I'm gonna bunny hop my way across America!

A 61-year old British grandmother has just spent the past 4 1/2 years running 20,000 around the world. Her reason? To "raise awareness about cancer after the death of her husband from prostate cancer." OK, noble. But I gotta ask....why???

What prompts people to do things like this? What weird gene kicks in that makes biking across Finland or circumnavigating New Zealand in an inflatable canoe seem like a smart thing to do? I mean when my best friend died of AIDS my first thought was not "I'm gonna publicize the AIDS epidemic by riding a yak across South America."

Do gesture like this really inspire people? Would you read this news story and think, "you know, I haven't had a mammogram this year." I don't. Mostly I read about such events and just shake my head. Perhaps I'm just not adventurous enough. I'm sure this woman met all sorts of interesting people (including some crazy guy with a blood-stained axe) and no doubt has a lifetime of stories to tell. ("Every hear about the time I was running across Siberia and all my fillings froze and cracked?") But this really does not appeal to me.

When my friend died, what I did do was volunteer at an AIDS organization where I helped train others to be caregivers. I thought that was a practical way of taking my pain and doing something positive with it. And while I know for certain that I did have an effect on others, should I wonder if I would have had more of an effect with the yak and South America? I was only able to help dozens of people -- the running lady was on The Martha Stewart Show. Well I can't compete with Martha. But again, does being sandwiched between a recipe for Foofyberry Tartlets and a feature on how to turn old cashmere sweaters into pot holders really make that big a difference in raising awareness about cancer?

And again, how much awareness do we need? Is there anyone who hasn't heard of cancer? (OK, maybe those natives in the Amazon they just terrorized with a helicopter.) Is there any woman who doesn't know she needs to get a mammogram? Any man who doesn't know about prostrate screening? Anybody who doesn't know that smoking is bad for you? So what, exactly, am I supposed to learn from a 61-year old woman who just ran around the world?

The only thing I've learned is that she's in much better shape than I.

Today is a wonderful day
I can't stop thinking about all the incredibly happy same-sex couples who have finally been allowed to get married in California. Those two handsome men are my best friend, Steve, and his partner, Stephen. Madly in love and never allowed to marry. It's too late for them. AIDS stole them from us more than 10 years ago. But they're looking down from gay heaven with two megawatt smiles on their faces.

I will always mourn the fact that I never got to be Steve's "Best Lady" when he married Stephen. I wanted to hold the ring, to stand by his side as he and the love of his life took their vows. So there's a bittersweet air to my celebration today. But then I look at all those wonderful photos in the paper and watch all that love on the news, and I cannot help but smile.

Ignoring all the brain-dead zealots who are protesting this "travesty of marriage," I find myself actually proud of my home state today. They have made so many people happy. So many families who for years have been bonded by heart are now finally, finally, bonded by law. Yes, there are still battles to be fought. And who knows what the conservative right will make of this (something awful, no doubt). But for now this is a historic day for all of us who are in favor of love, in whatever form it takes.

In many ways this is so monumental that it's hard to give it the awe it deserves. Marriage. For same-sex couples! It's something we hets take for granted. Hell, Pamela Anderson has been married 17 times in the past two weeks. But for two men or two women who love each other madly and who want to build a life together, it's always been a question of denial. I'm sorry, but Domestic Parter is separate and unequal. Nothing less that full marital equality is what's deserved of the thousands of same-sex couples in the US. And i hope this is the first step towards giving them the right to love.

Oh, and one more thing. I am fucking sick to death of all those conservative yahoos who say same-sex marriages aren't "real" because marriage exists solely for the procreation of children. To which I can only say: bullshit. Husband and I are straight. Husband and I are married. Husband and I have no intention of having children. We got married not so we could reproduce, but because we love each other and wanted to spend forever together. Does the fact that we're not going to have children completely invalidate a marriage? Should all intentionally childless straight couples be denied marriage? What about those wonderful couples you read about who get married in their 70s? They are obviously not going to be cranking out the kidlets, so why should we allow them to get married?

And I hate the phrase "starting a family." Husband and I started a family the day we got married. You don't need to add to the surplus population to consider yourself a family.

The best legs in the business
The beautiful, glorious, glamorous Cyd Charisse has died at the age of 86. I always thought she was stunning and, oh my god, those legs! In both Singing in the Rain and The Band Wagon she has moments of sheer jaw-dropping sexiness. (Husband will back me up on this.) But beyond that was her grace as a dancer and her underrated acting abilities. She was definitely of the old school of Hollywood and I am truly saddened by this news.

Love triumphs!
I cannot say anything more than I AM SO HAPPY!!!

Oh if only my beloved friends The Steves were around to see this. They would have been first in line. Oh frabjous day!

In praise of free speech
According to this BBC news story arrests of bloggers who dared criticize their governments or who exposed human rights abuses are at an all-time high. Which makes one (or at least it should make one) take the time to celebrate free speech.

Those of us who had the good fortune to have been born in America don't think about free speech much. We don't have to think twice before writing "George Bush is a poopy head" on our blogs. Just think for a moment of how amazing that is. We have the freedom to make statements that openly criticize the President, his entire administration, and government in general and don't have to be afraid of a knock on the door in the dead of night. However, with the so-called "Patriot Act" there are probably some things it's best not to say.

I'm not a real political person (to my shame.) Yeah, I hate the Bush administration. I think Gitmo is a crime. I think the war in Iraq is wrong. I think the past 8 years have done serious damage to the US, both internally and to our international reputation. But I hate that in the name of national security, some people have seen fit to tamper with our essential rights to free speech. I guess all I can do at the moment it continue to be a member of the ACLU and keep celebrating freedom by writing "our President is an idiot" with a big ol' smile on my face.

Great minds...
Today Husband and I celebrated 5 years of marriage. The only thing missing, according to Husband, was the plastic deer. (We got married at Ye Olde Wedding Chapel in Tahoe and they had plastic deer and bunnies in the garden. Very romantic.)

We didn't really do much, since poor Husband hasn't had a real day off since the Hoover administration. But we did go to our favorite used record store and our favorite book store. We exchanged cards, but not gifts, this morning and decided that while at the record store we would each pick up a present for the other.

You know how as some couples age they begin to look alike? Husband and I are just morphing into one taste in music.

While wandering through the World bins I picked up a classic CD by the delightfully named Sol Hoopi. He was a Hawaiian performer (singer and ukulele) in the 30s-50s. But I put it down because -- well, actually, I'm not sure why I put it down.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Husband picked up, and put down, some classic Ray Charles. So what did I buy for Husband's gift? Classic Ray Charles. And what was his gift to me? Sol Hoopi. Talk about weird coincidence. We each bought for the other something we had considered getting for ourself. I guess it's meant to be.

Then it was off to the bookstore where, for the first time in my life, I didn't buy anything! Really, I think someone should check my pulse. It wasn't that I didn't see anything I wanted it was just that everything I wanted was in hardcover. Really big, very heavy hardcover. I find that the older I get, the less likely I am to purchase hardcover books for the simmple reason that you can't read a hardcover comfortably in the bathtub. (My favorite place to read.) But there are a few exceptions. I just bout Jacqueline Winspear's latest "Maisie Dobbs" novel in hardcover because I just can't wait for it to come out in paperback. I'll also buy anything by Elizabeth Peters/Barbara Michaels in hardcover. And, of course, Danielle Steele. (Yes, I'm lying about that last one. Ewww.)

CD Pick of the Week: Tango Negro Trio
Cool and feisty Latin jazz and tangos from noted Argentinian singer/pianist/composer Juan Carlos Caceres. It’s sharp and sophisticated, extremely well played and with some delicious vocals as well with a husky, lived-in male voice.

Gay people buy dryers
When I moved into this house (good lord, 14 years ago!?!?) there was an ancient dryer in the garage. Ancient, but functioning. Two weeks ago Old Man Dryer started making a noise like there was a rabid guinea pig stuck in the works (there wasn't -- don't call PETA). So it was time to replace him/it.

Off Husband and I go to OSH. There was a sale. They were white and boring. We bought one. But as he and I compared capacity and tried to figure out what various knobs did, it hit me: this is what marriage really is.

Forget moonlight and roses and happily ever after. Marriage is spending Sunday afternoon shopping for appliances. I mean really, does anything make you feel more married than buying something as dull and as necessary as a dryer?

Lately the California papers have been full of news about same-sex marriages. (About bloody time!) And, of course, those brain-dead zealots who use religion as an excuse to try and force their beliefs on an exhausted from fighting about it world, have been yammering on non-stop about: one man, one woman -- that's marriage. To which I say: that's bullshit.

Marriage has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with purchasing large appliances. It's not about sex; about who puts what where. It's about paying your bills, taking out the trash, negotiating rights for the remote control, and dealing with the fact that dryers (and ovens, sofas, coffee tables, etc.) wear out and need to be replaced.

Gays and lesbians are not fighting for the right to legalize the joining of their naughty bits. They are fighting for the right to go to Home Depot and order a sink. They want to have the same options as heterosexuals when it comes to buying a home, dealing with paperwork for their kids, and having visiting rights in the emergency room. They do want to get married, they want to be married. They want to say "I'd much rather go see the new Indiana Jones movie, but we really need to buy a new fridge this afternoon."

So, brain-dead zealot, get your mind out of the bedroom. Gay people are going to have gay sex whether you like it or not -- whether we make it legal or not. All they want is to be able to stay home on a Friday and wait for the delivery guys.

Spitting in church
For art historians (you can't see me but I'm raising my hand) there are various places of pilgrimage that are just this side of church for us. The Prado. The Met. The Hermitage. The Uffizi. And, our version of St. Peter's, The Louvre.

The headline of this BBC story tells it all: Duran Duran make Louvre history.

Oh good. The one thing lacking from the glorious architecture and atmosphere of the Louvre has been 80s pop has-beens singing in the background. I'm sure contemplating the wonder of Caravaggio's Death of the Virgin is made infinitely more meaningful when one can hear Hungry Like a Wolf.

In addition to this musical sacrilege, they go on record as wishing harm to one of the world's most famous work of art: "Singer Simon Le Bon said he hoped the show had "put a smile on the Mona Lisa's face". Good lord, I hope not.

When life disappoints
Two of my favorite bloggers have recently written great posts about being disappointed. Husband writes of his dissatisfaction with the Discovery channel's documentary about the space race, When We Left Earth: The NASA Missions.

Meanwhile, the ever-hilarious Finny details her long-anticipated visit to Sunset Magazine's open house.

For me, my most recent disappointment was PBS's Mystery, usually one of my favorite TV shows. But this past season they redid some of Agatha Christie's wonderful Miss Marple stories to star the delightful Geraldine McEwan. She was, as usual, great. The adaptations, however, were dreadful.

Mind you, they had a lot to live up to. The definitive Miss Marple stories have already been done, in my opinion, in the series starring Joan Hickson, pitch-perfect as the spinster sleuth. Those productions were stylish, fabulously acted and directed, and faithful to the novels. The latest round of stories, however, featured plot devices that would have made Christie blush.

One cannot help but wonder why they would take a character as beloved and well known as Miss Jane Marple and then screw big time with the books. Not only is this guaranteed to piss off diehard Christie fans (such as I) but it's hardly likely to draw new fans. If this was one's first introduction to Agatha Christie, you'd get the impression that she couldn't write a decent plot to save her life. They were awful. Plus they stupidly redid some of the ones that were done previously with Hickson. I have all the Joan Hickson Marples on DVD and can happily watch them repeatedly. The new ones I could barely sit through once.

There were characters that never appeared in the original novels. In fact one threw in two additional Christie characters, the charming Tommy and Tuppence. The problem was that T&T weren't in that particular novel and instead of the stylish and playful couple of the 20s and 30s, they were old, tired, 50-ish, and Tuppance was an alcoholic. What a way to ruin the unwritten future of some beloved characters!

Some of the changes were just baffling. Why change the name of one character from "Charles" to "James?" Is there an embargo against the name Charles? Why take a very-much-in-love newlywed couple (in the book and the Hickson verson) and change it to an engaged woman, her never-to-appear-on-screen fiance, and a guy who's just a pal but ends up getting the girl in the end? What exactly does that add to the story?

I think part of the charm of Christie is the coziness of the stories. Sure each one is about a murder....but it's a tidy murder. In a tidy society. But the latest versions decided that the one thing lacking from Christie is a sense of grittiness. (And Christie is SO the anti-gritty!) So they added suicidal main characters, closeted homosexuals, and even a horrid back story which gave Miss Marple a married lover in WWI.

OK, so Husband's dissatisfaction has the benediction of scientific superiority. And Finny at least got out in the world. Me? I'm just bitchy because my mystery wasn't cozy enough.

Sigh...even my rants are lame.

I'm a goner
Yesterday I returned to kitten duty after two weeks off due to ill health. And I have a new favorite kitten. Behold the adorable "Butch." (So named in honor of Husband's uncle.)

Truly an amazingly cute kitty. And SO tremendously sweet. It was all I could do to put him back into his nursery after I fed and played with him. The returning of said kitten was made even more difficult by the fact that he callously and with malice aforethought fell asleep in my arm.




I mean how do you resist that? I completely want to adopt this cutie. Speaking of which, the first litters of kittens that were put up for adoption were all adopted on the first day! Wonderful news! Having loved and fed these little ones it makes me so happy to know they're going to good homes. But oh, I do SO want to adopt little Butch.

Shut up and drink the Kool-aid
Today Saint Steve of Jobs gave his Sermon on the Mount at the Apple Developer's Conference. Gee, and I missed it. How will I endure the shame? (For the record, I refuse to link to any news item about this.)

As a proud ex-Apple employee (for the record, I quit -- I was not fired) I cannot tell you how frickin' happy I am to not have had to listen to his drivel again. Every keynote speech he gives is simulcast to the Apple "campus" where hoards of badge-wearing, Kool-aid drinking, brain-washed zealots cheer every lame joke, every new announcement. It's completely terrifying, really. From an anthropological viewpoint it's actually a fascinating example in the herd mentality. For me, it was a great excuse for people watching as I'd stare, bored out of my non-brainwashed-brain, at the rapt expression on the faces of the masses.

I was completely not an Apple person. I didn't think the iPhone was equivalent to the Second Coming. I did, however, think it was an awful place to work. Bad environment. Complete lack of creative freedom. And a ridiculous waste of talent. They'd hire wonderfully inventive, totally creative minds and then refuse to let them have any individual thought whatsoever. Only a few people there were allowed to have ideas. The rest of the drones were simply there to do the work that other people came up with. It didn't matter if your idea was better -- if you weren't on the hip kids bench, you were basically equivalent to doggy poopy.

But the keynotes were especially painful because they were sad. Tragically so. You see, people at Apple actually think this stuff matters. They lose sleep over it. Hell, they lose marriages over it. Completely removed from reality, they believe getting the next iGizmo out the door is the most important item on the universe's agenda. Forget global warming. AIDS. Starvation. War. All of that pales in comparison to making sure we don't make the world wait one more minute for the next product.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a dedicated Apple user. I'm typing this on my PowerBook G4. Husband has his own Apple laptop, and we have an Apple desktop at home. We also have several iPods between us. But people, it's just technology! It's not a religion! And I am so, so, so glad to be out of there. And free to not have to watch another self-servingly smug keynote e very again.

Pass the popcorn
Husband and I are both lovers of old movies. The TCM channel might just be our favorite channel, and we're never happier than when we're watching Bogart or Stewart, Garbo or Stanwick. This past evening we watched a minor bit of fluff called Love Crazy starring William Powell and the beautiful Myrna Loy.

At one point in the lunacy, Husband turned to me and said "I love the studio system." Yeah, me too. The classic days of contract players at MGM or RKO resulted in some of the most amazing films of all time. And allowed them to pair together male and female leads who actually had (gasp!) that illusive quality of chemistry. Of course most people know Powell and Loy from the Thin Man series of films the did together. But as Love Crazy illustrates, those weren't the only paring from these two.

Of course Myrna Loy (who I've always thought was stunning) was such an incredible talent she'd be able to act as if she had chemistry with a brick, but when matched with the wise-cracking, whip-crack comedic timing of William Powell, it was magic. Love Crazy makes very little sense, but it's great fun. And, as with all movies made during the era of the studio system, everyone from the elevator boy (Elisha Cook, Jr.) to the overbearing mother-in-law (the stern prow of Florence Bates) was shining. I think that's what I miss most about the studio system. Back then the bit players were as funny or as memorable as the stars. OK, maybe you need to be an old movie nut like I (or Husband) to know them by name, but any movie that has Thelma Ritter or Eric Blore in it is worth seeing. And I love watching those films and saying "hey, that cop is the hotel bellboy from that Cary Grant movie we saw last week."

Modern movies just don't have that quality of having been made in the small town of Hollywood. With global film studios, location shots, the demise of the studio system and the rise of the superstar, it's no doubt gone for good. Thankfully, though, there are DVDs and the Turner Channel to remind us of just how glorious the glory days were. And I'm proud to say that I will always rather watch a James Stewart film than anything with George Clooney.

And the rich get richer....
I think the headline on this story says it all: Indicted Saudi Gets $80 Million US Contract - The Financier has been indicted for his alleged role in a scandal costing US taxpayers $1.7.

In praise of history
So every year I subscribe to a new and different magazine. With the exception of National Geographic, which is eternal, most only last a year. This year my new subscription is to the British-based BBC History Magazine.

My first issue (for May) arrived yesterday and I'm loving it. It's total popularist history candy. It's the Peanut M&Ms of history. Both scholarly and accessible, it seems to cover both serious history (a look at the early years of Israel) and campy-consumerist history (a cover story on Jack the Ripper). All with that deliciously dry sense of British humor.

My favorite discovery from this issue is one I can see sucking up many random hours. The Old Bailey Online contains the proceedings from England's most famous court. They date back to 1674 and go up to 1913. Totally fascinating!

So, what random magazines do you subscribe to? I'm always looking to expand my interests. (Except, of course, for anything Martha Stewart-related. Yes, I'm talking to you, Dear Foreigner.)

Hey, where'd everybody go?
When the Rapture comes (and don't we all know that it will?) there's a start-up that will send e-mails to your less saved loved ones (OK, sinners) letting them know what happened to you. For just $40 a year the bluntly-namedYou'veBeenLeftBehind.com(Note: This link goes to the Wired.com story about the site since I absolutely refuse to link to someplace called You've Been Left Behind.) will send up to 62 (Why 62? Why not 666?) notices of your early departure into eternity.

5 Principles for guarding maiden chastity
From Weird Asian News comes this Chinese guide to maintaining one's virginity. My favorite line is: "One must not wander around late night looking for exposed males."

Excellent advice.

Random, illness-addled thoughts
The hub of cultural diversity must be Corvallis, Oregon.

And in the "whose bright idea was this?" category comes this story of how the Fort Benning, GA, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Clinic is just down the road from the firing range. Seems it upsets the patients. Um....duh.

Meanwhile, in Indonesia. A woman on trial for bribing a prosecutor tried to get on the good side of the court by bringing doughnuts to the courtroom. Remember Dan White's "Twinkee defense?"

The crime of passion is older than we think. According to this report ancient man may have killed rivals for the women in the tribe.

From the London Times, the ten weirdest exam questions. I like the one where students had to analyze Bee Gee lyrics.

Back in my world, when we took Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) to the vet last week he had to shave a bit of her fur just under her chin to draw some blood. It's the saddest thing. I swear I see that little bald patch and just want to give her a hug. Mind you, she doesn't seem to mind. But I do. (She's still not herself, though. She was zarfing yesterday -- as was I. Poor Husband was overwhelmed with sick females.)

Now with improved readability
When the history of the English language is perused, our lifetime will be known for crap. Words that mean nothing. Phrases that mean nothing.

The other day I saw a beer commercial that claimed the product had "superb drinkability." What the fuck is that? A beer that can be consumed, now that's an innovative concept. As opposed to what? All those other beers that turn to concrete in the mouth, cutting off the airways and necessitating a visit from the EMTs? Drinkability? What does that actually mean?

Adding "ability" to words is one of the fake word constructs that just busts my bloomers. Imagine if this catches on. "Gosh, Mrs. Jones, your pot roast sure has eatability!" "I love this new soap, it has such an abundance of cleanability." "I can't wait to crawl into bed, I'm just full of sleepability." These words mean absolutely nothing! If you want to say your beer tastes good, say "our beer taste good." But drinkability?

Almost as bad is the way "marketing speak" has taken over American society. It's gotten to the point that nonsense phrases that mean absolutely nothing have become so common we don't even notice them anymore. Here's a tip....when you see any sentence that begins with the word "enabling" you don't need to read that sentence because it will make no sense. "Enabling enterprise-class business solutions." Does anyone really know what that means? I saw one catch phrase (I forget the product) that boasted grandly "enabling tomorrow." Oh, really? Tomorrow will happen because of you? The sun will rise because of your geeky software/car with back-lit cup holders/investment package?

What happened to clarity? To words that mean something and phrases that make sense? I tell you, I weep for us.

The zarf patrol lives again!
What a surprise! I'm sick again. Not ER bad (thank goodness) but bad enough that last night was pretty miserable. Poor Husband is overwhelmed with zarfing females. Cipher (the World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) started throwing up again this morning. She was OK Saturday and Sunday, but this morning wasn't good. Thankfully we've both stopped with the zarfing, but neither of us is really fine. We've spent the day in bed like two miserable sick critters. Occasionally taking turns to show affection to the other. A pet here. A lick on the hand there. But for the most part, two separate lumps of unhappy.

Amid this pathetic display of human/feline digestion poor Husband had to get up and head out to the bad place. Leaving his girls to murmur thinly, "have a good day. We love you." My only non-bed act of the day (aside from typing this) has been to watch the season finale of The Tudors. Let me ruin the ending for you, Anne Boleyn gets her head cut off. I'm not sure why anyone wanted to marry him in the first place.

Back to bed...