He’s a good man, a gifted daughter.
a lovely wife, a happy home.
But speak loudly and you’ll find out
he hopes you bitches leave things alone.
Monthly Archives: July 2008
Where the Weather Suits My Clothes
Miz Shoes has kindly named me the recipient of an Arte y Pico award. I confess my Spanish is limited to phrases Minstrel Boy pens for me so I can order dinner without creating an international incident, so while I’m not completely clear on the whole Arte y Pico zeitgeist I’m still thankful Miz Shoes thinks that much of me. Thank you, dahhhhlink. You’re much too kind!
Unfortunately, that’s where murky understanding turns to mud. Rules for passing this honor on are:
* Pick 5 blogs to which you would like to award this honor.
* Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
* Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
* Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link.
I love you, Blogosphere, but if you think I’m sharing my tiara you’ve never seen a beauty pageant. I’m in it for the fame, the glory and the double-sided tape stuck under my armpits, keeping this strapless number from becoming a belt. Name five blogs? And have them steal my hard-fought victory, not to mention my mascara? I can’t do it, not while I’m still competing at the peak of my ridiculous form. So instead of dumping ground glass into your pumps, I’ll entertain you with a medley.
Recently, Greasy Tony flipped his last burger. Yes, Tony’s gone to the Great Grill In the Sky, via Tuscon and Tempe, Arizona. This may come as a surprise to anyone who lived in New Brunswick during the sixties, seventies and eighties, because the hand that rocked the cheesesteak seemed ageless and ancient. Perhaps you visited town but you hadn’t really lived here until you’d stumbled into Greasy Tony’s after bar closing time and ate whatever Tony thought your slurred request meant.
My brother Todd and his friends should have had a plaque on the wall, so often did they patronize this fine eatery. I personally will miss watching Tony slap roaches on the counter with the same knife he used to chop “vegetables,” but these memories will someday be lost on the winds of time. What is not lost is the true Jersey spirit in which Tony said, “No charge for extra grease.”
A few weeks ago, the phone rang. My sister Daria hissed at me urgently from an outlet store ten miles away.
Daria: WHAT SIZE ARE YOUR FEET?
Tata: Depends on the shoes’ width. My feet form amusing triangles –
Daria: FLIP FLOPS! WHAT SIZE ARE YOUR FEET IN FLIP FLOPS?
Tata: Six and a half? Seven?
Daria: SEVEN IT IS! What color do you want? They have purple, blue and silver.
Tata: Both. All of them. What are we talking about?
Daria: Vera Wang flip flops are 50% off and I have a coupon!
Tata: You’d better get all three. What if my feet aren’t feeling all matchy-matchy?
This is an almost criminally inadequate rendering of the purple version of the flip flops I am currently wearing, and this tries the patience of my co-workers because when sunlight catches the little silver plastic bauble – it’s true – angels sing. Yes, when I’m wearing casual summer footwear I have a celestial soundtrack. We all do; it’s just that I can hear this theme music. It’s a talent, I guess; helps me avoid sharks. A few weeks ago, a woman I barely know asked what my blog’s about. I don’t know. It’s possible you might know before I do.
Don’t touch my bouquet, sweetie.
All My Love And You Showed No Mercy
Oh fuck this shit sideways:
NEWARK, N.J. (AP) – Women’s rights groups and the state Attorney General’s Office are preparing to challenge a judge’s ruling that determined it’s too easy to get a restraining order in New Jersey.
It’s on my To-Do list: get a manicure, have the dog waxed, file for a restraining order. You want to do lunch? I could rearrange a few things.
Although the numbers have declined over the past five years, about 40,000 domestic violence complaints are filed annually in New Jersey. From those, roughly 30,000 temporary restraining orders are issued, with most of the rest withdrawn by the accuser. Nearly 80 percent of the complaints are filed by women.
The recent ruling by a Hudson County judge, however, threatens to make it more difficult for victims to prove they have been beaten or threatened and could scuttle the state’s Prevention of Domestic Violence Act.
State Superior Court Judge Francis B. Schultz found that some elements of the 17-year-old law are unconstitutional. Among them: a low threshold of evidence _ just a “preponderance” _ to get a restraining order violates due process protections. Instead, judges need “clear and convincing” evidence to issue a restraining order, Schultz said.
[Sic] and very sick. In fact, with all that spinning, vertigo is almost inevitable.
In New Jersey, about 9,000 people bring criminal charges each year that a restraining order has been violated, sometimes with tragic results.
For example, prosecutors in Essex County have charged Kenneth Duckett with murdering his estranged wife, Monica Paul, by shooting her to death in front of one of their children at the Montclair YMCA on June 26. The couple had separated in August, and Paul obtained a temporary restraining order in October. It was made final later that month, according to prosecutors.
Bruce Eden, civil rights director for the state chapter of Dads Against Discrimination, contended that such cases are rare, and that a majority of domestic violence complaints involve no physical contact. Complaints can be filed for making threats.
He applauded Schultz’ decision. “This will make it more difficult for false allegations,” Eden said.
I wonder if I could projectile-vomit all the way to Bruce Eden’s house. It would have to be a record of some kind. Who’s with me? Eat something chunky!
Michael Argen, president of the New Jersey Council for Children’s Rights, said that a parent will not get custody of children once a restraining order is issued.
“If this ruling continues, it would help truly battered people more, because it would limit the resources that are being used on truly frivolous cases,” Argen said.
I’m thinking gravity’s a little weak at Argen’s house. Either that or he’s confused by pesky words like homicide and manslaughter when they apply to women.
Schultz also found the law violated the New Jersey Constitution’s separation of powers mandate because the Legislature usurped the state Supreme Court’s role by dictating court procedures, including what to consider in setting bail.
“If it’s allowed to stand, it certainly would be a significant problem for victims of domestic violence,” said Sandy Clark, associate director of the New Jersey Coalition for Battered Women.
“They are typically the only witnesses to the abuse. So to have to show by clear and convincing standard would certainly be challenging,” Clark said.
She considers New Jersey’s law among the best in the country, since it provides restraining orders of indefinite length, along with mandatory training for police and judges. Other states have tougher standards to obtain restraining orders, she said.
Prosecutors are also alarmed at what would happen if the ruling stands.
“You’re going to have a chilling effect. That’s the bottom line,” said Deputy Chief Assistant Essex County Prosecutor Debra Cannella, who led the office’s domestic violence unit for 11 years.
“We’re very concerned about this because elevating the standard of proof will make it more difficult for victims of domestic violence who desperately need relief,” Cannella said. “The next time that victim is assaulted, they may not come back to court because there were rebuffed.”
The victim might not come back to court next time because she’s inconveniently dead, but that’s less important than a legislative pissing match.
Hey, girl: once again, your rights take a beating. Do us all a favor and take it like a man.
And Around And Around And Around And
This is a dated image of Nastia Liukin, who placed second at the Olympic Trials. Her performances are always beautiful to watch and since the Olympics are mere weeks away, I thought I’d tell you something about this image you might not know: handstands are the zen position of the gymnastics world. By itself, this image looks like a person resting on her palms, but she is actually pressing her whole taut body away from her palms. Her abdominal muscles measure balance against the position of her shoulders, her hamstrings, her heels, the tops of her feet. It looks like a moment of stillness and yet every bit of the gymnast’s body is stretched, is loose, is in motion, is motionless – all at once, in delicate harmony. Liukin looks frail but her weight to strength ratio would impress Marines.
There’s another thing: a handstand is also a position of rest. To get there, a gymnast has just exerted some effort, especially on the uneven bars. It seems counterintuitive to say this active position is restful, but it is, and it is most restful when it is most stretched and dynamic. Below, Liukin on the first night of the Olympic Trials. On the second night, she had several problems any other mortal might have. This routine, though, flows beautifully to the funny landing and there’s a noticeable rhythm break about two-thirds of the way through. Even so, the score of 16.7 under the new scoring system is fantastic. Watch, and you will see how she pushes up to move down and presses down to circle back up. She is doing so many things even slow motion won’t help you see it all.
Days Are Dull, the Nights Are Long
From the Telegraph Online:
The American leader, who has been condemned throughout his presidency for failing to tackle climate change, ended a private meeting with the words: “Goodbye from the world’s biggest polluter.”
He then punched the air while grinning widely, as the rest of those present including Gordon Brown and Nicolas Sarkozy looked on in shock.
If you’ve seen a movie in the last fifty years, you know that the gentle voice on the hotel’s overhead speaker sounds a bit…testy:
Paging President Bush! Paging President Bush! There’s a Mr. Gozilla here to see you at your earliest convenience. He’s waiting where the lobby used to be. Paging Housekeeping! Paging Housekeeping! Please summon Mothra for backup…
Know the Power That You Have
Get a load of this shit:
I sit 35 miles from the crater in the Manhattan bedrock that used to be the World Trade Center and even now, no day passes that is not in some way influenced by the disaster. And today I saw this commercial. Need to lose a few pounds? For full drink-spewing disgust, just let the ad at the top right run. You’ll hurl all right! Note the choice of words that make it sound like you can buy this shitty product to celebrate something, and what is that, exactly?
No, really. Put a name on it. What is it?
I dare you. Speak it. Look the demon in the eye.
Free To Be Nowhere
Let’s – grrrrrr! – talk.
Forgive me now and beat the Yom Kippur rush: I’m in a mood even a fresh coif and a new pair of biodegradable Vera Wang platform flip flops wouldn’t fix. Not to worry, Poor Impulsives, we can blame this on a low pressure system rushing in from out west, where the deer and the antelope play canasta. As you know, I’m not much of a joiner where no solder is to be found, so you’ll be as shocked as I was to learn that the local committee ladies who are fully committed to having committees and have never met me have asked me to join them in their eco-friendly bloodless conquest of the tiny town’s miserably stocked ExtortionMart, by which I mean a meeting on Monday with the store’s new manager. Apparently, I drove away the last manager with my insistence that recycled paper products were a perfectly rational idea. Anyway, my sister Anya, who shall hereafter be refered to as “Co-defendant,” will arm me with sock puppets and a can of Spam, which in vegetarian means: “Them’s fightin’ words.”
While I ponder this turn of events and that twist of sinus medication, feel free to ponder a lovely, wonderful song by Khadja Nin called Sina Mali, Sina Deni, a translated cover of a Stevie Wonder song in a language you don’t speak, and none of that should put you off. Please press play.
I Could Get So Serious
A watchful Topaz
The weekend wore me out, I admit. This morning, I dreamed of my grandmother’s apartment. In it, I found people I knew setting up a promising business. One of them was Morgan. Another was a friend who is now in the diplomatic service. Two women were friends of a friend. The decor my grandmother painstakingly put into place more than twenty years ago was starting to fall apart. In the dream, I knew this was not possible. I sat on the floor with them and made pointed remarks. When I woke up, I was sure I’d written something on the blog I had to correct, but it wasn’t true.
Defenseless toy.
Over the weekend, we stopped at a pet store and bought new cat toys. The living room floor is littered with sticks inexplicably glued to feathers, which contraptions are irresistible to our cat friends. A week ago, the cats, Pete and I made a traumatic trip to the veterinarian. Topaz got antibiotics, Drusy got an anti-emetic shot to stop her from yakking. Pete got an eye-opening education about stuffing cats into boxes. I came away with scratches up and down both arms. a split lip and my confidence shaken.
Drusy, demanding I quit loafing and play with her.
So we were mostly okay until yesterday, when Drusy once again tossed her waffles twice. This morning, when I called the vet I expected bad news. I was prepared for bad news. The thing is: Drusy and Topaz were chasing each other from one end of the apartment to the other, back and forth, at top speed. While it was a little annoying to wake up to, it was an utter revelation. I mentioned this to the vet. “She’s playing and tumbling and her eyes are bright.” He seemed startled. He said I should keep track of when she throws up again, but unless it’s more than a few times a week, I shouldn’t worry. She might still be sick, but we can’t know. I am still trying to calm down. My job here is scribe, not prognosticator.
You’d think I’d know that by now.
See How the Glass Is Raised
This weekend, Pete and I pushed really hard to get the kitchen painted. This morning, Pete hung the black grids I had leftover from a play I did in 1996 and he took some pictures. The green is an intense color that matches a bottle he brought back from the Virgin Islands years ago. The silver radiator is a visually exciting retro touch, and the black shelves and grids provide a lot of storage. The ultra white trim reminds us of sun-drenched beaches. I have pictures from South Beach where the water was this green and the sand this white. The rest of the kitchen is lined with neutral pine cabinets, most of which I can’t reach, so the hooks for pots and pans are a big help.
For the past week, Drusy has been throwing up, so I’m back in the position of chasing a sick pussycat with a bowl of food, asking the pussycat to take a bite. The vet thinks our beautiful, long-legged debutante has a heart condition. I don’t even know what to say. I’m giving myself until tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. to develop a plan we can all live with.
Pain And Truth Were Things That Really Mattered
Via Raw Story:
TALLAHASSEE – A black Republican group has put up billboards in Florida and South Carolina saying the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was a Republican, a claim that black leaders say is ridiculous.
The National Black Republican Association has paid for billboards showing an image of the civil rights leader and the words “Martin Luther King Jr. was REPUBLICAN.” Told about the billboards, the Rev. Joseph Lowery let out a soft chuckle that grew stronger as he began to think more about the idea.
“These guys never give up, do they?” said Lowery, who co-founded the Southern Christian Leadership Conference with King. “Lord have mercy.”
Seven billboards have gone up in six Florida counties, and another in Orangeburg, S.C., said Frances Rice, the Republican group’s chairwoman. Part of its mission is to highlight what she said is the Democratic Party’s racist past.
“I knew the King family well. We were all Republicans,” said Rice, 64.
Oh, the hilarity of our racist present! Perhaps Ms. Rice was talking about this King Family. I bet they voted Republican.
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Melanin challenged Mormon entertainment juggernaut.
Perhaps with mention of those bland holiday specials my age is showing. In other news: Jesse Helms no longer shows his. Good riddance to bad trash:
[T]he man ABC News now describes as a “conservative icon” (8/22/01) in 1993 sang “Dixie” in an elevator to Carol Moseley-Braun, the first African-American woman elected to the Senate, bragging, “I’m going to make her cry. I’m going to sing Dixie until she cries.” (Chicago Sun-Times, 8/5/93)
It’s a telling incident in the life of a vicious bigot whose lengthy political career harmed millions of people. There’s no excusing or mitigating a moment of it. If there’s any justice in the universe, that God Helms goes to meet is black, gay, female and cracking her knuckles. Black Republicans should observe: anyone stupid enough to believe that astonishing sign is probably too stupid to register and vote.
Poor Impulse Control 