arse poetica

Mental Health Break

The Dingo and I are play fighting on the bed, and she's doing the happy dog pounce, jumping at me, her front paws landing with a thump on the bed. And then again, and then again. Now, she's giving me the "terrifying" dingo snarl. Oooh, what big teeth she has. I love when she does snouty dingo. From terrifying to pussycat in seconds, this one. Just when she's going into big, 50-lb puppy mode and practically flipping on the bed, she grabs my hand in her teeth and promptly rolls over showing me her tummy. What a love.

Anything to distract me from this or this or this or this or this ...

Wolfowitz Gannon Womanhating WarLies WingerMoneygrubbing ... I'm suffering from outrage fatigue. I want to make pronouncements about the Death of Satire and plagues of locusts. End times, indeed.

I read something just after dumbyass's first appointment about the rise in alcohol consumption, and it certainly bore out in my anecdotal experience. Who could reconcile those early (and we thought aberrant) approval ratings? Two more margaritas, please, senor. Makes me sad, though, yes, I am enjoying a drink right now, compliments of my live-in barkeep. It's been a bad f*cking day.

Back to gorgeousness:

Intelligent Decline

From Tom Toles:

I'm wondering if 'culture of life' (sic) includes 'culture of protecting the environment which sustains us'? Maybe not.

What We Need Right Now Is a Really Long Straw

Dangit, you know when you don't feel well and you're sniffly and have a low-grade headache just above your eyes, and it makes you want to squint and whisper everything you say, if you talk at all, which you try not to?

Well, my orange juice is so far away from me right now, sitting on the table, looking so bright and cold and refreshing, just mocking me, and db and I are fighting about who has to get up and get it. He uttered the deathless line that became the title of this post.

You know when your nose is all stuffed up and you're too tired to laugh but you laugh anyway and it comes out all pathetic like a wheezy geezer and ends in a cough and then you're teary-eyed and it cracks the other person up and so the laughing begins all over again? ...

My orange juice is still sitting on the table. I'll get it eventually. ::chuckle::wheeze::

You're Not Paranoid If They're Really After You

Two recent stories just make my hair stand on end.

1. Title IX Protection Under Attack Again:

What's not to like about the 1972 federal law that outlaws discrimination on the basis of gender, opened the playing fields of this country to girls, not just boys, and survived every single court challenge it has faced the past three decades?

Bush administration officials have been under heavy criticism since the U.S. Department of Education quietly released a surprise legal clarification on its Web site Friday advising colleges that, for the first time, they can remain in compliance with Title IX based on an e-mail survey of their undergraduate students designed to gauge "interest and ability" in sports. If the responses do not show enough interest - and what exactly constitutes enough has yet to be determined - then an institution can go ahead and presume it is in compliance.

Imagine that. There'll be no more pesky need to compare an athletic department's spending outlays or scholarships offered for men versus women. The burden will be on the students to enforce the law, not the universities.

Schools also have been told they can count an unreturned survey as a lack of interest. Which means one of the most effective federal laws on the books, a measure that resulted in an eight-fold boom in girls' participation in sports, can be undercut if one too many 19-year-old co-eds merely forgets in a blur of classes and keg parties and homework assignments to open, download, answer and return an e-mail survey that, right now, numbers eight Web pages.

Keep reading. The denouncements of this "policy" by B*sh's own hand-picked review committee are worth it. I could go on for a year-and-a-half about how this madministration clearly hates women, but I'll let this -- an attack on one of the most successful pieces of legislation this country has ever conceived -- speak for itself. Damn B*sh straight to hell. Wake up, Republican soccer moms. Less opportunity for your Britneys and Kayleighs and Madisons.

Diane at DED Space has a nice post on Congresswoman Patsy Takemoto Mink, who helped to write the original Title IX legislation. Sending a (post-mortem) valentine Patsy's way.

2. Michigan Preparing to Let Doctors Refuse to Treat Gays:

Doctors or other health care providers could not be disciplined or sued if they refuse to treat gay patients under legislation passed Wednesday by the Michigan House.

The bill allows health care workers to refuse service to anyone on moral, ethical or religious grounds.

The Republican dominated House passed the measure as dozens of Catholics looked on from the gallery. The Michigan Catholic Conference, which pushed for the bills, hosted a legislative day for Catholics on Wednesday at the state Capitol.

The bills now go the Senate, which also is controlled by Republicans.

The Conscientious Objector Policy Act would allow health care providers to assert their objection within 24 hours of when they receive notice of a patient or procedure with which they don't agree. However, it would prohibit emergency treatment to be refused.

Three other three bills that could affect LGBT health care were also passed by the House Wednesday which would exempt a health insurer or health facility from providing or covering a health care procedure that violated ethical, moral or religious principles reflected in their bylaws or mission statement.

Opponents of the bills said they're worried they would allow providers to refuse service for any reason. For example, they said an emergency medical technicians could refuse to answer a call from the residence of gay couple because they don't approve of homosexuality.

The Conscientious Objector Bill? Oh no, they didn't. What galling, hateful, manipulative f*ckers these assholes are. I hope all of the he's-not-so-bad, B*sh is a moral man, he's a compassionate conservative (sic), bullshit loving Republican idiots are happy tearing down the democratic fabric of this country stitch by stitch. And as for the apathetic, non-voting, there's-no-difference-between-the-parties dolts, welcome to your theocracy. Are you paying attention now? Could deTocqueville have guessed a tyranny of the minority?

I am loath to bandy the N-word about, but this is tantamount to N-zi tactics: targeting a population for discrimination, the extermination portion just slightly more circuitous -- refusing people medical care could, you know, lead to their deaths. When will the pink triangles come out? Really. Will the medical records of gay patients be "marked" in some way, lest some "ethical, moral, or religious" "doctor" be so offended by inadvertantly following the oath of service on which his entire profession is founded? My God. Every single day something more appalling than the day before.

I just can't fathom the world we live in anymore. What fresh hell is this? People can actually get into medical school, undergo 7 years of training, and come out of that experience with a whole panoply of prejudices which, instead of being rejected as ass-backward and unlearned, will be protected by law by a passel of Republican moralist vermin in Michigan? So we'll protect prejudice and prejudice protection? I mean, seriously? Tell me this is just a terrible nightmare. We should be rioting. At the very least we should be waking up.

[Comics from Sam at explodingdog.]

Sanctity Schmanctity

Sanctity of marriage, anyone? No, not unless it suits their keeping-women-in-line/keeping-gays-out purposes. Sanctity of life, anyone? Tell it to the guy who placed a hit on Michael Schiavo and one of the judges in the case. Sanctity of civil liberties, anyone? Um...no. Not even close. And you thought the federal gov't was just going to poke around your bedroom and in your hospital records. Silly wabbit, Trix are for kids. No, they're out for much, much more. They want to subpoena you as you lie there without brain function so that you can be the pawn in their macabre immorality play. Sickening. I mean, it's not like we could expect Tom DeLay to understand the pain of Michael Schiavo (and her parents), could we? DeLay humane? Not so much.

Truly, I hate to pull out the decency card, but what happened? Has decency been knocked over the head and left lying in an alley somewhere? Is decency on vacation? Has decency vanished into thin air? Thankfully, 82% of Murkans (of all socio-political stripes) polled think the gubmint's gone too far. Finally, some sanity! I feared I'd have to pack my bags and head to a "free" country like our "ally" Pakistan to live in a "normal" society. I'll take 82%, because this means decency's only taken a backseat to the Congressional Waterbearer Photo-Op, a craven media magnet with a gravitational pull the equivalent of 1000 suns. Decency can be forgiven (maybe?) for being at a disadvantage in such an upside-down world (est. Nov. 2000).

Q. What's the most dangerous place to be in Murka?
A. Between Tom DeLay and a TV camera.

I have studiously avoided the Schiavo case, because I am not calm about these things; I do not reveal my inner judicious nature, conversing in serene tones about dignity, human rights, and pure common decency. I refuse to give one millimeter in the "debate" about the sanctity of one's own body, one's physical integrity, one's human right to dignity and agency. My womb/body, none of your f*cking business; someone else's womb/body, none of your damn business either. No, I am not calm. I am a raging inferno of furious righteous indignation, and I find that it gives me heart palpitations and, worse, gives my dialoguee scorch marks. I canna help it if I'm right. It's a burden, but someone's got to carry it. Let that poor woman die, you vipers.

The vulture-esque -- no, vultures are part of nature's cycle. They're here for a purpose. Carrion is a fact of life. It's disposal is a fact of life. I need a better analogy. What is purely predatory? What exists independent of a life-supporting function. No, not Tom DeLay. Well, yes, Tom DeLay, but I'm trying to find a virulent correlate in nature to which I can compare him metaphorically.

[crickets chirping during interminable pause to find something more goddam remorselessly predatory than Tom DeLay...]

DeLay may have stumped us by being the absolute most despicable, ruthless, rapacious cancer all of natural life has ever produced through the millennia of its existence. Now, that's a feat, but I'm not rushing to congratulate him on it. In fact, I'm feeling a bit vengeful (to use a term Mr. "Christianity" would understand). I want DeLay's unparalleled arrogance to finally, please God, be his downfall. (I mean, someone who makes Donald Rumsfeld seem positively humble? Who could have guessed such a thing was possible in this world??) I want him run out of town on a rail. I want him in the stockade in the town square. I want him to bear his own scarlet letter. For shame. For shame. For shame.

And yet again, society's fears and fetishes fought out on the backs of women. The sad, sick irony of removing Terri Schiavo's feeding tube when it was an eating disorder which led to her vegetative state in the first place is too much. It must break Michael Schiavo's heart. It must break everyone's heart.
 

I'm Shocked. Shocked, I Say!

With all the grade A circle jerking mock wonderment proffered by the netizen boys' club for the umpteenth time in the age-old question, "Whither the Chicks?" (a variation on the Feminism is Dead, Girls Can't Throw, Math is Hard memes, to be sure) [So f'in tiresome, man. -- Fed up Ed.], this juicy morsel caught my eye: Women's Opinions Also Missing on Television. Ya don't say.

I am sure that Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting was mistaken, cos, like, I've never sensed any reluctance or, heaven forfend!, hostility by the dominant culture as regards the value of women's opinions/ writings/ intellectual output. Pshaw.

[Kick arse cartoon by Ben.]

Man Smuggles Art into Galleries

God, I love this.

The images above - exclusive to the Wooster site and provided by Banksy - are of Banksy installing four pieces in New York's most prestigious museums - The Brooklyn Museum, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Museum of Modern Art, and the Museum of Natural History.

Dressed as a British pensioner, over the last few days Banksy entered each of the galleries and attached one of his own works, complete with authorative name plaque and explanation.

He says - "This historic occasion has less to do with finally being embraced by the fine art establishment and is more about the judicious use of a fake beard and some high strength glue." Banksy continues -"They're good enough to be in there, so I don't see why I should wait"

Staff at the New York Met discovered and removed their new aquisition early Sunday morning while Banksy's discount soup can print took pride of place in the MoMA for over three days before being torn down.

As of now, the other two pieces currently remain firmly in place...

To learn more about Banksy, go to... www.banksy.co.uk

More here:

The largest piece, which he smuggled into the Brooklyn Museum, was a 2 foot by 1.5 foot (61cm by 46 cm) oil painting of a colonial-era admiral, to which the artist had added a can of spray paint in his hand and anti-war graffiti in the background.

The other two targets were the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the American Museum of Natural History, where he hung a glass-encased beetle with fighter jet wings and missiles attached to its body -- another comment on war, Banksy told Reuters on Thursday.

"It was just an outsider's view of the modern American bug, bristling with listening devices and military hardware," he said.

Brilliant.

 

Friday Gringo Blogging

If this were your lunch spot following a 1.5-hour horse ride, would you want to come back home and push papers around a desk in a windowless office? I'm just sayin'.

This evening, in efforts to shake ourselves out of the waking dream that we've been in since our return, db, our pal J, and I took a walk around the farm where J lives, doing our best to tramp in the newly cut fields, pretending they were rolling hills, and really looking at the pond and the rocks as if seeing them for the first time (we did see frogs mating for the first time). Birds, crickets, frogs, fresh air. Not even close to Argentina, but wonderful for Chatham Co., NC. And the moon tonight. Gorgeous. 

We shared an easy, delicious meal, which ended, as it should, in giggles and toasts over -- what else -- Argentine wine. By the way, the nicest, smoothest, most versatile, good anytime wine we had down South was the Santa Julia Sangiovese 2003. Mmm mmmm. Their Temperanillo-Malbec fusion was tasty, too. There's another wine that was great -- starts with an 'N' -- but I'm blanking and I don't have my notes near me, so that will have to wait until my next inevitable sad-sack pining entry.

Tunes tonight: Magnetic Fields' "69 Love Songs" was playing in the background, and no matter how many times I've heard it, I'm still amazed by Stephin Merritt's lyrical mojo. Some of it is just damn clever. Highly recommended.   

Slink Karma

Now, this is a fine idea. Thanks to Spanglemonkey for bringing it to my attention. I'm not as good about commenting as I should be, and next week I'll rectify that by dropping a line wherever I land. Let's all put the inner lurker away next week and come out into the sunshine and say howdy.

The Constitution Still Applies, Right?

Might I register a complaint?

We'd just landed at Ezeiza Int'l Airport in Buenos Aires Monday afternoon and were waiting for our baggage when we saw a big Air Force Two-looking 747 pull in with "UNITED STATES OF AMERICA" emblazoned across it. Well. One of our group (maybe db) said with some authority that it wasn't Air Force Two, so we surmised it was likely one of two other assholes on the plane: CondoLIEzza or Rummy. While we waited for our luggage, I ran through in my mind both of the mostly-prepared diatribes that I would love to present to either CondoLIEzza or Rummy one day for a frank exchange of views, if you will. The plane taxied out of view.

I was distracted by the baggage handlers who were bringing the luggage in by hand as the carousel was apparently (or should I say 'allegedly'?) inoperative. Didn't think a thing at the time, except to note with chagrin that humans in undirected groups always seem to choose chaos over order as their default operative scheme. Order, of course, is predicated on subordinating one's self-interest. Sheesh. It would have been so easy to have two lines... Ah well, I'll be a baggage frenzy crowd logistics manager in another life.

Bags in hand, we move toward the international gates. Just outside we step off the curb and onto the street to avoid the previously baggage frenzied, now merely get-to-gate frenzied, passajeros, and are ushered back onto the sidewalk by a very serious-faced policia. Okay, no biggie. We get back on the sidewalk, but wait a minute... Ah. Now we see the waiting police van at the gate behind us and a few policia lined along the sidewalk to prevent our walking onto the driveway. And then we see the Air Force whatever # plane. Well, this can mean only one thing: a protest is in order, methinks! It matters not that we do not know who's inside; I'm sure there'll be loathing enough to go around. Besides, it's 3 hours until our flight leaves for the good ol US of A, and when life hands you lemons, you make a protest parade.

So we stand at the curb, looking crossly at the official 747 and waiting for a glimpse of whomever it may be, so we'll know just which epithet to hurl, I suppose. Senor Policia is eyeing us warily at first. Finally, it dawns on one of us to ask him who's on the plane. Without hesitation he tells us it's the Ministre de Defense de los Estados Unidos. Rummy!

My heart is racing now, because, for those who've read my About page, I'm doing a mighty fine (non-Buddhist) job of bringing the hate when it comes to this guy. I do not even entertain the idea for one moment that we will not be standing there on that driveway when that f*cker drives by. Oh, he'll see my face and know he is despised, that his charade of control has no effect on us, that we see right through to his shriveled heart and know his truth: he is an empty, posturing man, a failure, a liar, and the worst kind of power mad, egomaniac there is. We are the United States of America, too, motherf*cker. This is what I expect my expression will say, though I will be silent. I want simply to register my protest. Put it out there into the universe and into Rummy's thick head.

With not a little sarcasm, bitterness, and resignation in our voices, we note that at least in Argentina our rights as US citizens to gather peacefully and voice our discontent will be recognized. Every other peace or protest rally I've attended during dumbyass's reign has relegated us into a "free speech zone" far from the action. But this was our chance, so we did what any self-respecting American would do, we dropped our luggage, dug around in our packs for a ballpoint pen, and fashioned a sign on the backs of the xeroxed copy of the history of Argentina that we'd brought along as a primer. In about 2 minutes we had this sign:

You'll note the mood by the looks on our faces. It was not lost on me that it took being 6,000 miles from home to get within 10 ft. of Donald Rumsfeld to register my disgust, but I got to say my piece to Donald Rumsfeld, may he burn in Hell, as he and his procession drove by. And that made me smile all the way home.

As an added bonus, a wonderful example of global cooperation: when our ballpoint started running out of ink, Senor Policia leaned over and gave us his with a wink. When we pulled out our passports so Rummy & Co. would know we were (Norte) Americans, he beamed at us. I f*cking love Argentina.