the two years I was in the army was a typewriter.
What I am not, however, is an accurate typist. Oh, sure, I could take the easy way out and use Spell Check, but half the time I forget and just make the post without adequately proofing it. Spell check is great for finding those words you consistently mispell and your eye never notices, because it's just impressed into your mind wrongly. Bachelor is one of those words for me. I have always added a "t". I know better but cannot break my fingers of the habit of adding that t.
While reading my Sitemeter log, I noticed a hit coming from a Google search page where someone had searched for "confirmed batchelors" and Ms. Google says, "Don't you mean confirmed bachelors? Yeah, maybe they did, but the very first hit was an old posting by yours truly here hinting about being Gay by calling myself a "confirmed batchelor." That's a bit embarrassing, but we all have a favorite or two massecrations of the language. I just made up that word, but I work with lawyers, so making up new words out of old ones comes naturally now.
Okay. Nap time.
How fast do you type? I type somewhere around 100 wpm. Oh, sure I can do gusts up to about 125, but sustained speed seldom exceeds 100. Why do I type that fast? Well, that's a longer story.
I had nine weeks of typing my senior year. I wanted to go home early, but this was back in the days when you did what you were told to do (I graduated in 1965). So, forbidden to go home, I took typing. I did all right, but I developed a nervous tic, sort of. I started ghost typing instead of just drumming my fingers. Practice is practice, though and over time, I became a very fast typist.
The very first day I was in the Army, they had us all lined up and trying their best to scare the shit out of us more than we already were. We were about to be dismissed when the c.o., a captain whose name was never important to me for some reason, asked if there were any questions. I held up my hand. "What's your question, soldier?" He barked. They never spoke normally, for some reason. "Sir," says I, "Is this where I tell you I can type faster than you can speak?" Never let a comedian know that you think he's funny. The captain, tightly controlling the urge to giggle, if captains giggle, shot a quick side glance to my drill sergeant who rolled his eyes to keep from smiling, firmly replied, "No, that's later." It did come later, too. My MOS (military occupational speciality) was 93B or Speed Typist. (That number may not be right, it's been too long ago and my DD-214 is at the office, but the Speed Typist is the translation.) My weapon for the two years I was in the army was a typewriter.
What I am not, however, is an accurate typist. Oh, sure, I could take the easy way out and use Spell Check, but half the time I forget and just make the post without adequately proofing it. Spell check is great for finding those words you consistently mispell and your eye never notices, because it's just impressed into your mind wrongly. Bachelor is one of those words for me. I have always added a "t". I know better but cannot break my fingers of the habit of adding that t.
While reading my Sitemeter log, I noticed a hit coming from a Google search page where someone had searched for "confirmed batchelors" and Ms. Google says, "Don't you mean confirmed bachelors? Yeah, maybe they did, but the very first hit was an old posting by yours truly here hinting about being Gay by calling myself a "confirmed batchelor." That's a bit embarrassing, but we all have a favorite or two massecrations of the language. I just made up that word, but I work with lawyers, so making up new words out of old ones comes naturally now.
Okay. Nap time.
Best Referral Yet
I like to check periodically to see where my readers are from and figure out how they got here. This morning I noticed a search engine name new to me called the After Hours Zone. It's an adult porno site, near as I can tell. Someone searched for "small tits nude gallery" and my webpage was #45 on their list. As proud as I am for the hit, I have no idea why my blog came up. Dear reader from the After Hours Zone, were you surprised by what you found on my blog?
[UPDATE: The link to my blog was deleted from the search results. I didn't think they could do that, but they did. It's just as well. There is no small tits nude gallery on this blog.]
Addendum to Saturday. I promised this cute little dykling from Scotland that I would put on me kilt and take a picture and put it up on my blog. She's real curious to see what a Scottish cowboy looks like. I convinced her that Houston was a Scottish name and to prove it, I had my own kilt. I stretched the tale a little, but heck, that's just my nature. Someone asked me which tartan I wear, since Bridges isn't an obvious Scottish name, y'know? I replied that I wore the royal Stuart tartan because a queen is a queen is a queen! My new friend's name was King and she's from the west coast of Scotland, near Glasgow. "What kind of a Scottish name is King," I asked. She was so cute. In her sweet brogue she replied, "Well, we used to be MacGregor's, but at one time in Scottish history, twas legal to kill a MacGregor on sight." Good point. Twas a pleasure meeting you, Aileen. Her second middle name was Fiona which is as popular in Scotland as Ashley is here.
Did you know that in Germany you have to choose your child's name from an approved list? It's true. I remember reading that in a story once where a couple wanted to name their child Che. The authorities would have nothing of it. This subject came up again last night at wine tasting. Jeff, Scott's friend from h is college days (who lives here bytheway), was about to leave for L.A. where his wife hospitalized wife was about to deliver their first child, a boy. We asked if he and his wife had named the little feller yet, and he said no, then asked for suggestions. Although Wolfgang was suggested, it was quickly discarded despite the fact that its one of the more popular names in Germany and Austria. (I don't know about Switzerland.) Andres thought it might mean something like "Wolf path" since wolf is wolf in German, and gang is like a passageway. Anyone know otherwise, let me know in the Comments. Our group decided the baby should be named Cardinal. This is in part because Jeff's last name is Sims. Get it, cardinal sims? I didn't at first, either. Maybe it was the wine, but last night it seemed funny.
Aileen, the picture's coming. I promise.
I like to check periodically to see where my readers are from and figure out how they got here. This morning I noticed a search engine name new to me called the After Hours Zone. It's an adult porno site, near as I can tell. Someone searched for "small tits nude gallery" and my webpage was #45 on their list. As proud as I am for the hit, I have no idea why my blog came up. Dear reader from the After Hours Zone, were you surprised by what you found on my blog?
[UPDATE: The link to my blog was deleted from the search results. I didn't think they could do that, but they did. It's just as well. There is no small tits nude gallery on this blog.]
Addendum to Saturday. I promised this cute little dykling from Scotland that I would put on me kilt and take a picture and put it up on my blog. She's real curious to see what a Scottish cowboy looks like. I convinced her that Houston was a Scottish name and to prove it, I had my own kilt. I stretched the tale a little, but heck, that's just my nature. Someone asked me which tartan I wear, since Bridges isn't an obvious Scottish name, y'know? I replied that I wore the royal Stuart tartan because a queen is a queen is a queen! My new friend's name was King and she's from the west coast of Scotland, near Glasgow. "What kind of a Scottish name is King," I asked. She was so cute. In her sweet brogue she replied, "Well, we used to be MacGregor's, but at one time in Scottish history, twas legal to kill a MacGregor on sight." Good point. Twas a pleasure meeting you, Aileen. Her second middle name was Fiona which is as popular in Scotland as Ashley is here.
Did you know that in Germany you have to choose your child's name from an approved list? It's true. I remember reading that in a story once where a couple wanted to name their child Che. The authorities would have nothing of it. This subject came up again last night at wine tasting. Jeff, Scott's friend from h is college days (who lives here bytheway), was about to leave for L.A. where his wife hospitalized wife was about to deliver their first child, a boy. We asked if he and his wife had named the little feller yet, and he said no, then asked for suggestions. Although Wolfgang was suggested, it was quickly discarded despite the fact that its one of the more popular names in Germany and Austria. (I don't know about Switzerland.) Andres thought it might mean something like "Wolf path" since wolf is wolf in German, and gang is like a passageway. Anyone know otherwise, let me know in the Comments. Our group decided the baby should be named Cardinal. This is in part because Jeff's last name is Sims. Get it, cardinal sims? I didn't at first, either. Maybe it was the wine, but last night it seemed funny.
Aileen, the picture's coming. I promise.
Week-ends
I went to a couple of parties Saturday in San Francisco. The first was a backyard picnic which was billed a celebration of Spring. The real reason was for Brian's friends to say goodbye to Angie, Brian's girlfriend for the past several months. Angie's moving to Boston. Brian's heartsick in his own affable way. I adore Brian. He's smart, incredibly goodlooking, sensitive, great sense of humor and has a collection of friends who are just like him. Like most parties in San Francisco, there were at least five nationalities at the party, three different racial groups, all variations of sexuality, with conversations in English, French and German.
I arrived with a small British flag in observance of Loyalist Day that everyone in the blogosphere was talking about on Friday. My grandmother's people, the Ashworths, were notorious loyalists in South Carolina during the American Revolution. Oddly enough no one had ever heard of Loyalist Day. I'm sure I read it correctly to be Saturday, May 1. Oh well. Oh, and it was also Derby Day so we had plenty of mint juleps.
Later, my friend Katie had a zinfandel tasting at her house. Our regular group consists of Katie, her cousin Scott and his wife Laura, Gil and Amy, and Terry and Yolanda. Last night, we were joined by Jeff, a classmate of Scott's at Columbia, Monica, a law school chum of Katie's, and Andres, a quiet young man from Berlin. Lovely evening.
I'm not a true connoiseur of wine, although I have a nice collection in my cellar. That's real easy to do in California when you live next to the wine country. Wine tasting is a favorite pasttime out here. It usually involves a nice drive in the country, visits to half a dozen tasting rooms, and a nice picnic lunch at one of the wineries.
Today I'm reading and doing some writing. I also intend to have a nice long nap. Tonight a group of us are going to see Josh Kornbluth's Red Diaper Baby.
I love week-ends.
I went to a couple of parties Saturday in San Francisco. The first was a backyard picnic which was billed a celebration of Spring. The real reason was for Brian's friends to say goodbye to Angie, Brian's girlfriend for the past several months. Angie's moving to Boston. Brian's heartsick in his own affable way. I adore Brian. He's smart, incredibly goodlooking, sensitive, great sense of humor and has a collection of friends who are just like him. Like most parties in San Francisco, there were at least five nationalities at the party, three different racial groups, all variations of sexuality, with conversations in English, French and German.
I arrived with a small British flag in observance of Loyalist Day that everyone in the blogosphere was talking about on Friday. My grandmother's people, the Ashworths, were notorious loyalists in South Carolina during the American Revolution. Oddly enough no one had ever heard of Loyalist Day. I'm sure I read it correctly to be Saturday, May 1. Oh well. Oh, and it was also Derby Day so we had plenty of mint juleps.
Later, my friend Katie had a zinfandel tasting at her house. Our regular group consists of Katie, her cousin Scott and his wife Laura, Gil and Amy, and Terry and Yolanda. Last night, we were joined by Jeff, a classmate of Scott's at Columbia, Monica, a law school chum of Katie's, and Andres, a quiet young man from Berlin. Lovely evening.
I'm not a true connoiseur of wine, although I have a nice collection in my cellar. That's real easy to do in California when you live next to the wine country. Wine tasting is a favorite pasttime out here. It usually involves a nice drive in the country, visits to half a dozen tasting rooms, and a nice picnic lunch at one of the wineries.
Today I'm reading and doing some writing. I also intend to have a nice long nap. Tonight a group of us are going to see Josh Kornbluth's Red Diaper Baby.
I love week-ends.