I've never understood the opposition to gay marriage--it's not right or cool that I can get married (not that there's a woman out there demented enough to have me) when my gay and lesbian friends cannot--especially when those who oppose it cite it as a threat to the institution that is heterosexual marriage.
The greater threat to heterosexual marriage, it has always seemed to me, is the divorce rate amongst married heterosexuals, yet I've not heard and conservative legislators or commentators suggest, even in jest, that we either ban divorce or make "as long as you both shall live" anything more than a vow between legally consenting adults.
I have, however, read the words of Justice Mark Cady, a Republican appointee, in his written opinion for the seven-member Iowa Supreme Court:
"We are firmly convinced the exclusion of gay and lesbian people from the institution of civil marriage does not substantially further any important government objective. The Legislature has excluded a historically disfavored class of persons from a supremely important civil institution without a constitutionally sufficient justification."
Simple. Blunt. Eloquent. Beautiful.
Today, Vermont also legalized gay marriage.
Illinois? It's your turn.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Take Me Out to the...No, Don't
Yesterday was opening day for baseball in Chicago.
Or, rather, it was supposed to be, but a late-season snow hit Sunday night, dropping anywhere from half an inch to several inches on the metro area, depending on where you were standing and when.
This is not unprecedented. It snows in April in Chicago--not every April, but often enough for wary natives to keep their winter gear--boots, parkas, mittens, etc.--close at hand through, say, mid-May.
Which is why I'm dumbfounded every year that Major League Baseball schedules opening day for the first week of April in cities where winter doesn't end just because the calendar says it's supposed to.
The Cubs started their season last night in Houston--an eminently sensible place to start, since it's not only a warm-weather city, but the Astros play in a stadium that, should the weather be inclement, can retract its roof. The Cubs will them move on to Milwaukee--a cold-weather city, granted, but one that also boasts a stadium with a retractable roof.
The White Sox, however, got stuck with playing their season opener in Chicago, where we don't have a retractable roof on any of our sports facilities.
Hence, when the weather outside was frightful, opening day was so not delightful--it was, in fact, cancelled and rescheduled for today.
Not that today's forecast is a vast improvement--no snow, but temperatures in the high 30s or low 40s. Weather conducive to hockey or football--not so much for baseball.
I realize that, unless the Sox build a dome over U.S. Cellular Field or the Cubs enclose Wrigley, one or the other of them will either have to open in frigid air or sacrifice their first series to a warm-weather city like Oakland, Anaheim or Tampa Bay.
So be it. Better to make such a sacrifice than to perpetually inconvenience loyal fans or, worse, to get a player hurt--possibly even lost for the year--on an icy field on which he should never have set foot.
Or, rather, it was supposed to be, but a late-season snow hit Sunday night, dropping anywhere from half an inch to several inches on the metro area, depending on where you were standing and when.
This is not unprecedented. It snows in April in Chicago--not every April, but often enough for wary natives to keep their winter gear--boots, parkas, mittens, etc.--close at hand through, say, mid-May.
Which is why I'm dumbfounded every year that Major League Baseball schedules opening day for the first week of April in cities where winter doesn't end just because the calendar says it's supposed to.
The Cubs started their season last night in Houston--an eminently sensible place to start, since it's not only a warm-weather city, but the Astros play in a stadium that, should the weather be inclement, can retract its roof. The Cubs will them move on to Milwaukee--a cold-weather city, granted, but one that also boasts a stadium with a retractable roof.
The White Sox, however, got stuck with playing their season opener in Chicago, where we don't have a retractable roof on any of our sports facilities.
Hence, when the weather outside was frightful, opening day was so not delightful--it was, in fact, cancelled and rescheduled for today.
Not that today's forecast is a vast improvement--no snow, but temperatures in the high 30s or low 40s. Weather conducive to hockey or football--not so much for baseball.
I realize that, unless the Sox build a dome over U.S. Cellular Field or the Cubs enclose Wrigley, one or the other of them will either have to open in frigid air or sacrifice their first series to a warm-weather city like Oakland, Anaheim or Tampa Bay.
So be it. Better to make such a sacrifice than to perpetually inconvenience loyal fans or, worse, to get a player hurt--possibly even lost for the year--on an icy field on which he should never have set foot.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Spring Cleaning
Over the weekend, I began the long, involved process of emptying La Casa del Terror of items I no longer need or want.
I started with the CD collection. How many CDs do I won? Couldn't tell you. When was the last time I listened to individual CDs? Again, couldn't tell you. If it's not currently in the frequently malfunctioning RCA 5-CD changer tray, then chances are I haven't given it a spin in a while. That makes just about everything in the collection fair game.
Still, one must do these things in increments, so I chose 15 CDs to head out the door first, including Fergie's "The Dutchess," the Juno soundtrack and all my Brian Wilson CDs. I managed to sell off 10 of the 15 and got back enough to pay this month's electric bill. Next? The DVD collection gets trimmed (though fear not, regular attendees of HMB--none of the movies in that group will be heading out the door).
I decided, further, to extend my spring cleaning to my electronic homes, starting with the "Saved" folder for my personal e-mail address, which I may be shutting down soon (it's tied to my home Internet account, which is effectively defunct due to a crappy phoneline, so that money may go elsewhere).
There are several dozen e-mails in there, including the death notices for Ms. Christopher, Gigi and Kaytee, along with the many related responses and expressions of condolence.
There was also a group of e-mails to and from an old friend, who, at the end of 2007, I'd had great hopes of renewing friendship after contact had been abruptly cut off years before; we'd traded e-mails at the end of that year, after she'd become fabulously successful in her chosen field, and I'd thrown a line of congratulations her way.
Unfortunately, 2008 began with silence, which continued for months even though I sent her messages regularly--some long and prosaic, but most short and to the point. Hopes were revived in July, when she answered a couple more e-mails, but then the silence resumed and carried through to the end of the year. I'd hoped for something, even an acknowledgment of a holiday greeting or a "Happy New Year" message, but no such luck.
At the end of the first week of January, I composed the following e-mail:
When you updated your bloggity on 12/30, I posted a brief comment: "Glad to hear you're OK. Miss you."
Afterward, I realized that I could have posted the same comment at any time within the last five years, including 2007, when I had some hope that we could renew our friendship. But after another year of emails, the overwhelming majority of which went unanswered (unread?), it would take optimism bordering on hubris (or, more aptly, dementia) to hope that you would answer any message, much less this one.
God knows you're busy--hardest working woman in show business. I know that. But I also know lots of busy people, and most of them find time to drop me a line, if only to say, "Haven't heard from you in a bit. How are you?"
Maybe you didn't want to communicate, even electronically. Maybe you thought I had an agenda. In that case, you thought right. I did have an agenda:
I wanted my friend back.
The e-mail was sent January 7.
There was no reply.
I started with the CD collection. How many CDs do I won? Couldn't tell you. When was the last time I listened to individual CDs? Again, couldn't tell you. If it's not currently in the frequently malfunctioning RCA 5-CD changer tray, then chances are I haven't given it a spin in a while. That makes just about everything in the collection fair game.
Still, one must do these things in increments, so I chose 15 CDs to head out the door first, including Fergie's "The Dutchess," the Juno soundtrack and all my Brian Wilson CDs. I managed to sell off 10 of the 15 and got back enough to pay this month's electric bill. Next? The DVD collection gets trimmed (though fear not, regular attendees of HMB--none of the movies in that group will be heading out the door).
I decided, further, to extend my spring cleaning to my electronic homes, starting with the "Saved" folder for my personal e-mail address, which I may be shutting down soon (it's tied to my home Internet account, which is effectively defunct due to a crappy phoneline, so that money may go elsewhere).
There are several dozen e-mails in there, including the death notices for Ms. Christopher, Gigi and Kaytee, along with the many related responses and expressions of condolence.
There was also a group of e-mails to and from an old friend, who, at the end of 2007, I'd had great hopes of renewing friendship after contact had been abruptly cut off years before; we'd traded e-mails at the end of that year, after she'd become fabulously successful in her chosen field, and I'd thrown a line of congratulations her way.
Unfortunately, 2008 began with silence, which continued for months even though I sent her messages regularly--some long and prosaic, but most short and to the point. Hopes were revived in July, when she answered a couple more e-mails, but then the silence resumed and carried through to the end of the year. I'd hoped for something, even an acknowledgment of a holiday greeting or a "Happy New Year" message, but no such luck.
At the end of the first week of January, I composed the following e-mail:
When you updated your bloggity on 12/30, I posted a brief comment: "Glad to hear you're OK. Miss you."
Afterward, I realized that I could have posted the same comment at any time within the last five years, including 2007, when I had some hope that we could renew our friendship. But after another year of emails, the overwhelming majority of which went unanswered (unread?), it would take optimism bordering on hubris (or, more aptly, dementia) to hope that you would answer any message, much less this one.
God knows you're busy--hardest working woman in show business. I know that. But I also know lots of busy people, and most of them find time to drop me a line, if only to say, "Haven't heard from you in a bit. How are you?"
Maybe you didn't want to communicate, even electronically. Maybe you thought I had an agenda. In that case, you thought right. I did have an agenda:
I wanted my friend back.
The e-mail was sent January 7.
There was no reply.
This Year's Amazon Wishlist
My birthday is now less than one month away.
For those who care, this means a couple of important things: The embargo on buying myself DVDs, CDs and/or books has officially gone into effect (not like I've got money to do such anyway, but still...); and I've updated my Amazon Wishlist.
I've done something different with the Wishlist this year, though. In the past, I've gotten comments about the size of my Wishlist along the lines of "It's so big? How can I possibly choose?" Understandable. My Wishlist has had as many as 90 items on it. While that leaves a lot more room for surprise and less room for anticipation on my part, it can (and did) lead to undue confusion and anxiety on the part of gift-givers.
This year, I've pared the list way down--under 30 items as of this writing. The list is now more focused, with more DVDs and books that I not only really, really want, but that my friends might be most likely to afford in these tight times.
Not that I'm asking everyone (or, really, anyone) who reads this page to buy me something. As Mrs. Lovett sang, "Times is hard, times is haaaaaaard!" Also? I'm not boiling over with enthusiasm about the annual ritual this year. My job is in jeopardy (due to the recession, not through my competence or lack thereof). I've lost friends both figuratively (as in being dumped out of their lives without ceremony or explanation) and literally (as in shuffling off the mortal coil). I think I may just take the day off from work, have a quiet lunch or dinner on my own, and leave the circumstance and pomp for another time.
Of course, if any of you are inclined to buy me a little sumthin'-sumthin, I'm not exactly going to turn it down or send it back. Just sayin'.
For those who care, this means a couple of important things: The embargo on buying myself DVDs, CDs and/or books has officially gone into effect (not like I've got money to do such anyway, but still...); and I've updated my Amazon Wishlist.
I've done something different with the Wishlist this year, though. In the past, I've gotten comments about the size of my Wishlist along the lines of "It's so big? How can I possibly choose?" Understandable. My Wishlist has had as many as 90 items on it. While that leaves a lot more room for surprise and less room for anticipation on my part, it can (and did) lead to undue confusion and anxiety on the part of gift-givers.
This year, I've pared the list way down--under 30 items as of this writing. The list is now more focused, with more DVDs and books that I not only really, really want, but that my friends might be most likely to afford in these tight times.
Not that I'm asking everyone (or, really, anyone) who reads this page to buy me something. As Mrs. Lovett sang, "Times is hard, times is haaaaaaard!" Also? I'm not boiling over with enthusiasm about the annual ritual this year. My job is in jeopardy (due to the recession, not through my competence or lack thereof). I've lost friends both figuratively (as in being dumped out of their lives without ceremony or explanation) and literally (as in shuffling off the mortal coil). I think I may just take the day off from work, have a quiet lunch or dinner on my own, and leave the circumstance and pomp for another time.
Of course, if any of you are inclined to buy me a little sumthin'-sumthin, I'm not exactly going to turn it down or send it back. Just sayin'.
Friday, April 3, 2009
23 Names
Mike Tomczak. Jim Harbaugh. Peter Tom Willis. Will Furrer. Erik Kramer. Steve Walsh. Dave Krieg. Rick Mirer. Steve Stenstrom. Moses Moreno. Shane Matthews. Cade McNown. Jim Miller. Chris Chandler. Henry Burris. Kordell Stewart. Rex Grossman. Jonathan Quinn. Craig Krenzel. Chad Hutchinson. Kyle Orton. Jeff Blake. Brian Griese.
Those are the names of all the quarterbacks who've played for the Chicago Bears since Jim McMahon played in the Pro Bowl and Super Bowl for them over 20 years ago.
Thursday, they traded Orton, two first-round draft picks and a fifth-round pick for a 24th name: Denver Broncos Pro Bowl quarterback Jay Cutler, who had become severely disenchanted with that franchise when their new coach tried to trade for then-New England Patriots quarterback Matt Cassel.
That sounds like a lot to give up for any single player, and it is. But the old saying, "Sometimes you have to give a lot to get a lot," has a good deal of truth to it. It's just so rare--shocking, really--to see the Bears make such a bold and risky move.
The loss of two first-round picks could be a blessing in disguise, given the Bears' recent history with first-round picks, most of whom have been negligible at best and outright bombs at worst.
But trading a steady-if-unspectacular quarterback, Orton, who's won 75% of the games he's started, for a potential superstar who could be an overly sensitive headcase? We'll see how that goes.
Now if only Cutler had a decent receiver to throw to...
Those are the names of all the quarterbacks who've played for the Chicago Bears since Jim McMahon played in the Pro Bowl and Super Bowl for them over 20 years ago.
Thursday, they traded Orton, two first-round draft picks and a fifth-round pick for a 24th name: Denver Broncos Pro Bowl quarterback Jay Cutler, who had become severely disenchanted with that franchise when their new coach tried to trade for then-New England Patriots quarterback Matt Cassel.
That sounds like a lot to give up for any single player, and it is. But the old saying, "Sometimes you have to give a lot to get a lot," has a good deal of truth to it. It's just so rare--shocking, really--to see the Bears make such a bold and risky move.
The loss of two first-round picks could be a blessing in disguise, given the Bears' recent history with first-round picks, most of whom have been negligible at best and outright bombs at worst.
But trading a steady-if-unspectacular quarterback, Orton, who's won 75% of the games he's started, for a potential superstar who could be an overly sensitive headcase? We'll see how that goes.
Now if only Cutler had a decent receiver to throw to...
Passing Out
I haven't slept well in a while, for lots of reasons: Bad habits, like eating or consuming lots of fluids (milk or water, mostly) right before bed; drinking cans of RC when having dinner at Mom's; worrying about the economy in general or my own employment situation in particular; racing my mind so fast for so long that an average person would probably have gone crazy by now (and, perhaps, I already have and just haven't noticed).
Slept better last night, though, by making a few changes:
Went to Mom's for dinner and stayed 'til 9 (I usually cut out at least an hour earlier);
Only had one can of RC at Mom's, followed by only two cups of Sleepytime tea;
Didn't eat anything else before bed or take anything to help me sleep;
Stayed up until 11 (was going to stay up later to watch the rerun of "Chelsea Lately," but it was the episode from Monday night--the one with someone I used to know on the roundtable--so I did the same as I had Monday night and clicked out straight away);
Slept with my head on the opposite end of the bed and the fan blowing away from me (Olivia adjusted admirably, parking herself at my feet and not moving until the alarm went off.
Didn't get a full night's sleep--maybe 6 hours. Still, that's about 5 hours more than I got the night before, and the dreams that accompanied that sleep (involving spiders and Tom Baker) were no stranger than normal, really.
So...yay, me.
Slept better last night, though, by making a few changes:
Went to Mom's for dinner and stayed 'til 9 (I usually cut out at least an hour earlier);
Only had one can of RC at Mom's, followed by only two cups of Sleepytime tea;
Didn't eat anything else before bed or take anything to help me sleep;
Stayed up until 11 (was going to stay up later to watch the rerun of "Chelsea Lately," but it was the episode from Monday night--the one with someone I used to know on the roundtable--so I did the same as I had Monday night and clicked out straight away);
Slept with my head on the opposite end of the bed and the fan blowing away from me (Olivia adjusted admirably, parking herself at my feet and not moving until the alarm went off.
Didn't get a full night's sleep--maybe 6 hours. Still, that's about 5 hours more than I got the night before, and the dreams that accompanied that sleep (involving spiders and Tom Baker) were no stranger than normal, really.
So...yay, me.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
My April Fool
Olivia turns five years old this month.
OK, so I don't know with iron-clad certainty that Olivia turns five this month. I do know, however that, as far as my mom's vet could ascertain, Olivia was about seven months old when I brought her to La Casa del Terror back in November of 2004. That would put her birthday somewhere in April of that year, so celebrating that happy occasion on April Fool's Day seems entirely appropriate.
Not that I'm saying Olivia is a fool. I'm not--not really, anyway. She's incredibly smart--often too smart for her own good.
Like that time she figured out how to get behind the shelving unit in the northeast corner of the dining room, only to find that she then couldn't get out and had to scream for help.
Or when she and I swatted at each other around the headboard--until she decided to take the game seriously and charged at me from behind the headboard, slammed into my left temple and kept going straight across the bed and out of the room, never breaking stride.
You get the idea.
It must be said, though, that since Ms. Christopher died in October, Olivia's personality has shifted. Not to the extent of taking on Chris's personality traits, as sometimes happen with cats (and which did happen, to a certain extent, to Chris after her sister, Lottie, had to be put to sleep), but now Olivia is more inclined to jump up into my lap and stay there for a while--something she'd rarely been inclined to do before. She's also a lot more attentive, playful and even downright cuddly than she had been before--again, not a wholesale personality change, but more a function of being alone all day and craving attention once I finally get home from work.
Tonight, I'll drag my ass back to La Casa del Terror. Tonight, I'll rip open a pouch of Friskies for Olivia, pop something in the microwave for myself and fall into my living room chair to watch "Countdown with Keith Olbermann." And after a few minutes of eating and watching, Olivia will join me, parking at my feet, asking permission to come aboard, waiting for the hand slap at the thigh that signifies consent, and jumping up to curl and purr there for a few minutes. And I will be grateful.
Happy birthday, little one.
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