A fearless self-promoter

When I went to pick up Rocketboy this morning from his Religious Ed class after hippie church, he wasn't there. His teachers told me he'd said it wasn't his class anymore. They thought I might know something about this. It was, as you might guess, the very first I'd heard of it.

I knew that Rocketboy had been underwhelmed by RE (the Unitarian flavor of Sunday School) the past few weeks, even though they don't push the "goddish" stuff that turned him off from our previous mainline church. In fact, we chose the local UU church precisely because it's okay to be an "out" atheist there, which Rocketboy occasionally is, but that's a whole other post. I was so thrilled to find a kids' class that focuses on ethics instead of doctrine that I didn't think much about what it would mean to be a bright 8-year-old in a class geared to kids as young as six.

Rocketboy had thought about it, although he didn't share much with me. His solution this morning was to take a book to read during RE if he finished early or wasn't interested in the lesson. He later said that as he was walking out of the sanctuary with the other children, he had his best idea yet: Because he's now doing 4th-grade math work, he could declare himself a fourth-grader and head upstairs with the older kids.

It worked. I found him in the 3rd/4th grade room, happily cleaning up a clay project and chatting with the other kids. The teacher already knew him from last summer and was happy to have him there. There was another 2nd-grader in the room, too, but she'd thought ahead and gone through the 'proper channels' to get moved up.

I realized then that Rocketboy had no idea there even were channels to go through. He's never been to school and his learning has always been about his needs and interests instead of a school's organizational needs. He decided he needed something different and acted on it. I, having worked in classrooms, was concerned about whether his presence there would throw off the staff-to-student ratio, but they said it was fine.

Rocketboy accounted for, we went outside to help wrap the Maypole, wished everyone a happy Beltane, and called it a morning. Hombre and I talked later about whether we would have done something like that as kids. Hombre says he might have, but he would have asked permission and gone through the bureaucratic hoops. I wouldn't have even done that. Unless someone had asked me directly or done it for me, it simply would not have occurred to me that such a thing was possible. School was the way it was, or so I had been taught.

The whole episode made me appreciate the RE program even more than I had. I try to imagine Rocketboy pulling a stunt like that at my grandma's Baptist church or the Episcopal church we used to attend, and I don't see it happening. But his teachers took him at his word, gave him the chance to try it out, and didn't insist on doing things a particular way just for form's sake. Good for them.

Speaking of the media

Robin asked if Kucinich's impeachment push has been covered much by the media here. Nope. I had to search to find coverage, and as I scanned Huffington Post this morning I saw a post-debate blurb indicating that he's the only Dem candidate who supports impeachment.

I understand candidates wanting to hew close to the center line, even if I don't agree with it. But I'm baffled by how the impeachment thing just went into the ether. Remember all the salivating over Clinton's impeachment? Hombre pointed out that the media is already whining that the election news cycle started too soon and all there is to talk about is John Edwards' hair. Well, a declared presidential candidate has filed articles of impeachment against the Vice President accusing him of lying us into a bloody war, and we get crickets.

Go figure.

I meant to record Bill Moyers' show about our lovely and skilled national media Wednesday and didn't do it. Lucky for me, there's a lot to dig into here, including a transcript, to keep me occupied over the weekend when I should be shredding (not clearing!) brush and pulling weeds.

Just to add to the richly deserved media pile-on, check out Tom Tomorrow's quote sampler.

As an antidote to all this, I may read some fiction this weekend. Any suggestions?

RESOLUTION Impeaching Richard B. Cheney, Vice President of the United States, for high crimes and misdemeanors.

It's on. I think I love Dennis Kucinich:

Article I
The Vice President of the United States, Richard B. Cheney, has purposely manipulated the intelligence process to deceive the citizens and Congress of the United States by fabricating a threat of Iraqi weapons of mass destruction to justify the use of the U.S. Armed Forces against the nation of Iraq in a manner damaging to our national security interests.

Article II
The Vice President of the United States, Richard B. Cheney, has purposely manipulated the intelligence process to deceive the citizens and Congress of the United States about an alleged relationship between Iraq and al Qaeda in order to justify the use of the U.S. Armed Forces against the nation of Iraq in a manner damagin to our national security interests.

Article III
In his conduce while Vice President of the United States, Richard B. Cheney, in violation of his constitutional oath to faithfully execute the office of Vice President of the United States and, to the best of his ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States, and in violation of his constitutional duty to take care that the laws be faithfully executed, has openly threatened aggression against the Republic of Iran absent any real threat to the the United States, and done so with the United States' proven capability to carry out such threats, thus undermining the national security of the United States.

Text and supporting documents are here. Action item list is here. Find a local pro-impeachment rally here.

Is your president smarter than a 3-year-old?

I was down on the ground weeding a flower bed when Hurricanehead walked up, put a grubby hand on my shoulder, heaved a big sigh and said, "It's hard to get a bee out of your nose with a hammer."

I was relieved and impressed to see that he had not figured this out the hard way. He seems to have a big cognitive advantage over our current foreign-policy planners. Probably wets the bed less, too.





I'm really looking forward to tomorrow.

Happy Earth Day from MC Rove

Sheryl Crow and Laurie David got to meet Karl Rove last night and ask him a few questions about the US response to climate change. How'd that go?

In his attempt to dismiss us, Mr. Rove turned to head toward his table, but as soon as he did so, Sheryl reached out to touch his arm. Karl swung around and spat, "Don't touch me." How hardened and removed from reality must a person be to refuse to be touched by Sheryl Crow? Unphased, Sheryl abruptly responded, "You can't speak to us like that, you work for us." Karl then quipped, "I don't work for you, I work for the American people." To which Sheryl promptly reminded him, "We are the American people."

The Bush administration's molten core of anger and denial is seeping into the open. They were good at hiding it and coding it for a long time, but as the scandals mount and the pressure rises, the rage and flight from reality are spilling out for everyone to see. The Bushies are angry, they are wrong, and they're angry that they're wrong. They also don't have the spine, humility, or desire to admit their policy mistakes and move forward.

If we're going to do real work on the environment, the war, or anything that matters, Rove and his crew have to go. According to Raw Story, Dennis Kucinich will introduce articles of impeachment for Dick Cheney on Wednesday. The sooner the better.

impeachment h/t: TGW

Let your freshly laundered freak flag fly

It's National Hanging Out Day. Before I had a clothesline and a yard, I had a broom handle on the plant hooks hanging from the porch eaves -- perfect for laundry on hangers. Before that, I hung stuff from doorframes, curtain and shower rods and over the furniture.

Cheap? Sure.

Environmentally responsible? Oh, yes. And you wouldn't believe how lugging and hanging wet laundry can tone your arms.

I tip my hat to Miniature Rose, who rightly points out the disgrace that is HOA clothesline bans. Hombre and I considered moving to a neighborhood in central Austin a few years ago, only to stop cold when we learned of their 'aesthetic' clothesline ban. We actually told our realtor we wanted a neighborhood without a strong HOA for that very reason. We got what we wanted, the sky hasn't fallen, and the laundry smells great.

#!$@! or Why the DNC can kiss my grits

Remember all that feminist whining about how with Alito as a Supreme, it was just a matter of time before the court started chipping away at women's rights? Well, we were right. And while Bitch PhD sums up the shame of it all much better than I ever could, I do want to share a sad vignette with you.

Longtime readers may recall that the Democratic National Committee has been on my shitlist ever since Alito's nomination went to the Senate. The lack of organization, the now-hilarious fear of GOP reprisals, the failed attempt to organize a filibuster, and the final vote made me realize that no matter how much money we continue to throw at the Dem machine, it can't spend its way out of craven.

They wrote for money. I wrote back explaining why they couldn't have mine. They called for money. I told them not only no, but stop calling me. I'll give my money to candidates directly, thank you, if I think they have actual spines.

But while the Dems couldn't protect my rights by closing ranks in the Senate, they can still dial a phone and ask for my money. They did this day before yesterday. The rep said she was from an organization I support. When I found out it was the DNC, I assured her that I have not supported them since Alito was confirmed.

"So," she said, in a psychobabbly I-feel-your-pain voice, "it really bothered you that Alito got elected?"

Ah, where to begin, with the ignorance or the condescension? Did she not realize that the confirmation of this Alito guy's nomination to the Court affected her, too? Did she even know who I was talking about? I had to end the call, per my longstanding policy of not arguing with people who want my money.

So, all of you out there who are -- like me -- justifiably angry at the far-Right folks who are manipulating the law to push women back into chattel mode, please remember that the Dems had a chance to stop Alito getting onto the court. They chose not to do it.

Lowhat?

Of course you've heard of loquats. Why, Philipp Franz von Siebold and Joseph Gerhard Zuccarini published this image of a loquat 237 years ago.

Apropos of my San Antonio post, JoVE asked how I can visit the city where my parents live, visit my parents, and then go happily to my hotel for the evening without family strife and torment. First, short visits are part of my extended family's culture. You drive up and back in a day or you might stay overnight, but there's no need to tax everyone beyond that. People have things to do, you know. Plus, more hours together means higher odds of a fight.

Second, I have my children. They get very, very excited at Grandma and Grandpa's house. They haul out their uncles' abandoned Legos and board games; they try their hand at Grandma's keyboard; they run amok through the house stopping only to savor the ice cream, lemonade, cookies, hot dogs and other delectables that Grandma thoughtfully offers every fifteen minutes.

All this stimulation and junk food has a predictable effect: When I politely decline Mom's offer to put us up for the night, a look of relief washes over her face. This time, she and my dad sent us on our way with a pomegranate sapling and a bag of homegrown fruit they didn't even know they were raising until I pointed it out.

A few years ago, a bird planted a loquat seed at the edge of their yard. Last week I noticed the tree was covered in small yellow fruits. I asked Mom and Dad how the loquats were coming along and had to assure them that yes, it was a loquat tree and yes, they are edible. (Loquats are also called Chinese plums, and they resemble plums in taste and texture.) I knew from loquats because I see them at the grocery store every now and then, and because a college friend of mine had a boyfriend who spent his copious free time smoking pot and then climbing the neighborhood loquat trees to assuage his munchies on the cheap. If you're gonna be a layabout, you might as well be thrifty.

As soon as my dad realized there was free produce on site, he headed for the garage. Moments later, he set up a six-foot ladder under the tree and started pitching fruit into a bag at a rapid clip. I have a couple of pounds of loquats on my counter right now. They're tasty, if a tad smallish, and I plan to save the seeds (which are not edible) and try to grow a tree or two of my own. If birds can plant them, unaware people can raise them and stoners can safely harvest them, they seem like a safe bet.

Like a rainbow in the dark

You know San Antonio? Alleged heavy-metal capital of the world? You drive into town, scan the radio, and within ten minutes you can hear "Space Truckin," "Smoke on the Water," or something by Floyd, Rush or Zep on the radio. Hombre and I have tested this many times on pilgrimages to the city of my birth, and it's as true now as it was when I was a kid.

We took Rocketboy and Hurricanehead there Thursday morning. While Hombre did some sort of work thing, I took the boys for an exhausting day at the zoo, followed by a visit to Grandpa and Grandma's house. (Grandpa likes to rest in his recliner while Grandma deejays on the superfancy keyboard her musician son gave her.) Once the kids were fed and droopy, I took them downtown for a stroll along the river and then to our little "boutique hotel" (French for "good luck finding a parking place").

It was there, on a shared balcony running the width of the building, that I had my most San Antonio moment in many years. Our view took in a pay-parking lot and beyond it, the historic clutch of colonial buildings that is La Villita, with the Tower of the Americas looming in the dusk. The boys took all this in, eating cookies from a nearby deli and watching construction cranes work on a new condo tower a few blocks away. The wind carried the bell songs from an old stone church down the street and, just as loud, the sounds of a hair band somewhere inside the stone walls of La Villita covering Black Sabbath, Ronnie James Dio and Roth-era Van Halen* to wild public approval.

The boys sat with the breeze flowing through their locks, looking and listening to everything. My heart swelled with something like nostalgia that I could share this oddball moment with my kids. It rocked in its own weird, unselfconscious way. Really. I guess you had to be there.

*Hombre swears he heard them covering the Killers when he came in late that evening, but I don't believe him. Way too modern.


Update: How the heck did I miss hearing about this? Not to worry -- I can take the boys when we go back next month.

Turkey on ice

Today I got so tired of Rocketboy and Hurricanehead begging for more -- always more -- TV time that I took the set out of the living room and stowed it in a closet. Minutes later, the boys raided the kitchen to ease the pain and discovered that the Easter candy had run out. Oh, the agony.

Turns out that when deprived of visual and chocolate stimuli, my children play quietly together and take care of their pets. It's not looking good for the return of the television. And from now on, all candy is mine.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry so I did both

Alanis Morissette covers "My Humps." Watch for the head-butt.







(via)

Baby it's cold inside: RedMo cinema salon

After the aside in my last post on the lameness of Pretty Woman, reader and possible parent-of-feminists StotheL wants to know:

What is a good romantic movie, to your mind?

Asking me about romantic films is like asking a vegan to recommend a rib joint. My first answer was "none." Then I thought, what about Remains of the Day? The Little Thief? The English Patient? Is there a theme here apart from the lack of recent titles? Aren't there any happily-ever-after movies I dig?

None leap to mind. I avoid Hollywood romances. It's one of the things Hombre loves about me: no mushy stuff in the Netflix queue. Movies about people who find True Love with the One Person Meant for Them leave me stone cold, because I don't buy the notion of hanging one's happiness or the meaning of life on another person. It seems lazy, deeply unfair to the "love interest," fraught with peril on both sides, and a clear-cut case of don't-try-this-at-home.

But what if I've missed something worthwhile? What if the time spent watching Spirited Away and Thelonious Monk: Straight No Chaser and Jackass would have been better spent watching something romantic? Come to think of it, Spirited Away was sort of romantic. Sen and Haku acted out of genuine friendship in a way that led Sen to hone her personal courage. And then they each went their own way without a bunch of weepy drama. But that's a movie about kids, and I presume we're talking about grownup romance here. I'm drawing a blank.

So I put the question to you, dear readers, in case you're going to be sleeted at this weekend like I am -- are there any good, intelligent romantic films out there?

Next time: I don't much care for teddy bears, either.

From the forthcoming Bears by Kent Rogowski
(via Hombre, via Fuse #8.)

What about the boys?

The littlest feminist

Faithful readers know I'm trying to keep my boys from being sucked into society's Patriarchal Asshole Paradigm, because who wants to raise pricks? Readers who remember my as-yet unfinished posts on my faux-slut year will understand that as an adolescent and a young woman, I was wary of males and damned underwhelmed by them as a group. So underwhelmed, in fact, that I vowed as a teen that any boy-children I had would be fed to alligators.

The real reason, despite my prattle about nursery planning, that I asked to know the sex of Cletus the Fetus during my first pregnancy was so I could get used to the idea of birthing the oppressor if Cletus turned out to be a boy. Cletus (a.k.a. Rocketboy) did. I got used to it. I even embraced it and repeated the experiment with Hurricanehead. I realized that I didn't have to raise sexist, macho pinheads; I could raise human beings instead.

It's a lot of work. There are so many pitfalls, so many easy traps to fall into, so many ways that movies and books and well-meaning people infect kids with the notion that girls are one way, boys another better way, and that's the way it is, end of warped story. That's why Rocketboy already knows about patriarchy; it's why he already considers himself a feminist; it's why we can't watch Swiss Family Robinson without discussing why it's an artifact of a time when women were expected to give up their dreams and ambitions for the first guy who came along. I don't want him or his little brother to grow up expecting anyone to do that for them.

But it's also easy work when I keep sight of the single idea I want my sons to absorb into their mental marrow: Women are human. We're not toys or slaves or decorations. Rocketboy doesn't understand why this is hard for some grownups to understand. Frankly I don't either, but I'm finding a lot of grist for the mill at Twisty's today.

What about the men? is a nonstarter at feminist blogs, because when in this life is everything not about the men? But TF has generously opened discussion on a dear-god-what-about-the-men FAQ for Y-bechromosomed proto-feminists, and the comments section is on fire -- in a good way -- with insight and debate. I'm taking notes, not because I can share theories on the male gaze and sexual entitlement with my kids, but because it's helping me understand why so many of the guys I've known were so incredibly screwed up. They were raised believing some truly insane shit*. (We girls were, too, but it was different shit.) Knowing what some of those corrosive ideas are will help me flag and defuse them -- I hope -- as they land around my sons.

The next time someone asks you for a good parenting resource, direct her to your friendly local radical-feminist blog. You'll be glad you did.

*Even one of my dearest male friends from high school -- a very book-smart and kind person -- once told me that "Pretty Woman" was a great romantic movie. Hearing that from him was like learning that all the water in the world was tainted; everything and everyone was fouled. If my sons grow up to see "Pretty Woman" for the pile of glossed-over patriarchal horseshit it is, I'll know I did something right.

Nursing-mom powers, lactivate!

Form of... an email to the Texas House Public Health Committee! Form of... attending the public hearing!* Image via Wikipedia

All right, Lone Star lactivist mamas. Two breastfeeding-related bills will get a public hearing Wednesday and they need your support. HB 703 will license Texas lactation consultants, and HB 1154 will put some teeth into the state law that allows nursing moms to feed their babies in public. I've written about this bill before and I really want this sucker passed because it would penalize the busybodies who harass nursing moms. This is your chance to speak up if you haven't already, and even if you have.

First, kindly drop a note to the House Public Health Committee members. You can find a handy widget for doing so right here, courtesy of the Central Texas Healthy Mothers, Healthy Babies Coalition. They've got a short, sweet boilerplate letter, but as always, personalized notes make a bigger impact. Consider telling the Reps how these bills would help you and other nursing mamas, and get it in by tomorrow; the members will be at the hearing Wednesday.

Second, if you can swing it, make the hearing to show your support: Wednesday, April 4 at 8:00 a.m., Capitol Extension, Room E 2.036. You can find the hearing rundown here. Urge the committee to send these bills to the full House. Thousands of fussy, hungry babies -- and everyone around them -- will thank you.


*Did you see that? How I refrained from belaboring the Wonder Twins/boob double-entrendre? The effort to restrain myself nearly killed me.