Sunday, October 28, 2012

Every four years, a girl needs to blog. Your Child and the Marriage Amendment As a new parent, you gaze upon your infant in awe, hopelessly in love. You want everything to be perfect, want to work to give your child every possible opportunity. You notice what is unique about your baby – confidence, stubbornness, shyness, a sunny or a gloomy disposition. Soon you are struggling with the notion of normal: percentiles in weight and height, when your baby crawls, walks, says his or her first word. You strive to do the right thing, weighing the advice of others with what you’ve learned about your particular child. You talk and cuddle, soothe the hurts and call out what’s right. You don’t know where your baby will go in life. You simply pour abundance over your child: sunshine and fertilizer, rest and rain, schools and family, a safe and loving home. As your child gets older and starts to separate from you, you weigh in on his friends, encourage her achievements, point out faults and hope for the best. As you age, you start to envision life from your adult child’s point of view. Does he have healthy, intimate relationships? How does she fit within her culture or workplace? What about traits which put him at odds with society? You celebrate her achievements – and you never stop worrying, never stop dreaming. If your child is gay or lesbian, you have extra homework. You go through a process of adjustment and review a checklist of new worries: Physical safety? Acceptance by friends and family? Acceptance in the workplace and in society? Prospects for a loving partner? The dream of grandchildren? ** Somehow most of us who learned that we were gay or lesbian found a path we could travel, true love and a tribe of friends which included family who accepted us if we were fortunate. I grew up in suburban Detroit, the oldest of seven children, a writer and an athlete. I discovered my identity as a lesbian in my mid-20’s during graduate school. Today I work in health care information technology, live with my partner of 27 years and our puppy in Minneapolis and am close to my parents, siblings and their families. Same-sex marriage is already banned in Minnesota, in a statute passed by the Minnesota legislature in 1997 shortly after passage of the federal Defense of Marriage Act. This legislation reflects the limits we continue to place on the dreams of some of our parents. This legislation reflects the limits we continue to place on the lives of some of our citizens. But many in our state instead seek a more limited role for government. Many are advocating for less state control over individual freedoms. And we all value our system of democracy, which gives us the right to amend laws to reflect the changing will of the people over time. Minnesota state law bans same-sex marriage in Minnesota. That has been the law since 1997. But those who seek less governmental control over individual choices and those who seek equality under the law for those who wish to marry have the right to work to change that law. This is a founding strength of our system of government. Changing the state constitution, however, diminishes the ability of the people of Minnesota to have a voice in the laws that govern them. For the parents you know or the parents and grandparents you might someday be, please vote NO on the Minnesota Same Sex Marriage Amendment in November. Your children and grandchildren will thank you.

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Sunday, October 18, 2009

Anyone Who Had a Heart

1. Put your iTunes/iPod/MP3/Media Player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your next answer
3. Your must write that song name down no matter how outrageous it sounds!
4. Tag friends who might enjoy the name and will try it out after and up for a laugh
5. Please be truthful as it is pretty fun J

Let’s start!

At Last – Etta James
Boogie Wonderland – Earth Wind and Fire
Still Thrives This Love – KD Lang
Love Child - Supremes
Electricity – Joni Mitchell
Back on the Chain Gang - Pretenders
Harvest Moon – Cassandra Wilson
Can’t Run But – Paul Simon
Tangled Up in Blue – Bob Dylan
I’m Still in Love With You – Al Green
You’re No Good – Linda Ronstadt
Your Clown – Eiffel 65
(I’m a) Roadrunner – Jr. Walker and the All Stars
Crazy As Me – Alison Kraus and Union Station
Hole in My Head – Buddy Miller
Cool Cool River – Paul Simon
Drive South – John Hiatt
Red Rain – Peter Gabriel
Leap of Faith – Ann Reed
For Once in My Life – Stevie Wonder
Fields of Gold – Eva Cassidy
Anyone Who Had a Heart – Shelby Lynn


Saturday, November 1, 2008

At the Palindrome

At the Palindrome

Two boys rehearsed outside the arena. Yellow leaves drifted from tall maples.

“Madam, I’m Adam,” the first shouted.

“Was it a rat I saw?”” the other rejoined.

Inside, Joe paced the hall. “We’re almost done with Palintology and Plumbing. A man, a plan, a canal – Panama!” he cried.

“Joe, put down your big stick – you’re no Teddy Roosevelt,” Barry said.

“That’s right,” said Joe. “And this ain’t the great depression and you’re not FDR, you socialist.”

A vendor hawked ‘Stressed Desserts,’ an ice cream sundae with chocolate sauce on both the top and bottom, garnished with shredded dollar bills.

Bam Bam and Pebbles sat in the front row. “Not ton,” said Bam Bam. “Part trap.”

Pebbles held up a picture of a foreclosed property. “Cave evac!”

“Deities of our time,” muttered Bam Bam. “Dog god yaw way.”

“Let’s change the course of history,” said Pebbles. “Let’s go beyond 270 electoral votes to over 300. Edit tide.”

“Calm our global currency,” said Bam Bam. “Money, yen om.”

Wilma, who’d driven them in the Dinomobile, turned. “There is only one true palindrome,” she said.

“What, god dog?” asked Pebbles.

Wilma smiled. “Mom.”

In the red room, John said “Mav! “Vam!”

Sarah, playing with her $22,000 hairdo, responded, “Moose! Is esoom a word?”

Karl, Steve and Mark muttered in the corner: “Straight talk. Experienced Leader. War Hero. Maverick. Patriot. Where did we go wrong?”

“But tub,” said John. “I’m between Barack and a hard place. End time emit dne.”

In the blue room, Howard counted states on his wall-sized map ecstatically. “7 to 11 point lead, ahead in 8 key states,” he chortled. “60 Senators. Our long national nightmare is about to be over! Spam maps!”

Rahm shuddered. “Howie, don’t count your chickens. We’re still three days out! We’ve got to turn out the vote to turn off the fear and resentment channel.”

In the green room, Barry flipped through his index cards. “God deliver, reviled dog.”

“Swap paws,” cried Joe. “Star rats!”

Barry’s ad agency ran their spot. A picture of John and Sarah flashed: “Live evil!”

Michelle had covered a 9 x 12’ whiteboard with words written forwards and backwards. “I’ve got it!" she said. “The key themes of the campaign. ‘God, Sarah was on taxes. Wolf rout! Dog harass? Aw, no sex at flow tour.’”

The ad agency flashed a picture of Joe. “Gab bag!” it said.

“Very funny,” said Joe. “Straw warts.”

Fred and Barney watched on the TV rock.

“Money is the root of all evil,” said Fred. “The bank bailout world tour hit Japan and Kuwait. The Fifth Second Bank of Bedrock just took back all my credit cards. Diaper repaid.”

“Gut tub,” chortled Barney. “Sarah’s negatives are way up. Gal lag.”

Bam Bam and Pebbles mulled over their list of words. “Barry’ll go with what this election is really about,” said Bam Bam. “Raw war.”

A Nascave ad flashed on the big screen in front of them. “Car rac! Car rac.”

In the end Barry went with a picture of John and Sarah riding a gas and oil-belching dinosaur and a message that crooned, “Do you want ‘Dammit I’m mad’ and ‘redivider’?’ Instead, vote Barry and Joe - vote for the change we need.”

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Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Lady of the Lake

Barry descended the steep trail to the canyon gingerly, guiding his trusty steed amidst fallen boulders, dinosaur bones and the waterlogged economy of Iceland. The canyon was full of water, its many banks eroded.

Against the dawn sky, the image of the full moon glowed, then receded. Barry rode to the water’s edge and called out, “O Lady of the Lake, I have come to make an offering.”

“Speak, mortal,” a voice commanded from the blue depths.

“I bring you the shredded currencies of the world,” Barry cried, and tossed upon the waters $700 billion US dollars, 250 billion British pounds sterling, Germany’s 500 billion euros in bank guarantees, France’s state guarantee of 320 billion euros and assorted yen, yuan, rubles, rupees, pesos, francs, dinar, kroner, krona, real, riyal, sheqels and a photo of the dour rock star, Gordon Brown.

“So you recognize the world economy is underwater,” the voice reverberated. “And what do you propose to do about it?”

“I will beat John and Moose-alini in the November follies -- Sweet Virgina, Carolina, Florida and Ohio willing. I will bring change you can believe in.”

“I require more than spare change, young Skywalker,” the voice rebuked.

“I’ll sing “Come Together” with Sir Paul, I’maDinnerJacket and Joe the Plumber,” Barry said. “I’ll nail jello to the wall and win the Putin lipstick on a pig while mud-wrestling contest. And even Mr. Republican, Colin Powell, is voting for me.”

“Give it up,” the voice said.

Barry threw $150 million, his September campaign contributions, into the water.

“You must build a bridge across the pond,” the voice intoned. “And I don’t mean a bridge to nowhere.”

“Ich bin ein Berliner, as another handsome, charismatic President once said. I will go to Pakistone and Afghanistone,” Barry promised. “My armies will ensure that Bin Laden becomes Bin Trodden.”

“For a constitutional law professor and Harvard law grad, you are a dense stone,” the voice said. “You must win the Sarah Palin-drome contest.”

“You mean ‘able was I ere I saw Elba’?” Barry asked.

“Yes. An army of unemployed English and philosophy majors must be put to work. Along with stone masons, carpenters, roofers, the endangered species formerly known as autoworkers and steelworkers to bridge the gap.”

Barry groaned. “You drive a steep price, O Lady Who. I will try my best.”

“Do or do not, there is no try,” said the voice.

“Yes, Mistress Yoda.”

Next week: at the Palin-drome

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The Edge of the Abyss

The Edge of the Abyss

Pebbles and Bam Bam listened to her transistrock radio, lazing at the edge of the canyon, watching a brontosaurus snack in a grove of aspen.

“159,000 jobs lost last month,” the radio intoned. “760,000 jobs lost in the last year, 9 straight months of job loss.”

“It’s the Pac man economy. It eats your job and then makes that fizzling sound.”

“Bush signs $700 billion bailout.”

“In South Texstone, where 33 are confirmed dead, the search is on for 400 missing people, through debris fields three times the size of Manhattanrock. Rescuers have to wade through the muck, shredded wood and rock and shoot water moccasins.”

Bam Bam sighed. “And if that weren’t enough, Paul Newrock died.”

“It’s a bottomless LaBrea tarpit they’ve left us,” Pebbles said.

“Yeah,” Bam Bam said. “John and Sarah trying to make disco lemonade, pretending that they’re not really dinosaurs. Barry and Joe are saddled up and on the move.”

“John and Sarah are down to the pirate vote,” Pebbles said. “It’s all about leverage. When Bear Stearns collapsed, they’d borrowed $33 for every $1 of equity they had.”

“Talk about Pirates of the Canyon being. How did they get away with that?”

“Congress repealed the Glass Steagall Act. There used to be lines between banking and speculating. Not any more. Confidence has shattered like so many fine China foreign bonds.”

“At least Warren wasn’t buffetted,” Bam Bam said.

“And now the Goldmine Sacked alumni have hired a rocket scientist to blast us out of this quagmire.”

“Be very afraid,” said Bam Bam.

“If we can just get to the inaugrockration without Bush invading Pakistone,” Pebbles said.

“That would be Iran-ical,” Bam Bam said. “So what should we be doing right now?”

“What do you mean?” Pebbles said.

“We’re in our last year of high school. You’re going to go off to Shale University or one of those other Ivy Rock schools. I’m going to continue to find myself no matter where I go. Who in this election is for us?”

“I don’t know if I’ll be going to Shale,” Pebbles said.

Bam Bam looked at her.

“They’re cutting Fred’s hours at Slate Rock. I could be dishing Dinoburgers at the Cro-Magnon drive-in.”

“They’re cutting Barney’s hours too,” Bam Bam said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Pebbles turned off her radio and put it in her pocket. They walked along the edge of the canyon. The sky was the color of eggshells, with dark clouds scuttling across.

“I want to do something for Barry,” Bam Bam said.

“Why? I don’t know if I can trust either of them.”

Bam Bam pointed to his head. “More than a hat rack.”


The Other Side of the Pond

Tuesday, September 30, 2008



“Wilma, don’t start. I’m not gonna watch John and Barry strip to their loincloths and throw mud at each other.”

“Suit yourself, Fred. I’m barbequing wooly mammoth.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Pebbles came in carrying a birthday cake.

“Hi dear,” Wilma said. “Whose birthday is it?”

“GoogleRock turns 10 tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Fred said. “Another WashingRock WallStone week: WaMu is eaten by JP Morganstone. Congressman Raptor wants to vote for $700 billion to take over and rebuild the entire financial canyon. Meanwhile $45 trillion in unregulated credit default swaps are circling the globe like so many starving Hitchock birds.

“We’re falling behind on the cave payment at the Fifth Second Bank of Bedrock,” said Wilma.

“Who are they gonna eat next?” Fred continued. “And who’s helping me keep my bronto crane running at the Slate Rock Gravel Company?”

“Not either one of these Yahoos,” said Pebbles. “My class took a field trip today.”

“Where did you go, dear?” asked Wilma.

“We went to visit the big stinking corpse in the canyon,” said Pebbles. “But now I understand what happened.”

“Then you can explain it to me,” said Fred.

“You had to buy mortgage insurance on the cave, right?”

Wilma nodded. “So if we failed to make the payments, the Fifth Second Bank of Bedrock wouldn’t be left holding the bag.”

“Right. A collateralized debt obligation is similar, it’s a form of insurance. JP Morganstone came up with the idea. AIG sold insurance that bet that corporations would pay their debt and people would pay their mortgages. Then they sliced and diced the mortgages together to spread the risk around. It was like if you bought all the brontosteaks at the market regardless of their expiration date, cut and cooked them up together and bet no one at the barbeque would get sick.”

“Ewww,” said Fred.

“So as the value of the mortgages fell,” said Pebbles, “the banks holding the securities behind the mortgages got nervous and demanded their money. That caused a run on cash. That AIG cave lost $25 billion in their last quarter.”

They watched John and Barry argue over whose war bracelet was better.

“Honestly,” said Wilma. “Like we’re supposed to choose between the mother who doesn’t want her son to have died in vain and the mother who doesn’t want another boy to die.”

“Why does John keep talking about earmarks?” Pebble asked. “Isn’t he too old to have a tattoo?”

“Stay the course, we need change,” said Fred. “Blood and treasure are in harm’s way. Where is the Rosetta Stone when we really need it?”

They heard blam, blam, blam at the front of the cave. “I’ll get it,” Wilma said.

“Hey guys,” Barney, their next door neighbor cried. “Come on over and see Bam Bam’s art project.”

They traipsed into Barney’s yard. A bird ran around in circles, chortling, “Hi! I am an apteryx, a wingless bird with hairy feathers.” Three of BamBam’s friends played a mournful dirge on their Guitar Gyros.

Bam Bam sported a purple streak down the middle of his spiky blond hair. Dino rode a bicyclops which powered a windmill that blew ferociously across the canyon. The wind tore the hanging chads spewing from the 50 united states of Bedrock and shredded the mortgages owned by the three remaining banks, which featured a neon ticker tape of who had just eaten who. “Watchovahya eaten by Citifuhgettaboutit. . .” scrolled across the screen. A huge block of ice drowned the shredded paper.

“Yabba dabba doo!” yelled Fred. “It’s the first thing I’ve understood in weeks. While the world spazzes over financial meltdown and the election, global warming is melting the polar ice caps.”

Bam Bam gestured at Fred and swept his arm toward Pebbles. “Brighter than he looks.”

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Barry on the High Road

Barry on the High Road

Barry swung a long leg over his horse and dismounted. An acrid smoke hung in the air, the stench of blood and decaying flesh.

“Be careful!” Joe hissed. “You’re approaching a tragedy of a mockery of a sham of a farce.”

The pile of animal remains towered above them, hydra-headed and still steaming. Barry calmly put a rubber glove on his right hand and reached in. “Some of these entrails are really old – in fact, I smell EnRock at the bottom of all this. And Keating 5.”

He stood up and reached a lanky arm way up into the carcass. “Bank of Amerocka ate Merrill’s lunch.” He extracted a handful of long, blue glass shards which appeared to have come from a New York skyscraper.

“No more thundering bulls or stern bears,” Joe said. “And Freddie should never have left Wilma and run off with Fannie Mae.”

Barry continued his reading of the entrails. He pulled out the remains of a domestic automobile industry. “Whatever excreted this is a true force of nature. Even Ike didn’t do this much damage.”

“CNN hardly knows where to send the Wolf Blitz first,” Joe agreed. “Note that no one will ever again use the phrase “I like Ike.”

Barry walked somberly around the towering carcass. He picked up his binoculars and looked south. A lone cave stood on a shore of splintered wood, rock shards, twisted metal. Waves crashed against the coast. “Even Smith Barney never saw this much rubble.”

“I really wouldn’t want to be Paulstone or Bernankrock right now,” Joe continued. “Not that it’s a piece of cake being us. Even Bush came out of his burrow, smelled 6 more weeks of winter and asked for a new copy of “My Pet Goat.”

Barry dusted off his hands, removed his glove and took a long pull on a tall drink of water. “We’ve got miles to go before we sleep.”

“No, Barry, no!” Joe said. “This is no time for quoting poets. Football analogies, dude, or Nascave.” He slid his feet into the stirrups of his donkey.

“Joe, I’m not going to talk about being in the red zone. This is not about red caves and blue caves.”

“I know, I know, Barry, it’s about change we can believe in. But we’re standing in front of something nobody can believe. No one has ever seen this particular animal. No one even knows what it is.”

“Just don’t call a Palintologist, Joe,” said Barry “You’ll never get a good diagnosis that way.”

Joe’s infectious laugh echoed throughout the Rockies. “You can be funny, Dude, I’ll give you that. Just don’t put it in Lehman’s terms.” He chortled.

Barry climbed back on his horse, riding around the carcass, studying it from each side. “A rough beast slouches towards Bethlehem, waiting to be born.”

“You’re a poet and your feet show it, they’re long fellows,” mocked Joe. “Let’s go, you’re going to be late for your meeting with Rubin, Rock, Reich and Volcker incorporated.

They rode east through the Rockies, along a clear stream, aspens quivering in the brisk wind.

“Have you talked to Hillary lately, Barry?”

“She saddled up the sabre-tooth and went to Florida for me.”

“What about Bill?”

“Bill said ignore Sarah and don’t take Hillary’s pack for granted. I think he’s still mad at me.”

“What do you expect, Barry? You kept quiet when he was accused of being a racist.”

“Wasn’t it enough that I let Billary hog the stage at the convention? How many more times do I have to hear about 18 million cracks in the cave ceiling?”

“Until you admit she would have made a fine Veepstone, like I did. You are such a stubborn son of a rock. Besides, having Bill and Hill ride the tiger in Denver drove our TV ratings to the moon. Not that anybody even remembers Denver at this point.”

They rode along, munching on trail mix and arugula. “Why don’t you campaign with Hillary?” Joe asked. “Take the Pterodactyl out with Oprah or Bruce Springstone! You’re the celebrity candidate, brother – don’t let Sarah get away with being Princess Dianaslab.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need some company on the high road.”

“You need to find the middle road, dude. Or in your words, the path not taken.”