I Just Almost Jinxed This Whole Thing

Settling in.

My parents came into town this afternoon and are watching the election returns with me. Earlier my mom and I were in the grocery store getting provisions, and we espied a sale on ice cream sandwiches. I never buy this stuff, but I said to mom, "Maybe we could have them later as a celebration." Then, just now, watching all the red and blue fill in the map, I said, "I could really go for one of those ice cream bars." My dad looked over and goes, "HEY! Nobody cracks a Klondike bar until they call Ohio."

Okay!

It was a rainy and blustery day. The kids were home--election day is a school holiday here--and we all slept in a bit. Then I voted with no waiting at all, then I worked out with Pretty Neighbor. Then I went to Laura's dress rehearsal for the Little Mermaid in case I needed to help with makeup, but there was a squadron of high school girls handling it. Then I went home and snapped some pictures of the game company boys as they packed up and left for their new office. Then I watched over six children who arrived at my house to play with Hank. I did all of this with a feeling of nervous excitement. I mostly stayed off the internet and away from all the rampant chatter-about-nothing going on there.

Last night I realized that maybe we've been talking about the election a bit too much around here, because when I mentioned going to vote, Hank sighed and said, "I am so stressed out." I was like, why buddy? He said, "I just really want Barack Obama to win." I told him that I believed it was all going to be okay. And I said, "You know bud, whoever wins this election, your life is going to be just the same the next day." And he mumbled, so sadly, "No, it'll be different in like a million ways." And he said it with such sad resignation! It made me think he knows something I don't! Kids, man. I can actually remember that feeling--having a dawning awareness of world affairs and feeling totally small and shaky in the face of it.

Aaaannnd....just called Ohio. Klondike bars all around, and my love to you, whatever your leanings.
xoxox

Let's Name Numbers

Well, hey there, you who have been so kind as to come by and read me all month. This was fun! And here's a thing: today was not only the last day of my Month-Long Blogging Festival, it was the last day of the six months that I have had no health insurance, the six months that I needed to have no health insurance in order to be eligible for the federal government's Pre-Existing Condition Insurance Plan. 

Made it! Exhalation.

I feel like there are too few people here in the US who are willing to lay bare the details of this issue and how it actually works out in their lives. It is partly from a sense of shame, I think, or something that has us convinced that our insurance status and our insurability is a personal, private problem and not a social, structural one. That if you don't have insurance, you have failed. But hi, have we met? I'm willing to share, I certainly don't think Matt and I have failed, and I thought the details might be of interest to somebody.

At the beginning of 2009, Matt got some money from the sale of another company he'd worked for, and was able to leave the job he had here in Atlanta and start his own game company. We continued our family group medical and dental coverage through COBRA. For those who don't know, having COBRA coverage is like still being a member of your employer's group plan, only you pay the premium yourself, with no employer contribution. That cost $1100 a month for the four of us and lasted for eighteen months. Somewhere around the thirteenth month of that coverage, I got diagnosed with breast cancer and started the full ride of surgery and chemotherapy, paid for by insurance.

As the summer of 2010 wore on, and I finished my chemotherapy, we started to work on what to do about insurance when our COBRA ran out. I discovered that if Matt were to divorce me, it would extend my coverage another eighteen months. Yet we decided to stay married. He and his business partner got an insurance broker and shopped for small group plans to cover themselves, the kids, and any future employees. I stayed out of their group because I knew that, as small as the group was, with my medical history they would either be denied outright by the underwriters, or would be charged a jacked-up premium.

I figured that I was on my own, insurance-wise. I wanted to avoid the individual market like the plague, as it is not subject to even the meager regulations of group healthcare. (Of course, what I now know is that with a cancer diagnosis in my medical history, I am uninsurable on the individual market, for any amount of money.) Then I discovered HIPAA, the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996. 

Listen, 'cause you might need to know this, and nobody makes this info easy to find. What HIPAA meant in my case was that, because I had: a) been covered continuously for at least the previous 18 months, and; b) been last covered by an employer's group plan; and c) taken their COBRA coverage for as long as permitted, I was entitled to purchase an individual policy from the company who had been insuring me, as long as I converted to the individual policy within 63 days.

Do you get that? This is huge. If you are reaching the end of your COBRA coverage, your health insurer (or in some cases, the state you live in) is legally required to convert your group policy to an individual policy. And the premium they can charge you has some slight legal restriction upon it, it isn't completely unregulated like the pure individual market. So if you can pay, you will not lose your coverage.

BUT, and this is a big but, if you have anything wrong with you at all, they will not tell you about this HIPAA conversion, and when you call and ask about it, they will know nothing about it. That last part is not an act; the frontline customer service people will not know anything about this. If you are lucky, you may reach a department manager who might know what you're talking about, but they almost never deal with this, it seems. I understood why when I saw their rate sheet.

Lemme back up and tell you that the first time I called the insurance company and said I wanted to see about converting my COBRA into an individual policy, they said, "Okay, we'll send a conversion packet out to you!"

But they did not do that. Not the first through fifth times I called. Reader, I don't even remember the details of all the ways I escalated this. I do know that I emerged from all of it as some kind of hardy swashbuckler. At one point I got to someone semi-knowledgeable and she said, "Oh, the state of Georgia will handle your conversion policy," and I had to explain that yes, Georgia will do that if your previous employer group's benefits were self-funded. If not, as in our case, the conversion policy comes from the company that provided the group coverage. I had already talked to the state insurance commissioner's office, and I told the company this. They were like, OH, okay, right, got it!

What I thought, over and over again, was, "What do dumb people do?" Seriously, what if you don't have the time, wits, patience, and capacities to deal with this stuff? And I was feeling well. What if you are really suffering and vulnerable? This goes way, way beyond being your own advocate, like we're always told to do. I have asked that exact question, what do dumb people do, to a few different medical professionals. They all say some variation of, "It is a catastrophe and they die."

Okay, so finally, I extracted a heavily photocopied rate sheet for various individual coverage scenarios. Matt took one look at it and said, "Oh, these are the 'fuck you' prices." And they were. To continue our group coverage for the four of us would have cost over $3000 a month. It was clear, patently clear, that they don't expect anyone to buy these plans. No way. But with Matt and the kids safely enrolled in his company's new small-group policy, I ran my finger down the page and found an single individual option for just me. It cost $1368 a month, and I signed up.

During that period, I had radiation therapy and reconstructive surgery. We paid that premium until this summer, when I got notice that at my one-year coverage anniversary, it would go up to $1800 or so. If it continued. I had the feeling that they were constantly looking for a way to rescind the policy and end my coverage. And that $1300 a month, on top of everything else, was really hurting us.

I just thought, "How are people doing this?" I mean, Matt and I were not improvident, we were not reckless. One or both of us has always worked, and we have had continuous insurance coverage our entire lives. We are thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. Also, and I'm no Max Weber, but by most any definition, we find ourselves in the upper middle class, and were lucky enough to afford the higher and higher rates that we had to pay to get this far. And yet, even though I don't think we made any "bad lifestyle choices," this situation was a total colossal fucking nightmare. I mean over and above the nightmare of life-threatening illness. So how are people doing this?

I've read that half of all Americans have what are considered pre-existing conditions that affect their insurability.

Around that time, my mother showed me an article about the PCIP part of the health reform act. I had looked at it before and noted that one of its eligibility requirements is that you have been uninsured for six months prior to enrollment. That always seemed wrong and unworkable to me. But I'd reached a point where my active treatment was over and my health was good. And I didn't know what else to do. I might have tried to get into Matt's small group plan, but even if I could have been added to it without waiting for open enrollment period, I thought that when their open enrollment came around, my medical history would swamp their little boat, and I didn't want to imperil the coverage they had found for their families.

So I stopped paying my continuation premium. I talked to Matt about it. I worried and sweated over it. Then I was like, well, I'm doing this. I checked to be sure there was a medical rider on our car insurance. Then I tried to stay healthy. I thought if I broke an ankle or something, if it amounted to less than the premiums would have been, we were ahead. And if the worst happened and my cancer came back, well, I thought, that's what bankruptcy is for.

And so far, knocking wood, nothing bad has happened.

So now I can apply to be covered in the pre-existing condition insurance pool in my state, and it will cost $264 a month for the standard plan or $356 for the extended plan. These PCIP pools are a temporary measure, designed to bridge the gap between now and 2014 with the health care exchanges are supposed to come into being. Don't know how that's gonna work.

Whew. Did anyone actually read this? That's my story. I don't actually know what to say by way of closure. I hope there was some helpful info in here if you are in a position to need it.

Love you guys,
b

Is This How We Respect Others' Things?

Matt and I walked out of chemotherapy on Wednesday and saw this on the back of our car. It's the Shepard Fairey Obama sticker, and it used to look like this.

You know, for eight years I gazed upon those ubiquitous and say-nothing "W: The President" stickers and never defaced one, never lifted a finger to peel or scratch or Sharpie one, because this is not how we do.

Shame!

The person who stood by my car and peeled off my sticker knew that it was wrong. What a furtive, stupid, uncivil thing to do. Didn't your mama teach you better?

I don't think it's an over-generalization to say that whoever did this feels ineffective in his or her life, and is probably prone to acts of impotent rage. Whatever dumbass, please keep your hands off my stuff.

Awesomely Awkward, Part II: It's the Heat

Sorry to vanish like that. We've been entertaining our friend who's visiting. Matt is working extr-y hard, and I've been keep our domestic life on the rails. Oh, and also, it is hot as hell. This has been happening since, like, Wednesday. I walked out my front door, and instead of stepping into the soft embrace of early summer, I felt a wave of heat travel up from the sidewalk and hit me in the crotch. Then my eyelids started to sweat. Those two sensations combined make it really hard for a girl to keep her composure.

It is well known that heat waves cause psychological stress, and even an increase in violent crime. When I lived in California, my friend David and I used to be in the habit of blaming our moments of cattiness or bad behavior on the heat, which in Santa Cruz, meant that any day that the thermometer climbed above 76, you could be nasty as you wanna be. But this place, this South, this Hotlanta. . .well, it's amazing that any of us speak civilly from June to October. I'm going to blame the temperature for the way I let Frenemy Neighbor get my goat the other day.

Remember how last week I treated her to a view of my giant Obama face t-shirt, and she looked horrified? We met up at the pool after that for the kids to swim, and after a brief chat about nothing, she asked, "Have you been keeping up with this Judge Sonya story?" Judge Sonya, kind of like Judge Judy. I said, "Sure, I just saw that Laura Bush likes her." Frenemy Neighbor said, "I like that she's a woman, but I would really hate for us to get a justice with a political ax to grind." We were quiet for a moment. But I said, "Yes, a politicized Supreme Court is not what anyone wants. Like, look at Gore v. Bush--I think we still don't fully know what a travesty of justice that was." We were quiet for a moment. She said, "I don't like that Judge Sonya belongs to that Hispanic separatist group." I said, "What group are you talking about?" She said, "Oh, I don't know the Spanish name, but they want to create a Spanish-speaking nation inside America and exclude white people." I said, "Frenemy, I am one hundred percent sure that that is not true." She kind of laughed and said, "I hope you're riggghht. . ."

Then, fortunately, the pizza we'd ordered for the kids arrived. She reached over and squirted some Purel on Hank's palm. He said, "What the HECKS?" Which is exactly how I was feeling.

We left not long after that, and didn't really see each other until this past Wednesday afternoon. Her little girl was here playing with Laura, and FN came to pick her up. She has a history of making snotty remarks about my decor, so I should not have been surprised when she locked her eyes on a new pendant lamp I have. Oh, why it's this one right here. She said, "Did you get a new light?" She almost shouted it. And I don't know if FN knows that we here in the world can see her facial expressions, but she made a grimace, and held it, in kind of a rictus of pain. It reminded me of those frozen wide mouths you see on ancient Greek masks. I said, "Yes, we never liked the other one we had up there." I am not kidding, y'all, it was actually funny: FN's eyes were really wide, like her eyelids were pinned open and she was being forced to watch something horrible. Remember that scene in Clockwork Orange? She looked like that.

FN said, "But wasn't it BRASS?" I said, "Yeah, but it was tacky." She said, "Did that come from Ikea?" Only she kind of spat the word "Ikea," as though it were a curse. It was starting to get hilarious. I said, "It's okay, Frenemy, you don't have to like it!"

Then, then, something weird happened. She looked really irritated. Her mouth became a tight line, and her eyes got frowny. She said, kind of in a huff, "I do like it." And I kind of lost it, for me, because I said, "Then why do you look like you just ate a bug?" And then I waited a beat and laughed, "AH HA HA HA HA," insert more raucous laughter here. I thought if I laughed, it would soften the moment. Because yeah, that always works, the forced laughter thing. It brings people together. But she wasn't finished, and said, "You could have asked me, and I would have had Jim (her husband) rewire the old chandelier." Then I blacked out from the rage.

I'm telling you, it's the heat. But later we had a perfectly nice conversation about cleaning ladies. In my next post, I'll tell you about my search for (and finding of) a cleaning person. Two more things: it was really hard not to title this post, "Awesomely Awkward Part II: Electric Boogaloo," for some reason. And my little mowing dude never has come back to get his money. What the hecks?

I hope that you are all doing well and beating the heat.

Awesomely Awkward

I just answered my door for Frenemy Neighbor wearing my t-shirt with Obama's giant face on it.

She did not know where to look. Her face was kind of horrified, like you might appear if you walked in on your neighbor kicking his dog, or having sex with a couple of Mexican midget wrestlers. It was awesome. I think we might be the only family of Democrats she knows. And based on the emails she used to send me, she thinks Barack is the devil.

Oh well, we're still meeting up at the pool in ten minutes for the kids to swim and eat pizza. I had better go make some flashcard conversation starters, and prepare to serve as the representative of All Liberals Everywhere.

What Did You Think of What They Wore?

I was riveted by the coverage of the Inaugural festivities on Tuesday, not only because it was an exciting, historic day and all, but because I wanted to see what Michele wore and what she put on her daughters. This may sound strange, but it was a rare chance to see someone wearing her big, important outfit for HOURS, in all different situations, and to judge how her choice held up over a long day, not just for one photo op or red-carpet moment. Watching the fashion parade on Tuesday fed two preoccupations of mine: what goes into producing the images we as the public see, and I mean not just images as in pictures, but image in the sense of a person's whole public persona, of which clothing is a HUGE part; and the hidden, "background" work that women do for their families. So, Michele and Malia and Sasha all turned out for Inauguration Day held a LOT of interest.

When I saw the yellow suit, I thought, "That's the right dress on the right woman." Sometimes there is just no doubt. And there seems to be almost unanimous approval of the yellow day outfit. Here's what a bunch of designers thought.

On TV all day, it was fun how the outfit kind of revealed itself. It took a while to see the details, like the lacy texture of the fabric, the cardigan, the chiffon bow, and the jeweled collar. The yellow dress looked beautiful in the morning light as they were going to church, and again in the sunset when they were walking down Pennsylvania Ave, but there were lots of moments in between when I thought, "She looks cold and her feet are killing her." I think the color was genius--you could pick her out of every crowd shot. And the styling of the dress and coat really continued Michele's way of picking less severe, buttoned-up looks. For example, I was struck by how many times during the campaign she picked a dress when a suit would have been the conventional choice. So chic! My only quibble with this ensemble is that a coat that closed up completely might have been better. Many times, you could see that she was trying to pull the coat closer or hold it against her. A coat that buttoned, like Jill Biden's, might have given her a look of more repose. And I think all the women of the world were sympathizing with her as she walked down the street in those Jimmy Choos. I wondered what time her day had started.

Now, the girls' Inauguration Day outfits were custom-made for them by J. Crew, which has been in a paroxysm of self-congratulation ever since, putting out press releases and publishing their sketches. And I must say, I think the dressy coats with sashes were a perfect choice. They look pretty and childlike, and the clothes are classic--they don't date to any particular time. It was really amazing that the same outfit looked age-appropriate on both of them. When I saw the girls, I thought, "Somebody spent hours getting them ready this morning." Even before you get to how carefully their hair was fixed, it takes a long time to get a 7 year-old into a dress, coat with sash, and matching tights, shoes, gloves, and scarf. I'm tired just typing that.

That WSJ article in the link above says that J. Crew made 15 ensembles, with about 6 pieces each, for the girls and Michele, and that they weren't gifts--that Michele will be billed for the clothes. I wonder what the total will be? Bespoke clothes made over Christmas in New York instead of Hong Kong by a special team. . . I'm thinking $20,000 at least, but that could be low. Actually, given that J. Crew's share price jumped 10% after their press release, I wonder whether Michele should bill them?

You see that, Gymboree? That's what happens when your every new line for girls has either a little doggy or a cupcake on it. The First Lady doesn't pick you to dress her daughters. And you're left with only those "Jon and Kate Plus 8" people. I tried to tell you. (I did try to tell them. I wrote them a note explaining that little girls aren't baked goods, and that their continuous metonymic linking of the two is getting old.) But that? That's a whole 'nother thing.

So, the ball gown. Hmmm. What did you think? I think Michele always looks terrific, but the dress didn't really do her justice. The waistline made no sense to me. I think that either a lower-waisted, longer bodice would have been good, or something crazy like an Empire waist. And the one-shoulder thing is huge right now, but meh. When Matt saw it, he said, "Is she wearing the Bjork dress?" I was just so proud of him for remembering the Bjork dress.

I know there's a tradition of white inaugural gowns, but I thought it was a little bridal. Another color, as long as it wasn't boring presidential red or blue, would have been more exciting. What about gold? Too "let-them-eat-cake?" It seems like other people are underwhelmed with the white gown, given that way, way more has been said in praise of the yellow suit.

Here's what a bunch of designers thought about the white dress.

In this slideshow of "private" moments on Inauguration Day, we get this picture of Michele between parties.

Very sweet picture, right? But again, I'm thinking, why doesn't she have a coat? In the slideshow of white inaugural gowns, we see that Jackie Kennedy had a cape that went with her dress. I think some kind of wrap would have been more comfortable, and she would have looked more put-together.

And Barack looked good too. I'm sure we'll see that suit again, though, and I was a little too blinded by the blinding aura of power and competence, with all its blindingness, to really focus on his outfit too much. Except the white bowtie was balls. Pure balls. And Aretha needs to be taken bodily and put into the Smithsonian Institution. Her hat said, "It's party time," but the fact that it was the same fabric as her dress said, "I'm keepin' it real, y'all." Loved it.

What did y'all think?

Updated to add: Some of you commenters made the very astute point that, sure, maybe the white dress IS bridal, but what is wrong with that? I just heard Cathy Horyn in the New York Times say that the white ball gown "wasn't as sophisticated as the yellow outfit, but maybe it was an expression of Michele's fantasy." That rings true to me, and I think it's what you guys meant by saying, when else do you get to wear a big white dress? Horyn is a smart analyst of clothes. Here's the audio slideshow of her discussing the inaugural outfits.

Sign(ed), Sealed, Delivered

Hey Homies. My brother Dave, whom I've introduced on this blog before, just put up a couple of stories from the Inauguration on his blog, Better Than Machines.

There he is with his sign, and here's his story of the crazy reaction the sign got. (That pic, which is awesome, was taken and tweeted by Twitter user Infernoenigma.)

And here's his "7 Things I Learned at the Inauguration." Go take a looky!

I am just jealous, because it seems like everyone in the world, including my mail lady, went to D.C. for this event but me. Seriously, Margaret, my mail lady, almost crashed her little jeep in my front yard to jump out and tell me she had tickets.

Stay tuned: later today I'll be discussing the Obamas' Inauguration Day outfits, and then tomorrow I've got a LOT to say about White House china. If you were riveted by the discussion of the commemorative bowl, then you won't want to miss it.

Stay warm, my friends!

Updated to add: the twitpic of that sign is getting a lot of attention on Digg: http://digg.com/2008_us_elections/Dear_World_We_re_Back_Love_U_S_A

Cool!

It's a Knick-Knack, Patty Whack

The mainstream media is dropping the ball on this majorly important story, and you may have missed their fleeting mention of it, so I am bringing it to your attention to get your input. After he is sworn in as president on January 20, Barack Obama will have a "luncheon" with members of Congress, and they will give him an inauguration present. It will be this crystal bowl on a little pedestal.

Congress commissioned it from Lenox, Inc., the china company, who also did the inaugural gifts for the last several presidents. It took hundreds of hours to make, was handcut and etched, and weighs 8 pounds. According to the press release from Lenox (which all of the news reports just reproduced), "As the bowl is rotated, the president's residence can be seen through the cherry trees on each side." Well, golly! Apparently Joe Biden will get a similar bowl, but with a picture of the Capitol Building.

I didn't even know that Congress had a tradition of giving gifts to the newly sworn-in presidents. When I saw this bowl, I thought, "Um, really?" In the press release, Senator Dianne Feinstein says that the bowl "captures the beauty and dignity" of the inauguration. But when I look at it, my reaction--dare I say--is, "That's tacky." Something about the way his name and "The Presidential Inauguration" is etched right on there. . . to me it makes it less beautiful and more like a souvenir. A tchotchke. Like a shot glass or, ooh, one of those ceramic bells you can buy in truck stops.

Okay, okay! It's not a shot glass. I kid. It's not TOTALLY vulgar. But it is a tiny bit vulgar. The engraved pedestal makes a statement, and the statement is, "This object is for show, not to be pretty and useful. You'll want to use this for showing off." If they had etched the name and date onto the bowl somewhere, instead of having that extra piece, it would have been 100 times klassier. So it's for show, but unlike other beautiful objects that are "just for show," like a china plate on a mantelpiece, it never had a life as a useful object. It also has no history except what it announces, itself, with its engraving--it's designed to be an "instant heirloom." And its $2,500 pricetag does not justify its sad ostentation: it is showy--"here's a gift, we had your name put on it for you"--but it lacks either artistic importance OR real beauty. The bowl is touted as one-of-a-kind, but it doesn't seem like that. It's safe, it's boring, it would be better as a snow globe. Or is my reaction weird? I know that the issue of taste is a minefield. What do you think?

I am just picturing Michelle's reaction when Barack brings it home and hands it to her. Like, "What am I going to do with this?" So Michelle, not that you need help in this area, but here are a couple of ways that this gift can be used tastefully, in my opinion: First of all, lose the pedestal. Like, put it in a drawer where no one can see it. Now, either put the bowl on a hall table as a cellphone-and-keys receptacle, or put it in a guest bathroom filled with little toiletry products. That would be witty and appropriate. Any other ideas? And Michelle, I would love to chat about that or anything, so call me, girlfriend. I mean, Madam First Lady.

Election Night Mixology

Friends, spirits are high tonight at my house. And maybe I've had too many cocktails, 'cause it looks like Anderson Cooper is interviewing a hologram? Whatever. Matt and I are drinking mudslides, but we're calling 'em Landslides:

1 oz. vodka
1 oz. Kahlua
1 oz. Bailey's Irish Cream
1 oz. milk (the usual cream is too much for me)

Shake with ice, pour over ice, and enjoy while waiting for Obama's speech. And God bless America.

One Matron, One Vote

I went and advance-voted today at the branch of the county library near me. I had heard of long lines, even for early voting, so I went during the school day. Mom and Dad are in town, so I didn't have to take Hank with me. There were a ton of people there! If this is early voting, I wonder what Election Day will be like. I only had to wait in line for twenty minutes or so, and I took that time to study my fellow citizens and try to figure out their voting preferences.

Strangely, in Georgia you're not allowed to wear t-shirts or buttons that endorse a candidate to the polling place. Today I happened to be wearing my Obama shirt from MoveOn.org--the one that has his giant face on it--and I had to zip him under my vest.

I think it's a silly law. As though you could apply undue pressure to your fellow voters with your wardrobe choices. Then again, look at the size of that face. So we went covert, Barack and me. Deep in enemy territory! True, I couldn't see who they were voting for, but I was NOT getting an Obama vibe from that crowd. And indeed, Laura told me that they talked about the election in her class, and she was the only kid in favor of Obama, and she said, "I felt left out, Mom!" I could have given her a big talk about how democracy is invigorated by difference of opinion, or maybe I could have discussed specific policies of Obama's that we believe in, but I was tired. So I just said, "Well, on November 5, they will have backed the loser." Not my greatest parenting moment.

So voting went smoothly--there were 15 of those Diebold machines, the ones that don't print out a paper record, so who knows. I don't mean for this to become a political blog, but the suspense is killing me over here. Could I just wake up and have it be November 5? And in the meantime, it gives me pleasure to know that I canceled Frenemy Neighbor's McCain vote. Sorry to be such a bitch, but that's where I'm at right now. She actually called my neighbor two houses over--the crazy Ron Paul supporter conspiracy nut who told me that the U.S. Government crashed the planes into the WTC--and said, "I see that you took down your Ron Paul sign. I have some extra McCain/Palin signs if you would like one." He told her that he was voting for the REALLY crazy Constitutionalist party candidate, and she was disappointed. I'm sorry I didn't get to hear those two go at it. Good times in the cul-de-sac. And go vote!

Get These Dudes to City Hall On Time

Today is a big, huge day. In San Francisco this afternoon, these two guys are getting married.


David, on the right, has been my devoted friend for years, and in Michael, he's found the one. They are a pair of Mr. Rights. Now it can be told: a long time ago, I told David that I would kill him if he let Michael get away. And today they get to make it legal. We are all still in a whirl--they just decided a few weeks ago that with the election looming, and Proposition 8 on the ballot (more on that below), they would get while the gettin's good. I think it is romantic, like running away to Gretna Green in one of those old novels that David and I are always going on about.

So besides being romantic and exciting, this day is also political and exciting. David's full blog posts about their decision are here and here, and you should read them 'cause he's way smart AND giddy as can be, but I like this part below, especially. We have the chance, through this moment of social change, to realize what a varied and elastic institution marriage really is, or as David says, that “all the millions of straight married folks that have gone before us have figured out millions of ways of being married.” This may be the conservatives’ worst nightmare, but I think it’s true, it’s exciting, and it’s happening. David says:

One thing that confuses me about the party line for us marriage-equality supporters is that we say it won't redefine marriage. I understand this as a strategy, but there's no way around the fact that this will change marriage. I think that's what might be exciting—and maybe even more honest—about it. This is another opportunity for a dialogue about the real workings of the institution—what it flattens out, what it might open up, where and how it's about the operations of power, where and how it's about the private and the public. . . .I know this sounds terribly unsentimental. But it's a
politically fraught moment, and there's no getting around the fact that my marriage will be bound up in this and a lot more. And, straight readers, so are yours. They always have been, in one way or another.

So, on Election Day in California, voters will decide on Proposition 8, which would amend the California Constitution to “eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry.” Ever since the California Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage earlier this year, some folks out there have been flipping out like it’s the apocalypse. Here’s just one choice bit from the Yes on 8 people (I won’t link them—you can find ‘em if you want to):

If gay activists want to legalize gay marriage, they should put it on the ballot. Instead, they have gone behind the backs of voters and convinced four activist judges in San Francisco to redefine marriage for the rest of society.

Did you get that? The gays are so sneaky! Going behind people’s backs like that! And my land, we let San Francisco have judges? You mean it’s not all marching in pride parades and shopping at Barney’s up there? There’s your problem.

Meanwhile, I haven’t noticed any perceptible erosion in my marriage vows since Sulu got hitched. And I’m no Laurence Tribe, but it seems to me that if prop 8 passes, it’s in violation of the Equal Protection clause of the U.S. Constitution. The folks at No On 8 have much more to say. Me, I'm just happy for my friends, whom I love. David and Michael, we here at my house are thrilled for you guys. Marriage really can be a blessed state, and Matt and I wish you every happiness. Let the bells chime. And OMG I just looked online at the Denby pottery you guys registered for, and I’m dying, it is so pretty. It. Should. Be. Mine. Also, someone has bought that Iittala bird for y’all. Where is MY gay wedding?

Mountain Time

We spent a long weekend in Western North Carolina at the moutain house. We went to an Obama rally in Asheville, and then, fittingly, met some new people who have donkeys.

Barack Obama was in Asheville doing debate prep, and decided late in the week to hold a Sunday afternoon rally at Asheville High School. Apparently people had been lining up since dawn to try to get a good spot, but in characteristic fashion, we found out only that morning and rolled over there about noon. There were many, many people with better spots than us, but we got in just fine and could even see the man himself.

That guy is good--I think he's going places. It was exciting to be in the crowd. Even lining up to get in was fun, because it gave us a chance to mingle with our fellow liberals. Asheville is the Santa Cruz of North Carolina, you see, and while in line I remarked to Dad that everyone looked familiar even though I'd never seen them before. He said, "It's because these are your people." And they were--all 22,000 of them. Don't it make your red state blue?

Later, back home on the mountain, some new neighbors stopped by to check out Mom and Dad's house and the view from the deck. This is how it works up there. It's permissable to go knock on someone's door because you want to see their house. So we made some new friends:

They arrived with beers in hand. The daughter, Jenna, is a senior at UGA. She was wearing her jeans tucked into her Uggs, and she's a Fashion Merchandising major, so I guess we're still okay to tuck our jeans into our Uggs. We recycled their cans for them and offered them another round. Then, when they were leaving, Jenna asked for a third beer for the road, which we gave her. Carry-out hospitality!

She also offered to babysit sometime when we're up there, because both of the kids fell in love with her. Hank kept wanting to hug her, even though she was a stranger. And later, Laura said, "Mom, did you notice how Jenna's hair bounced when she walked?" (Yes, I noticed.) Anyway, I really enjoy the sort-of looser social rules up on the mountain. Like, you're just automatically more sociable because there are fewer people around. We managed to cram a lot of partying into half an hour with these people. The bonus is they have potbellied pigs and donkeys, which we went by to check out. I hope to get a ride in their crazy little 4WD mountain golf cart one of these days.

Livestock, cooler weather, adult beverages, Obama, Uggs. Good times on the mountain.

A Delightful Potpourri

Fact: I am making bread while lying on the couch. How, you ask? It seems that there are machines that make bread, automagically. It is a brave new world, y'all. Today is Matt's and my 13th wedding anniversary, and he brought me one of these contraptions. It is shiny and serious looking, and it has a little window in the top so you can spy on the dough. I haven't tasted the bread yet, but through the window it looks like it will be tasty. I'm hoping that I can save some dough (oh ho!) by making bread for sandwiches. Anybody know if this will actually be cheaper than buying store bread? There's some kind of "bread machine flour" that the thing likes, it may be more expensive, I don't know, but the manual says all-purpose flour is okay too. We'll see! If I get brave I might try it with the fruit and nut dispenser.

Opinion: John McCain looks tired. While my bread friend is toiling in the kitchen, I'm watching the repubs. He just finished his speech. I know all the commentators have been going on and on about how boring a speaker JM is, but wow. I feel like somebody slipped me a roofie. And not in a fun way. Then they dropped the balloons and confetti, and all the McCain and Palin family members were standing up on that black stage while crazy lights flashed around them, and the whole effect was just. . .mournful. John and Cindy and their kids looked like people in a bar when they turn the lights back up at 2am. And I thought, they're not feeling great about this. At that exact moment, Wolf Blitzer intoned, "Well, when you drop that wonderful confetti and balloons, Anderson, it just really gets the party going." Only, his tone sounded like he was saying, "I will never feel joy again."

Extracurriculars: We are getting our back-to-school activity schedule lined up. Laura has an art class on Thursdays (she thinks it's called "mixed-up media"), and she's about to start Jump Rope Club at school. This will be cool, I think. On Mondays, they get together after school and learn "individual and group rope techniques." The club runs the whole year and only costs $15. Woot! For this they get a t-shirt and a jump rope, and they can perform at school functions. I am not huge on having lots of extra activities. We try to keep it to one thing at a time. Do y'all try to limit these things? Last fall Laura did soccer (ugh), then gymnastics through the county parks and rec, then we started up swimming again in February. She's also taken gymnastics at a private gym. But around here it seems like, unless your kid gets to be on an invited gymnastic team at one of the gyms, the classes just don't really do anything. And I don't think she will be the next Nastia Whatshername. So we're trying some new things--I'm excited! My Frenemy Neighbor has also offered to give her piano lessons, so I'm considering that, kind of.

Sorcery: The other day, Laura took her new thermos to school for the first time. When she got home, she said, "When I drank my milk, it was like it just came out of the fridge! How did you do that? Are you some kind of wizard?" The answer is YES.