Archive for July, 2006

Preserving the underground history of a city

Saturday, July 1st, 2006

Apparently it’s annother anniversary with Earthlink. They send us a link to an anniversary page that shows a present with confetti raining over it. Despite the fact I hate Earthlink, confetti always manages to make me feel special. Inner child goes, “Look, confetti!” for one split second. But even the inner child knows better and shoves the present back, crying, “You don’t care about me. Stop pretending you do!”

My brother-in-law calls. H.o.p. picks up the phone. They talk a long time about cartoons. “Is it a Looney Tunes?” I hear H.o.p. say.

The serial arsonist (well, the accused) who attempted to torch the apartment building autumn before last (or is accused of it) was in court this week. I don’t know what happened with that. I have heard it turns out he knew one of the tenants. Perhaps that explains how he got inside the building. I go to the Atlanta Journal Constitution online to see if they’ve any news on the case but there’s no report.

There are however those pics of the Japanese Prime Minister with the Bush and Presley families. There are first 13 pictures of the Prime Minister enjoying himself at Graceland. A number of pics of the folks having fun putting on Elvis’ aviator sunglasses. And then pic 14 shows “Civil rights leader Benjajin Hooks accompanies Bush and Koizumi at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. The hotel visit followed a tour of Gracelend.” Then pictures 15 and 16 show the Prez and Prime Minister having bar-b-que. 13 pics of Graceland and aviator glasses. 1 pic giving a nod to Martin Luther King. 2 pics decoted to bar-b-que.

H.o.p. is going through stop animation blogs. One is kept by a guy in Louisiana who in April was writing about how difficult it is to find some materials for his stop animation puppets in the hardware stores with the rebuilding after Katrina.

Speaking of Katrina, I have another picture I’m working on right now, a restoration of a photo damaged by Katrina. Get the photos through the hard work of the people at Operation Photo Rescue. This one is a black and white image of a woman seated on a sliver of moon, backdropped by a painted background of evergreens, lake and mountain. I wonder where she was. This has been a fun one.

The OPR people continue to upgrade the efficiency of things, making it easier to connect restorers with images, and have put together a forum for news and sharing tips etc. A remarkable thing they’ve doing.

A lot of the photos to be restored seem to be wedding photos and baby photos. The wedding photos and baby photos are a top emotional priority for people. But that isn’t all. Photos of people cooking. Photos of people playing. Servicemen lounging with sweethearts on Louisiana lawns. Priests with parishoners and infants being christened, reflecting the Roman Catholic heritage of the area. Photos of sailors reflecting the seaport heritage of the city. As you work and go through the photos it becomes more and more like rescuing an underground history of an area. These aren’t the images that show up in historical societies. They’re the ones tucked into people’s home albums (many glued by the flood waters to the plastic sleeves) and the snapshots in the shoeboxes, the polaroids with names of individuls penned in at the bottom.

Women throw flowers at their weddings, couples cut cakes, infants peer up at the flash of their first photograph.

City wildlife

Sunday, July 2nd, 2006

I had two hours of sleep last night and then H.o.p. got me up at 5:30 a.m. He was wide awake. I promised blueberry muffins after another hour’s rest and he settled down readily but he wasn’t getting back to sleep and I wasn’t either. I said ok let’s get you a bath and I’ll make the muffins after a bath. We heard, presumably, George taking a trash bin from the back to the alley. The way things are done here, since the homeless go through the bins and strew everything around the alley, the bins are kept in the back and in the morning George pulls a bin out into the alley where residents can dump their trash as most prefer not to go into the back. So, I go into H.o.p.’s room to pull out a fresh pair of boxers and look out and see in the alley light a rat sitting on top of the bin looking for a way in. I know that what people want are pictures of birds and deer and eagles and butterflies and such, but I figure you make due with what you’ve got and so went to get the camera and by the time I got back there were two rats, and then a third came running up along the top of the fence and joined his buds, hopping onto the top of the bin. They found their way in. I tried taking some shots but nothing turned out.

I need a vacation. In the desert. Y’know, where you wake up in the morning and find things like scorpions in your shoes. But being able to ride around and see beautiful big rocks somehow makes up for it.

Anyway, hope my sister-in-law doesn’t kill me for this, but here is a much more pleasant form of city wildlife captured at my birthday last week. And I believe I can qualify it as “wild” because of H.o.p. There you have H.o.p. with his Aunt Marye and her daughter, his cousin. Marty was over lighting the birthday cake (cute candles looked like little balloons) so H.o.p. would have been looking over at his uncle, my brother. We had a great time. The birthday hats were H.o.p.’s idea. He insisted that no birthday party was complete without them.

Aren’t they all gorgeous? Doesn’t H.o.p. look deceptively sweet? Not that he isn’t, he’s sweet as can be. He’s also a major imp and T. Wrecks.

A friend sent me a didgeridoo for my birthday. I have a small one from Australia that is primarily decorative but can produce a nice rich, full sound. She sent a long one made of some kind of twisted pipe (twisted pvc?) with a separate mouthpiece you beeswax on. A lovely painted design. 8 coats of varnish. Agh, as it turns out I can’t play it. I tried and within a short time my face was burning and broken out in a rash, I think from the varnish fumes? In the meanwhile, H.o.p. had also tried and had no problems. He has since watched the video that came with the digeridoo about 20 times over. It is only the maker pleasantly relating how to attach the mouthpiece, birds singing in the background throughout, but it’s about digi and H.o.p. is fascinated with the digi so he watches. The long one is too much for him so I gave him the small one and showed him how to make a sound through it. No, not circular breathing. That would only frustrate him. Besides which it’s been years since I played and circular breathing, for me, is not like riding a bike. I would have to practice to get it back. It took me a while to even begin to acquire the knack of it when I was practicing and the circular breathing was always a struggle. Marty would come in and say I was really getting the circular breathing down but I always felt I never did get it.

H.o.p. has decided (at least for now) that every night I am supposed to give him digi lessons. “I know, every night you can give me lessons,” he says. He’s always liked the sound of a digi. It was seeing the big digi that sparked his interest I think. I put it up in its sleeve and he pulls it back out. He has learned from the video that he has to be very careful to place the bell on a rug in order to not chip the varnish and several times daily he pulls it out of the sleeve and tells me all about how one has to be careful. He doesn’t like for the new digi to be put up. He has to see it.

Many times I hate the internet

Tuesday, July 4th, 2006

Hating the internet happens for me on a regular basis.

I love it and think it’s great. People do a lot of wonderful things via the internet. Things that couldn’t have been put together without it. Like Operation Photo Rescue. I have done a lot with it.

I hate the internet. Sometimes it feels like its, well, like a terrain that is repeatedly devastated by flood. Flood takes perfectly fine and useful things and chews them up and when it passes you can have the same thing but it bears the destructive taint of flood.

Now, flood waters are a part of nature and there’s nothing evil about flood. Floods are. When humans are in the way they become bad. Never mind that. I’m talking about the internet and contact slime.

A while back I wrote a post “If you buy the ‘beautiful people don’t commit crime, ugly people do’ research, you are so easily led by the nose”. Today I get up, my mood is already sour, I check the email and there is a comment waiting for approval under that post, directing to georgeouspeople.net.

GorgeousPeople.net admits only the most gorgeous people - through a vicious selection process The members here have No problem Discriminating against the less fortunate who do not have gorgeous looks. They will Not be accepted into the private community. If you got what it takes. you are in the right place. All members here are Gorgeous indeed.

Of course it’s comment spam that has snuck through the wonderful spam block (Akismet) I have that has caught 252,955 spam comments since I installed it a couple of months ago. I know that’s nothing compared to some people but for me that’s quite enough and that is even with a block already on certain key words.

I hate the internet already and hate it even more when I take a look at how much spam the spam eater has caught and the comments it’s caught thus far for today are “porn incest” “toolbar” “buy levitra” “cialis levitra” “incest sex stories” “incest” “drug levitra” “young incest” “incest sex stories” “incest videos” “buy levitra” “toolbar” “toolbar” “porn incest” “cialis levitra viagra” “incest sex stories” “levitra side” “family sex” “tadalafil for sale” “toolbar” “toolbar” incest pictures” “incest movies”. These are out of 150 comments shown that have beeen caught by the filter today, all the others essentially the same, and that’s only showing the last 150 comments. I don’t know how many have actually been cuaght so far today. It only shows 150 at a time (which I could probably change but haven’t).

This particular piece of spam for gorgeous(people.net worked though because though I knew it was spam I Googled a sentence from the email just to make sure it wasn’t a comment. I knew better but I was checking. There were no Google results though and I figured it should have ihad results f it was spam because there would have been results from a lot of unkept blog comment areas that had been spammed, right? So I went over to the website and there was the full comment text sitting on the front page as a descriptive but somehow it wasn’t in Google.

I click on a pic to see how they had this thing set up. And what I got was more absurd than one would expect at such sites. The description for the pic was a 23 year old female whose height was “5′4″ - 5′7″ (wow, the amazing elastic girl, no doubt) who has had some college, whose income is between $30,000 and $50,000 a year. She states in her profile, “Hey, I’m So-and-so. I am in high school. I love rock music, hanging out with friends, acting stupid. I’m hoping to one day become a prosecutor…”

Ok. 23 and in high school. I could make some dumb crack about the intelligence of gorgeouspeople but we all know this is canned bait. But it’s interesting to me that the profile sets up the idea that a girl is passing herself off as an adult but happens to be teen jailbait instead.

The internet is neck deep in crap and it gets depressing feeling slimed when you check your email. Akismet is at least working great for me on the blog and catches almost everything that hits it.

It’s depressing, the grotesque nature of the spam.

Sometimes I wonder how broad the range is of the lowest common denominator out there. And just how low is the lowest common denominator.

Update: Akismet now has caught 253,255 spam. When I wrote the eaerlier post about an hour ago (but just posted), it had caught 252,955 spam comments I write this and go check again to see what the caught the spam count is jsut in the time of my writing this update and it’s 253,261.

Bob Dylan “With God on Our Side” 1964

Tuesday, July 4th, 2006

This one always has me near tears.

My 4th of July post.

And yes, this year we’re going to watch fireworks with family. Because kids love fireworks.

What we did

Wednesday, July 5th, 2006

First off we got lost on the way to the town south of Atlanta where my elder younger brother lives. So we drove around back highways for a while and I wondered, as I always do when we’re on our way down to visit them, at all the little churches holding ground at the interesections of those back highways and this time, probably because it was July 4th, thought of the names, like Zion and Mount Olive, names which have nothing to do with the land upon which the churches sit, there’s not an olive tree in sight, worlds and a great big ocean away from the Middle East but here are those names imported by Anglo-European Christians. Zion and Mount Olive.

We listened to Mexican music on our satellite radio. H.o.p. likes Mexican music. Then we listened to some hiphop then finally settled on traditional jazz.

My brother grilled. I took lettuce from my sister-in-law’s garden for the meal. She went through the trouble of making home made vanilla ice cream that she served on cherry crisp. I stepped a lot on the conversation, making comments before a story was completed. We all do. When you’re kids and in a larger family you do it for sake of getting a word in. Then you end up doing it as an adult because the kids are going to come running through any second and you’re going to be distracted to doing something else, over and over, so you grab for a chance to comment before the next interruption collapses a conversation and train of thought. Plus the way we all tell stories is to digress wildly so if you don’t make your comment on a subject right then you may not have another chance as the speaker may have digressed to something completely different in two heartbeats and digressed again to another subject in a few more and then the kids come running through and the conversation collapses. Even with just two kids running around, which was the situation.

The sky was cloudy. Would it rain out the fireworks? As it darkened we set out for the place where my brother and sister-in-law knew there always to be fireworks. A nearby park. As we drove up we saw cars pulling into the parking lot, behaving in a confused manner, and pulling out and leaving. It was a steady stream of such cars pulling into the empty lot, turning around and leaving. Apparently there would be no fireworks there this year. My three year old niece waved at me out the back window of the car while we talked about what to do. My brother and sister-in-law knew of a place not too far away, down the road, past the town square, down the road some more to the interstate and up to the next exit, where there would be fireworks. We followed them. Followed them past the town square which is a nice town square. I said it was a nice town square.

We could see the fireworks as we drove down the interstate, which was good as H.o.p. was worried about missing them, and being able to see they were already ongoing he was of course still worried about missing them. We pulled off the exit and within a short distance the place around where the fireworks display was being held was packed with cars upon cars upon cars parked here there and in small dirt parking lots and along the side of the road, and policemen out directing traffic. Ironicially, the fireworks display was being held by a church (at least I found it ironic and I thought about this some, a church doing the 4th of July fireworks). The exhibition was rivaling the one Decatur would put on when we lived in Decatur. We found a place to park and got out and strolled to where we could better view them but a stand of trees was still somewhat in our way. I filmed the ending and haven’t checked to see how it came out.

We worried about having a difficult time getting back to the interstate. Elsewhere, when the fireworks are done everyone promptly piles back in their cars and there’s a long traffic jam. Here, when the fireworks were done most of the people were still hanging out, the ones who were entrenched in the stadium area–I guess the church has an outdoor stadium or maybe it was just a stadium set up for the day, band performances etc., A band was line checking as we drove away. We had our windows rolled down, it had begun to sprinkle, I thought I heard another auto playing the same traditional Miles Davis and others jazz we’d been playing (I thought our radio was off) and thought wow someone in this place is listening to traditional jazz, but no it was just us and the sound had been turned down way way low.

The highlight of the trip was when we stopped for my brother to get gas on the way to the fireworks.

You gotta understand, we were uhm about 45 minutes south (with traffic cooperating) of where we live smack dab middle of Atlanta and thirty miles outside what used to be the southern environ of the city but is now quickly becoming the southern environ of the city. And it maintains a bit of “out yonder” distinctivenes.

There was this truck/SUV type vehicle parked parallel in front of the convenience store door. Same way as at another place we’d been at earlier. Inside there was one teen. We only saw his outline but it was obviously a teen, sitting in the passenger side up front. Doing a whiplash headbanger dance, head wildly going up and down, hair long enough and something enough that it formed and reformed thrashing mountainous points. (Martysuggests he must have been listening to Bohemian Rhapsody.) Twice he moved from this into a purposeful windmill followed by the drunk style then back to unrelenting and vigorous whiplash style.

As he was firmly, rigidly seated in his car seat it was fairly interesting.

We found this amusing.

Probaby the Man who was Dad emerged once from the store to open the driver’s door, a not very amused expression on his face, said a few words, the boy pausing, and then closed the door and went back inside. We heard no music. I guess Probaby the Man who was Dad’s Son was carrying an Ipod and earphones. Anyway, there seemed a decided “You’re going to break your neck making a fool of me and I’m tired of it” purposefulness to the dad, but as the dad entered the store again the boy went back into the whiplash headbanging dance like he was too far gone and couldn’t help himself. Then a woman emerged from the store who we absolutely believed was mom coming out to say her part, looking disapprovingly on, but instead it was someone else’s mom.

During the mid 70s (”Bohemian Rhapsody was released in 1975) I may have been a dedicated Sex Pistols, velvet Underground, Iggy Pop fan but I loved Queen. Was surrprised though to realize I liked Queen.

When something strikes me musically can stay with me. I remember I was taking photos of the cotton mill and I had just decided Bohemian Rhapsody was a great song and that Freddie Mercury was amazing. I liked how Bohemian Rhapsody dragged you from one theatrical stage to another bam bam bam. I’d been listening to it beforehand on the radio, driving over. Had previouisly ignored the song as I thought Queen all too pretty and smooth and overblown. But something happened that afternoon andclicked for me on the drive to the milll and suddenly I liked Bohemian Rhapsody.

And when Flash Gordon came out I loved it and Queen’s soundtrack.

I wouldn’t mind watching Flash Gordon again. I think we might have it on tape somwhere around here.

Answer a question for me at least once, damn you, or the aloe vera dies

Wednesday, July 5th, 2006

No one ever answers questions I post here. Never mind that next to no one visits; out of the few that do pass through here I know at least one is going to have better plant sense then we do.

I’m currently keeping the majority of the plants in the front room which gets fairly decent morning light up through noon.

My mother-in-law gave me a petunia plant in April and though it sits in the window up front and is regularly watered, it is dying, turning yellow and withering from the roots up. It did fine the first couple of months.

The plants I inherited from upstairs are all turning brown. When I got them they were a healthy green. The women may have skipped on their rent but they weren’t plant killers.

About six weeks ago I got a beautiful aloe vera. I am killing my aloe vera. Am I watering it too much? I feel like I scarcely water it at all. Help. I’m even posting a pic of what is happening.

This is one of the reasons I love cactus, despite just plain enjoying cactus. I pay virtually no attention to them as I don’t know how to treat them and they do fine as long as I respect their prickly wish to be left alone. Sometimes I’ll kill a cactus when I feel sure it must have some water at least once in its life and I water it and soon thereafter it rots.

New York Times picks up the story on Jill Greenberg and Thomas Hawk

Wednesday, July 5th, 2006

Quoting (sometimes just a hair loosely) from Jill Greenberg’s ipodcast with American Photo back in April, looking at the same time of a picture of a crying child titled “Torture” that’s on the page offering the ipodcast…

Some of them cried totally on their own…the shoots last ten minutes, maybe fifteen minutes, it’s all set up….I don’t want to upset the children too much because children don’t really like, that’s not their natural habitat to be in a photo studio without their shirt on and sometimes that makes them cry…and sometimes we give them candy…and take it away…which is an interesting job for my photo assistant…most of which don’t have any children, honestly, being a mother of two children, small children, I know children cry all the time and two minutes later they’re perfectly happy so it’s not like I’m doing them any permanent psychic damage…sometimes I’ll have their moms step out of the studio for a couple of minutes and then come right back… sometimes they won’t cry…and that’s sort of frustrating because we’ve found some gorgeous children who sort of look at me like,,,yeah, you can take away my lollipop that’s not going to make me cry, I’m too professional, most of them are in fact child models…

I’ve always loved images of crying children. They’re so powerful, they’re so emotional and in this age where we’re all image saturated there are still some images that sort of cut through the rest and still make you feel something and still get you and I sort of like that and I like I can sort of have a little bit of a political message at the same time. I try not to take anything too seriously, it’s sort of funny in a way, these children are crying and you know the picture is called Grand Old Party…

Jill has written the faces of the crying children express her own despair over fundamentalism and Bush. Yet, her approach to the children puts her in the camp of what she says she’s fighting. She puts children in a situation where she betrays their trust then denies their emotions as valid (they are temporary tantrums, kids have tantrums) and reforms them to be vehicles of her own feelings.

Alice Miller, who was an Austrian psychoanalyst (and artist, I say “was” a psychoanalyst because she quit her practice) who wondered why her fellow people followed Hitler (now don’t freak that I’ve mentioned Hitler in the same posting as Jill, this paragraph has to do with Alice Miller), has written extensively on this in such books as “Thou Shalt Not Be Aware”. What happened in WWII is a complex, Miller dealing with one facet of it but it is an important facet. How denying the child’s emotions, invalidating and rewriting those emotions for them, sets a stage for cyclical abuse and enthusiastic support for leaders who manipulate and deny reality.How and why the very people they’re injuring can be supportive of them. How children will risk everything, even their own souls, to save their parents and the beliefs of their parents, because their parents are essentially god and god has told them that he/she must be held sacred above all. Nationalism comes straight out of it. It’s difficult for most people to escape this early training because they are brought up to not be aware of it, to be blind to it, to not respect their own feelings.

Ishiguro approaches the same suject in his “Remains of the Day”, an insightful book (made into a movie, you’re all aware) written from the point of view of a butler working for a Englishman who falls under sway of Hitler. Throughout, the butler denies his feelings and experrience in subjugation and devotion to his work, which he has been trained to do by his father (who was also a butler) and class defines honor as an absolute deniial of personal feelings and experience in deference to one’s work (a matter of dignity) and one’s employer (a matter of loyalty).

No, what Jill is doing doesn’t fall under the definition of child abuse. But it remains emotionally abusive and for me renders her work disingenuous.

Jill’s photos of the crying children tend to either arouse sympathetic emotions for a crying child, or a clinical distaste for her style of portraiture. It’s interesting that she set up the children and the audience (witnesses) go, “Ah, look at the poor child crying” which is what she wants, but she also set the child up. And then denied them the realty of their emotions. She betrayed trust but argues that she didn’t really, that the child is less guarded and thus it’s easy to make a three year old cry, for which reason she uses children under the age of three.

“Thou shalt not be aware”, as Alice Miller says, is one of the greatest harms we can do to people and children, denying their feelings, replacing them with our own perceptions through denying them their experience, making them our protectors, and doing it in such a way where they aren’t even aware of it. Where even a smidgen of awareness of conflict between one’s own truth and a manipuator’s remains, it creates a soul-ripping schizophrenic situation. Do you believe your own perceptions or do you deny them for sake of the adult…or the salesman, the conman. When that salesman approaches godhood, it’s safer to enter that state of non-awareness because the parent/god is the protector and one’s life. Without them you have no life, so the parent must be protected. (And I don’t mean “the parent is the child’s life” in the clinical way that people can say it which makes the child sound like a pariah or a flesh-eating disease.) So I must take exception with Jill because her methods are out of sync with what she says is her message. She perpetuates the same ill she says she intends to expose. Do I think Jill ought to be arrested for child abuse? No. Do I think she needs to examine again her perception of children? Yes.

Looking over the blogs and comments that defend Jill Greenberg, most take the attitude that hey kids cry, that’s what they do, quit making such a stupid fuss because that’s what kids do, they cry.

Or they start attacking Thomas Hawk, who gained attention for raising the fuss over Greenberg.

New York Times covered the story this past weekend.

CRY, BABIES — The blogger/photographer Thomas Hawk criticized the photographer Jill Greenberg for making toddlers cry and taking pictures of them. “Child abuse,” he called it (thomashawk.com). Ms. Greenberg also works as a commercial photographer and has shot photos for corporations. Her artistic work, “End Times,” is featured on the Web site of the Paul Kopeikin Gallery. A news release on the site says the pictures of distressed children are a commentary on religious fundamentalism and the war in Iraq (paulkopeikingallery.com).

Mr. Hawk does not buy it. Although “the children are not sexualized, I consider what she is doing child pornography of the worst kind,” he wrote.

She took umbrage — going so far, according to Mr. Hawk, as to contact his employer. She called him “insane” in an interview with American Photo magazine. To get the kids to cry she said she gave them lollipops and then took them away. Others cried without prompting. “Maybe getting kids to cry isn’t the nicest thing to do,” she said, “but I’m not causing anyone permanent psychological damage” (popphoto.com).

In taking on Mr. Hawk, she may be playing with fire. Previously, he took issue with the tactics of an online camera dealer on his blog, bringing the wrath of his readers down upon it. Now the dealer is out of business.

Of course, if you look at Thomas Hawk’s Saturday post (linked above) you’ll see the owner of the Paul Kopeikin Gallery (where Jill is showing) berating Thomas Hawk for the damage he’s doing then thanking him for the promotion as it has increased sales of Jill’s work.

Which is what I supposed would happen down the line of there is no bad press. Jill isn’t an online camera dealer. She’s selling art. Now it is controversial art. It’s a commodity. The people who are buying Greenberg’s images aren’t necessarily buying them because they appreciate any sort of political statement or her art. They are making an investment.

Because we are in need of a family member under married-in obligation to be extra nice to us

Thursday, July 6th, 2006

Because we are in need of a family member under married-in obligation to be extra nice to us, we take serious exception to this…

2 Top Courts Rule Against Gay Marriage
By MARK JOHNSON (Associated Press Writer)
From Associated Press
July 06, 2006 2:15 PM EDT

ALBANY, N.Y. - The highest courts in two states dealt gay rights advocates dual setbacks Thursday, rejecting same-sex couples’ bid to win marriage rights in New York and reinstating a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage in Georgia.

Activists had hoped to widen marriage rights for gays and lesbians beyond Massachusetts with a legal victory in liberal New York, but the Court of Appeals ruled 4-2 that the state’s law allowing marriage only between a man and a woman was constitutional.

The decision comes two years after gay and lesbian couples, supported by gay-rights groups who saw a chance for a major court win in a populous state, sued for the right to wed.

“Clearly, in bringing the case and pushing it as hard as they did, it’s pretty good evidence that they thought they had a substantial chance of victory,” said Ohio State University law professor Marc Spindelman, who tracks lesbian and gay legal issues. “It’s hard to read the decision as anything other than a rebuff of gay and lesbian couples.”

In Georgia, where three-quarters of voters approved a ban on gay marriage when it was on the ballot in 2004, the top court reinstated the ban Thursday, ruling unanimously that it did not violate the state’s single-subject rule for ballot measures. Lawyers for the plaintiffs had argued that the ballot language was misleading, asking voters to decide on same-sex marriage and civil unions, separate issues about which many people had different opinions.

And so on and so forth.

Now, can you tell me what government and corporations give a damn about gay marriage except that legitimizing gay marriages will mean more legal unions which means more benefits to pay out to spouses.

Ok. Maybe there’s more to it than that. Yes, I suppose there is a large block of people for whom the idea of same-sex marriage is an affront to All God’s Acceptable Parts of Creation. They talk about the laws of the Natural when what they mean is what isn’t going to make them sweat at the Sunday dinner table and it’s a very narrow volume listing the parts of All God’s Acceptable Parts of Creation that will fit on the table next to the cream of mushroom soup white lasagna.

In my brain is the Memory Book of Reasons Why Which Once Were and Are Hanging Valiantly On, which I was bequeathed by Majority Rule when a child and I reach back to that dusty shelf and pull it out, open to the page on Marriage and remind myself that oh yes the reason for marriage only and absolutely is for procreation.

They are Wrong. And they know it, but I don’t feel like writing a very long post on how they know it.

H.o.p. has a gay uncle and it would be nice if one day that uncle showed up at Christmas Dinner with This Is My Man. I’d be ecstatic, true love and devotion found, a Family Initiate to take great pleasure in scaring half to death. All I would hope for is that person would have a personality and a sense of humor because we are a dull humorless bunch and need someone to shake us up a bit.

Of course, the prime reason for my wanting H.o.p.’s uncle to meet his match is just so we’ll have someone else to show H.o.p. off to as Family. “Look! You’ve a Nephew-n-law! The only one on this side of the family! H.o.p. has the whole house of Nephew-in-law all to himself, which means you shall cherish him richly and laugh at his jokes and pay especial attention to the significant events in his life. You will tell him he’s wonderful and tell me too how wonderful I am, that will put you in really good stead. You see, the deal is that you are married-in famly and as married-in famly it is your duty to walk that extra mile, to smile the extra smile and grant the extra cheer that no genetic family member would ever grant. Soon enough we shall consider you blood which will make you fair game for contempt, but in the meanwhile, as you look over our minor faults so we shall look over your presumably many minor faults and in case you’re wondering what are acceptable minor faults here’s a list because it’s fair to warn you. Honor this list and when you cry, we shall cry; when you laugh, we shall laugh. Hopefully you will tell us all your business as H.o.p.’s uncle tells us none of his, and we will listen attentively and endeavor to buy for your birthday books and movies that you will actually enjoy, which we can’t do for H.o.p.’s uncle as he holds us and anything we do in great disdain.”

Maybe this is why H.o.p.’s uncle has yet to plunk in the family Christmas lap the This Is My Man.

(Burp. I’m not feeling very good. All day I’ve felt like any minute I was going to either burp or throw up. We know a number of people who’ve had a stomach bug and I’m wondering if I’ve gotten it.)

“Who dares to laugh at the vampire?!”

Thursday, July 6th, 2006

I sit here downloading old animations from the Hollywood Animation Archive Project Blog for H.o.p. Nice to have these made available for download. It’s a great site that provides some animation and cartoon history and knowledge but also is documenting their archiving of cartoons, comics, drawings, etc. There are times when it’s not exactly age appropriate for H.o.p. so I periodically check the site out and find posts that he’d be interested in. We looked at a number of things today as the old ‘toons available at Animation ID that were housed on YouTube have been pulled for probably copyright violation, which is too bad as it is through watching them that was H.o.p. was building an appreciation that might later result in his wanting us to buy DVDs of them.

These animation sites are such a boon for us to be able to root through them, giving H.o.p. some history of the medium and styles.

Right now he’s watching a sort of darkly surreal political cartoon he happened upon that his brain is trying to figure out. Has watched it several times, very quietly, asking me an occasional question about the meaning.

And later right now he’s watching the opening of the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon, which is a hell of a lot of fun.

He now has the promised tripod and has been trying it out.

We had a fun time the other day. He wanted me to film him pretending to be a vampire. He wrapped a blanket around himself and went and stood in the corner then slowly looked back at me over his shoulder. I cracked up laughing, at which point H.o.p. decided it would no longer be a drama, instead it was going to be a comedy. Over and over he had me film him as he turned, I would laugh, and he’d intone, “Who dares to laugh at the vampire!” as he advanced and then did a prat fall on the blanket.