What Potential Catastrophes Do You Live With?

 My girlfriend in California and her husband -- he's looking at the waves hitting the windows of the restaurant.  I can't imagine what she's doing.

 

For years the residents of New Orleans, like those in Florida and other gulf states, have lived with the threat of hurricanes hanging over their heads. Camille and Betsy came through and scared the poop out of everybody, but didn't make direct hits. All this time people have known something like Katrina could happen. Not enough to do something about it. Just enough to know it could happen. Living in low lying New Orleans has meant living with a hum of anxiety making white noise in the background of their lives.

But New Orleans is small potatoes compared to some other places in the country. I have a girlfriend who lives in Malibu, California, another IT'S JUST A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE A DISASTER HITS town. She left the relative safety of Chicago's environs for the excitment of Tinseltown. Excitement she didn't bargain for.

Her punishment for that has been the following:  The fires that raged through the Santa Monica mountains a decade or so ago burned her dream house to the ground. To add insult to injury, there was a working fire hydrant on their property, but none of the fire trucks driving up the hill would stop to help save her house.

Meanwhile, while the fires burned, there were dozens of fire engines from all over California lined up along the Pacific Coast Highway. They were just sitting there, doing nothing. How come they weren't putting out fires? Because they had no idea where anything was. Nothing had been done to coordinate the out of town firefighter resources with directions to get to where they were needed.

Following the fire my friend and her family moved to a beach house for two years while her other house was rebuilt -- this time without any wood. The spray from the ocean left a film of salt on everything, prematurely rusting anything with metal or working parts. Plus the only way to get out of their garage was to back out into 55 MPH traffic on PCH.

While living on the beach in a house on sticks, a huge earthquake hit the area.

Aside from the fact that her husband leaped out of bed and ran outside stark naked only to realize he'd left her behind, my friend made her way out to discover a huge boulder had come crashing down the side of the hill and stopped only about ten feet from the house. Had it continued rolling, the entire house could have been pushed into the ocean.

Over the years mudslides have rendered one of the two access roads to her newly rebuilt home impassable. The other road winds around the mountain for two and a half miles, while clinging to the edge of a five hundred foot drop into a canyon.

But fires are her biggest concern. September is fire season in LA.  Every year the Santa Anas start blowing their ill winds and my friend starts getting antsy. Once you've been through a disaster and survived with only your life and what you could take in your car, you never really recover from the experience.

So for the next couple of months she will be on edge, watching the ridge of mountains across from their house for any signs of smoke. Until the rains come.

Fortunately, the rest of the year she only has to worry about earthquakes and mudslides.

Katrina Will Touch Us All

This has been a harrowing time for many people who keep journals. And those of us who consider them our friends.  

Sam, our j-land friend from Georgia LINK HERE has relatives from both sides of his family in Louisiana. It was touch and go, but it looks like everyone is safe. If you have time to send him good wishes, you may want to email him at gaboatman or stop by his journal.

Here's some of the note he sent to me right after Katrina hit:

I didn't comment today. My heart just wasn't into it. Both sides of my family are from Louisiana although I have never lived in that state.

Mom's side of the family is the Southern Louisiana half of the family with most of our relatives living in and around Franklinton, La.  Franklinton is about 75 or 80 miles north of New Orleans.  My father's kin all live in the northeastern part of the state in Winfield, Louisiana.

My sister moved to Slidell several years ago.  They have/had a home just northwest of Slidell on the Pearl River.  A nice house with a boat dock, swimming pool and big yard.

They keep a boat on Lake Ponchartrain.  All of my sister's husband's family live in New Orleans.  She and her husband both work in New Orleans.

There is one saving grace to all of this.  My sister is in the Army Reserve and is assigned to active duty at Ft. Polk, Louisiana which is five hours north of New Orleans. Her husband went to stay in Franklinton at my first cousin's house so he was not in the area when the storm hit.  He and everyone in Franklinton are okay and alive.

We are waiting to hear if ANY of my sister's house is left or if the boat is still there.

There are so many going through this tragedy right now that are so far worse off than my family, I know that my closest family members are safe this morning and have shelter, what I don't know is if my sister has anything left of her house. 

The last report I received last night on the condition of Slidell is that the entire town is under water and that the water in some neighborhoods is up over the roofs.  But they are alive!  I am so thankful!


We wish you and your family well, Sam. Keep us posted.  

Sue New Orleans for Negligence

Some things seem obvious to me. If you live below sea level you are going to get wet.

Did the elected officials of New Orleans not realize this? Based on the devastation being wreaked on that town, I think we should sue them for negligence. What they have failed to do to keep the deluge out will ultimately affect all of us.

For some reason they chose not to put a thorough effort into bolstering the ancient levees down there. Not just to protect the people of the city, but to protect the economy of the country. I can hear echoes of "not my job" even as cars are being swept away.

It is becoming very apparent that New Orleans wanted us to think that the town was just a great place to party.

Turns out it's the largest and most important port in the United States. The fifth largest in the world.

Didn't somebody in charge know this? Didn't it occur to anyone to take steps to build a better infrastructure to protect the port and keep it open?

One might also think safeguards would be in place to insure the quick recovery of the city's transportation and power. It doesn't sound like that's going to happen.

The failure of these systems is beginning to give new meaning to Roll Tide.

One levee has already given out. Throughout this whole mess, people have been talking with assurance about the damage the water can do when left to its own devices. If they knew this, why wasn't that city better prepared?

Did you see the footage of  the Super Dome? How the skin peeled off the roof, raining down a ton of water on all those people who trusted they would be safe when they couldn't get out of town?  How could that not shake the confidence of anyone who lives and works there? What an embarrassment.

Apparently the magnanimous gesture of the Mayor to offer refuge failed to include providing extra toilets, or any kind of generator to keep the air circulating. So the smell of sewage mixed with the odor of all those bodies in the heat and humidity is conspiring to make every breath the refugees take seem like their noses are firmly planted in the crotch of a pair of sweaty shorts.

For a town that lives at the mercy of Mother Nature, it's surprising that the walls around the city haven't been built a little better. I guess someone figured if things only get destroyed every forty years or so, no big deal.  

Water has been causing trouble in those parts for quite some time. There's a tradition in New Orleans to keep a axe in the attic. That's so you can break through the roof when the water hits the rafters. We could see where one guy did just that before the Coast Guard helicopter was able to get to him.

Some poor man, Harvey Jackson, lost his grip on his wife as she was swept away. This didn't have to happen. I live in a town that lost 700 people one summer because of the heat. The city learned its lesson and put cooling centers in place, and began to do house checks on the elderly among other things. People rarely die from the heat now.

New Orleans and the nearby cities have been hit hard by hurricanes before, what lessons have they learned?

The bigger issue is that this hurricane damage isn't just a problem for the people in New Orleans. It's going to affect us all way more than I realized until I started watching some of the coverage.

I remember the seventies when OPEC withheld production and gas prices tripled and quadrupled. The gas stations instituted a cost savings program that included pumping one's own gas. O-o-o-o-o, that helped. I was waiting for OPEC to pull another stunt again and render our SUVs useless, except to the very wealthy. They sure got up a head of steam recently.

But who knew we would end up doing most of the economic damage to ourselves when Katrina came along.

Now that we see how vulnerable and unprotected New Orleans was, Katrina makes OPEC look like a bunch of fat old men sitting around smoking cigars.

That bitch is not only messing with the refineries, but New Orleans turns out to be the major port in the country for delivery of grain to the world, steel for our cars, and a conduit for all the major waterways in the heartland.  In fact if you look at the country's arterial-like rivers, the HEARTland not only looks like a huge circulatory system, but it has just suffered a major infarct.

One quarter of everything the US exports passes through the port of Louisiana. Disrupt the port and you disrupt our whole economy. Terrorists couldn't have dreamed up a better scenario for taking us down.

Our own sense of invincibility has left us vulnerable again.  And this time we did it to ourselves.

New Orleans has dodged so many bullets with hurricanes heading their way then turning left or right that they probably thought they were immune.

The powers that be probably knew they were gambling with the safety of their citizens, but did they consider they were also gambling with the economy of the entire country? Turns out they lost. Now it's going to cost New Orleans many lives and the rest of us more than we possibly imagined.

I say sue the bastards.

Monday Photo Shoot -- First Day of School

  

 


What do young men do when high school football season starts?  They shave their heads. All four sides. Here is the son of friends with his shorn pate for the record.

UPDATE:  First football game of the season.  Guess who ran for three touchdowns and about 150 yards as his team beat their opponents 42 to 14?

Our Constitution vs. Their Consitution

Here's the preamble to our constitution:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.


Here's the preamble to their constitution:

The people of Iraq, striving to reclaim their freedom, which was usurped by the previous tyrannical regime, rejecting violence and coercion in all their forms, and particularly when used as instruments of governance, have determined that they shall hereafter remain a free people governed under the rule of law. These people, affirming today their respect for international law, especially having been amongst the founders of the United Nations, working to reclaim their legitimate place among nations, have endeavored at the same time to preserve the unity of their homeland in a spirit of fraternity and solidarity in order to draw the features of the future new Iraq, and to establish the mechanisms aiming, amongst other aims, to erase the effects of racist and sectarian policies and practices. This Law is now established to govern the affairs of Iraq during the transitional period until a duly elected government, operating under a permanent and legitimate constitution achieving full democracy, shall come into being.
 
See what happens when you get lawyers writing this stuff?

Truth or Dare TWO

In which Mrs. Linklater never ceases to be entertained by men on the internet.

Instant messages from the last couple of weeks:

HIM: Hi, how would you like to have dinner with me when I'm in Chicago?
ME: Can I wear my hiking boots?

The guy owns a hardware store out west and he's coming in for a lawn and garden convention. I don't know him at all. But who wouldn't jump at the chance to meet a man in such a fascinating line of work?

More than once he offers me the chance to have a fancy meal with him at the restaurant of my choice. A dinner cruise even.  And, he hints, perhaps even more.

ME: But I don't even know you.
HIM: We'll get to know each other. Have drinks first. 
ME: I don't drink.
HIM: Well, we can talk.
ME: How soon before you make your move?  

What is it about the offer of free food that makes a man think you'll want to reciprocate with sex? Before even knowing his name or what he looks like? And his one had nothing to brag about.


HIM: You must have great legs.
ME: Based on what?
HIM:  Based on how pretty your picture is.  
ME: [GROAN] I'm almost six feet tall. How tall are you?
HIM:  I'm five eleven and three quarters. [TRANSLATON: 5'9"]
ME:  You have me at a disadvantage because I don't have a picture of you.
SENDS A PICTURE OF A MIDDLE AGED MAN WITH A PAUNCH AND HAIR THAT LOOKS DYED BLACK.
ME: Oh my!  

I used to think that only good looking guys were willing to swap pictures. But I was wrong, apparently.


HIM:  I'm married and looking for someone to have an occasional get together with.
ME: How soon can you get here?
HIM:  LOL. Really?
ME:  No.

Lots of married guys trolling. With no plans to divorce. Just looking for a freebie.  


HIM  Are you into K9?
ME: I'll bite, what do you mean by K9?
HIM:  I'll send you a video.  It's pretty graphic.
HE SENDS ME A VIDEO THAT IS GRAPHIC IN WAYS I HAVE NEVER IMAGINED. I SHOULD BE MORTIFIED. BUT I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING, BECAUSE I'M AMAZED THAT PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO THIS STUFF. OF COURSE, I WATCH IT AGAIN.
ME:  I love dogs.  But this is a usage I hadn't ever considered before.  

There are shoe guys, foot guys, lingerie guys, looking for submissive women guys, all kinds of guys -- AOL is a regular bonfire of vanities and fetishes. And they're not shy about asking if you'll go along.

One guy, who lived a little too close to my neighborhood for comfort, kept IM-ing when he saw me on in the morning. He continually asked if he could take care of me. He wanted to cook, clean, and give me massages. But then he sent his picture [hey, never say never] and I had to tell me him wasn't my type -- I have no problem with bald guys, but I had a problem with that bald guy.


HIM: Hi, 30/M/single. Want to play truth or dare?
ME: Okay, tell me the truth -- have you EVER had a girlfriend?
HIM:  How do you mean girlfriend?
ME:  That's okay, you answered my question.

I am older than all these guys by a minimum of nine years. In one case, by more than thirty years.  They don't even blink.  Because the Mrs. Robinson factor kicks in.

What is the Mrs. Robinson factor?  That any woman who is older would be willing to hook up with a guy as long as he's younger. No wining and dining necessary. No strings. No regrets. No responsibility. I believe the thinking goes like this:  Dustin Hoffman was a geek. I'm a nerd, which is like a geek. Hey, I'm in.


To conclude this week's episode, if you chat for more than five minutes there is one question that always comes up. It is inevitable.

HIM:  Do you have any more pictures? [TRANSLATION: CAN YOU SHOW ME YOUR HOOTERS?]
ME: I have my high school graduation picture.  It's a little dated.
HIM:  LOL, no really.
ME:  No.  Really.

I started saving these IM conversations because no one would believe me otherwise. Now I'm saving them because I can't believe them myself.

This Is So Sad

Is anyone else as pleased as I am that re-runs of early West Wing episodes are on ABC on Saturday nights late? 

Has there been any more fast paced and dense dialogue since Moonlighting? Or the Gilmore Girls?

Is anyone else as thrilled as I am that James Spader and Denny Crane are in re-runs on Sunday nights?  

How old to you have to be to think this is wonderful? So wonderful that staying home on Saturday nights or getting in early seems like a great idea? 

The youngest person I know who is happy about these re-runs is a forty-seven year old heterosexual male. And he gets in even earlier than I do, so he won't miss the old Baretta episodes they're running now on cable, too. 

Excuse me while I check my AARP membership card to see when it expires. 

Patrick's Saturday Six Summer's Almost Over Edition

1. What is your current desktop picture?  What made you select it?

It's whatever came with the MAC.  A swirly thing on a field of blue.

2. A close friend who you consider to be up to date on fashion suggests that you should update your look and offers to pay for a session with an experienced hairstylist you've never dealt with before.  Knowing that it's free, would you go?

A free hairdo.  I'm in!!!!!!

3. When you do look in a mirror, what is the first thing you usually look at?

The mirror. To see if it's dirty. So I can clean it. HA!! Like that would happen. I can see if I'm having a bad hair day just fine through all those toothpaste splashes.

4. Take this quiz:  Which Bugs Bunny character are you?

When I saw this I thought I'd better be Wile E. Coyote or my life is ruined.  So you can understand why I laughed out loud when I saw what character I am:

Wile E. Coyote!
You scored 71 aggression, 71 sophistication, 57 optimism

You are intelligent, sophisticated, and the physical personification of the can-do attitude.  No matter how many times something blows up in your face [figuratively or literally] or a prized project collapses around you, you will pick yourself up and try try again. There is a good chance that you are very skilled inproblem solving and would probably make a fine engineer. Your main weaknesses [and this is likely obvious to everyone but yourself] are your overconfidence and complete lack of perspective.  When you inevitably fail at a task [you can't possibly achieve all of the lofty goals you set for yourself] you tend to take it personally.  If you are not careful, you can become thoroughly obsessed with what is not really a very meaty goal.  Try taking a step back from time to time and figure out for yourself if it is really worth it, or if your talents could be best put towards a more rewarding goal.  Also, your desire for things to work out the way you've planned can make you a bit gullible.

It's all true, of course.

5. What label seems to describe you the best as a whole?

Loose cannon. A Rules Are Made To Be Broken Woman. Always have been.  Always will be.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #60 from Stacy: Is there a specific person that you credit with your successes? and HOW did they help you?

Is this for the Academy Awards or something? All my successes and failures are mine. I get all the credit. And I will take all the blame. Except for parents paying for college and buying me a car for graduation, my life has been spent on my time and my dime. 

Ask Mrs. Linklater "Mommie Dearest" Edition

Out of necessity, Mrs. Linklater leaves her favorite spot, standing with the refrigerator door open, to once again prevent another advice column crime against humanity.  

Whenever she sees the M word in the headline, Mrs. L knows it's just a matter of time before she has to hike up her bra and come to the rescue of someone with a Mother From Hell. Nobody can take on these Monster Moms like Mrs. Linklater.  Unfortunately the advice columnist gets first crack.

HEARTSTOPPING HEADLINE:
The clear picture: Mom is cruel

JEANNE PHILLIPS [DEAR ABBY]
Published August 26, 2005 Chicago Tribune

Dear Abby: I am not a pretty woman, and I'm certainly not photogenic. Over the years I have been in numerous pictures -- some with family members, some alone on special occasions.

When my family has get-togethers with other family members and/or friends, my mother always brings photographs that show me in the most unflattering poses or circumstances. I have told her this is hurtful and asked her to please stop. She says I'm a "poor sport" and that people aren't laughing at me, just at the picture.

I'm tired of being laughed at, and after 50 years, I think she should stop making me feel bad. Why does she do this, and do you think I'm just a poor sport?

-- Negative About the Photos, Manhattan, Kan.

Dear Negative: You're not a poor sport; your mother has a cruel streak. No one taught her that true humor lies inthe ability to laugh with people rather than atthem.

Because this has been her pattern for 50 years, it's unlikely you will ever change her. However, it may console you to know that by insisting on displaying those unflattering pictures, your mother is revealing more about her character than anything in the photos.


Holy Joan Crawford Eyebrows!!! Mrs. Linklater is here to spoil someone's day, so let's start with Dear Abby.

Abby, is anybody home? Basically your advice to this fifty year victim of a cruel and unusual mother is to DO NOTHING?!

She's already done that for fifty years.  If ever there was an opportunity to take this to the next level, it is today!

Mrs. Linklater has one word to cure this wicked witch masquerading as a nurturing parent -- PHOTOSHOP.

No need to resort to a website with Mom's head superimposed over nude photos, although the thought did cross Mrs. L's mind.

A framed photo of her head with the body of a babe in a dominatrix outfit, complete with black bustier, thigh high boots, and a black leather whip is much faster and far less expensive.  

You can leave this little momento surreptitiously on the night table, the piano, or any place there are family pictures arranged in a group.  

The daughter can make arrangements to visit all the relatives and family friends and leave more copies around their homes when they think she's gone to the bathroom.

Should she run out of money for frames she can just slip one into a family album. Or stick one on a refrigerator that's already full of family photos.

If the dominatrix outfit seems a bit over the top, and Mrs. Linklater can't see how that would be possible, the body of a typical "big-boned" American, frolicking at the beach, is another option for this vendetta, sorry, justified payback.  

If there's time, a whole series of photos created with Mom's head on some very scary bodies could be made into a leatherbound album with OUR DEAR MOTHER embossed on the front. Her daughter could leave it on a coffee table at the next family gathering when no one's in the room.  

It may take awhile, but slowly, members of the family will begin to notice the unusual photo in their midst and start calling Mom to ask her about it.  Or somebody watching TV might notice the album during the get together and run to show it to everyone.

New albums and new photos should continue to appear until Mom is embarrassed enough to end her nasty ways. And write I THINK MY DAUGHTER IS A LOVELY PERSON INSIDE AND OUT a hundred times on the blackboard.    

Just so she doesn't completely violate the terms of her parole, Mrs. Linklater's stealth plan to Stick it to Mom also includes assertiveness training and a makeover for the allegedly unphotogenic daughter. Perhaps a new hairdo, makeup and maybe some those da Vinci veneers.  

Who knew a life of service could be so rewarding?

Guess Who's Back?

LINK:  JeffComedy

Think of this as his BEFORE picture.

 

GOT THE WANTS? WHAT DO YOU WANT TO GET?

Scalzi's weekend assignment is to reveal something you WANT. For instance, he wants to upgrade his digital camera to a D50 Nikon. For some of us, toys aren't enough.

I want to upgrade my eensy weensy house to a home on top of a mountain in Hawaii.  A home that has a roof that opens up to the sky so I can see the stars and the moon at night.

A home that has no walls [except a few well placed for privacy]  A home that has a stream running throughout with some waterfalls.

A home that has a fireplace in the center of everything -- a circular column of black marble with water streaming down the sides and a fireplace underneath, all surrounded by a sofa.

A home with indoor trees and plants arranged in natural settings not pots. With lots of native flowers in bloom throughout so the air smells fragrant all the time. And a gentle breeze bringing the outdoors into the rooms.

A home with bathrooms that are large and open with views of the mountainside through plate glass windows in the shower.

I think I'm going to need a helicopter to get up there, so better build some kind of landing pad for it.

Okay, time to come back down to earth.

EXTRA CREDIT:  Will this make you happy? Let me move in and I'll let you know.

Indian Feast

The occasion for this orgy of food was a gathering of old friends. Everyone was circling the drain around sixty years old. Some a little closer to it than others.

Karen, myhighschoolfriendwholivesinParis -- that's one word -- was in town to visit her brother, Brent. She invited me, her brother Brent's high school chum, Kathy, and Anthony, an ex boyfriend of mine, whom she dated, too. Anthony is the ex of emmapeeldallas who writes Talking to Myself. He is also available for weddings at bar mitzvahs.

Our out of work actor waiter was  part Indian, part something from a country no longer in business, and a citizen of Kuwait.  He used to have  a British accent, which, in order to get more jobs, he got rid of.  I asked how did you do that?  He said, "I am an ACTOR!" 

This is  the only Indian dish I can identify. Scooped out oranges with sherbet inside, frozen, then sliced.  Hmmm.  This is dessert.  I would have put it last, but figuring that out would take another couple of days.

 I have no clue what this is, but it sure was good.
And what was this?  Got me, but the flavors were marvelous.

The mystery continues.  You just have to trust it's going to be good.
Something with rice. Even my pathetic palette can recognize
that.




I remember that this looked more interesting than it tasted.  Wait a minute, where is that orange dish, the one with all the paprika?

   Here it is.  Phew.

Hair

 
I was looking through my pictures from Las Vegas and I found this shot of my older daughter that I took on Christmas Day. Sixty degrees and clear, it was a very nice day. I remember thinking how smooth, straight and pretty her hair looked.  I also know that her hair is very curly naturally. Like her sister's. And like mine used to be. I'll get a picture to prove it. [See below.]

I also remember a story she told me about my ex-husband. He has naturally curly hair, too.  

When we were first married, he used to make fun of my curly hair. It wasn't in fashion in the early seventies, so I made every effort to Dippity Do it smooth. I stepped out of the shower one time with long curly ringlets only to have him hand me my ukelele and ask me to sing Tip Toe Through The Tulips. So, I just assumed he knew I had naturally curly hair.

[If you don't understand that Tiny Tim reference, sorry.]

For the most part during my marriage I didn't wear my hair natural. I used big rollers, hot rollers, whatever I could just to calm it down and make it wavy. When I got divorced and went back to work, I realized that I had wash and wear hair. And curly was cool now. I could save a ton of time just leaving it wet and letting it dry on the way to work.

One weekend a few years later, my daughter made some comment to her dad about the difficulties of dealing with naturally curly hair -- a problem she blamed me for inheriting. And my ex said, NOOOO, I didn't have naturally curly hair. It was a perm. I was so insulted. Ha. After eight years of marriage he didn't know I had naturally curly hair. Who was he sleeping with? Better not go there.
  Front View of My Older Daughter

In college my friends used to watch my hair transform from early morning smooth to afternoon frizzy walking to classes in the North Carolina heat and humidity. They'd tell me to stick my head out the window so they could tell what the weather was like.

My daughter didn't argue with her dad's opinion. He's very sensitive about being told he's full of shit. Instead she just told me what he said and we had a good laugh.

I worked with a guy once in the eighties who had curly golden locks. By that time I did too. The curl was natural. The blond wasn't. Everyone thought my curls were from a perm and his was natural. I didn't help matters by blowing it dry and wearing it straight once in awhile. "Hey, wasn't your hair curly yesterday?"  But the truth was his wife used to give him a perm every couple of months.  And I was the natural one.

Now with flat irons we can smooth out the frizz fast. And make our hair stick straight. Or use product to enhance the curls. Either way people assume you're trying to fool them into thinking you're something you're not. And they take great pleasure in accusing you of trying to fool Mother Nature.

And the problem withthat is?

Mrs. Linklater [Big Bird to you] in the eighties at a college reunion

Hooters

This entry has been posted to assuage the disappointment of those who had hoped to see headlights instead of shoes in the previous entry. I'm here to help.

Scalzi's Monday Photo Shoot -- Two of Something

 



These shoes belong to my former college roommate. She's wearing them in case you can't tell. These are just one of many pairs of shoes she has. In fact, she has so many different kinds of shoes that I stopped taking pictures of her and started taking pictures of her shoes instead.  Who knew they would come in handy for one of Scalzi's photo assignments.  I guess I owe her lunch or something.

Patrick's Saturday Six Back to School Edition

1. Other than the "Saturday Six," what weekly or daily memes do you play most often?  (Please give a link to that journal.)

None of them.  Zippo.  Zero.  Nada.

2. If you could look back at photos you know of that were taken during your childhood, from your first school pictures to snapshots taken ten years ago, which one do you think would be the most embarrassing and why?

For years I thought the most embarrassing photo of me was taken by a boyfriend who was a professional photographer. One day he knocked on the bathroom door and when I opened it up he was standing there with his camera snapping pictures.

I was in my panties and nothing else. I screamed and covered up the two things that went on to provide sustenance for my children, but, too late. For years I worried that those photos would show up on the internet, but now I'd just like to see them.  

3. What was the last thing you made yourself do, even though you really didn't want to?

I made myself eat some food even though I wasn't hungry.  I have a tendency to forget about eating. And when I catch up I fill up the tank.  That's not smart.  So I try to eat little bits all day long.  Cherry yogurt with bits of cherries, a bowl of fruit with bits of granola, a big salad with bits of chicken, cheese and croutons, and a bag of Riesen's chocolate with bits of Werther's toffee to wash it down.

4. Take this quiz:  How do you live your life?

I took this quiz yesterday and I can't remember what it said.  So much for shortterm memory.  I'll take it again and let you know.

Here are the results:
How You Live Your Life
You have a good sense of self control and hate to show weakness.
You tend to avoid confrontation and stay away from sticky situations.
Your friends tend to be a as quirky as you are - which is saying a lot!
You tend to dream big, but you worry that your dreams aren't attainable.

5. What was the last book you started but never finished (aside from any you're currently reading)? Why did you stop reading it?

I leave unfinished books all over the country. Every time I visit a friend I start a book while I'm there.  But I never have time to finish it. Even though I prefer non fiction, I'll read almost anything. When I'm visiting friends in New Jersey I catch up on my Tom Clancy and other bestsellers. When I'm out in LA I read all kinds of artsy fartsy books. In Montana, I catch up on cowboy lore. Probably the one book I want to finish more than any of them is LONDON, which chronicles the history of that great city over the past 2000 years. I started that when I was in London,how appropriate, visitingone of my daughters. Since it's at least 500 or 600 pages, I'm sure it will take me a long time if I only read it during my visits.

6. Are you named after anyone?  Has anyone ever been named after you?

My mother's name was Evelyn and my middle name is Lyn with one "n," in her honor.

Nobody's ever been named after me, but a friend used my younger daughter's name in a commercial.  I got a call right after her birth. "What did you name your baby?"  And the next thing I knew, she was on TV.  Her name, at least.

Judithheartsong's Artsy Essay Contest for August

 
The subject this month is "I Believe." Link to the contest, HERE.

To illustrate this essay on what I believe, I have posted a photograph of myself taken almost forty years ago, when I believed I was still a technical virgin.

Let's get things started with a paraphrase of Crash Davis in Bull Durham.  

I believe in rock and roll and that my butt looks too fat. I believe I can be easily distracted by the slope of a man's shoulders, the smell of his sweat and the sound of him opening a beer. I believe there's something spiritual in a mountain sunset and a full rainbow across the sky, and that watching the self-absorbed movies of Stanley Kubrick will always be a complete waste of time. I believe Bill Clinton acted like a fool and so do the Bush daughters. I believe there ought to be a law against combovers and black socks with sandals. I believe that the g spot is is a figment of someone's imagination, that chat rooms are the new pornography, that Thanksgiving has always been a better holiday than Christmas, and that if given the choice, I would rather stay in bed and order room service for three long, uninterrupted days.

If you smiled during any of this, then you know that I believe there is humor in everything.  

This was a lesson I learned during the saddest point of my life, when my mother died a month before my twenty-third birthday.

After weeks of driving home from the hospital sobbing in the car and thinking I couldn't be any sadder, I was dropped into a maelstrom of grief that plunged me into total despair when she died. My heart ached so much, it was hard to breathe. I broke out in hives, which my analyst father interpreted as unshed tears. Swallowing became difficult because I had the continuous sensation of a lump in my throat.

My anguish aside, there were arrangements to make. Little did I know what impact they would have.

Soon after my mother passed away, I had my first meeting with the funeral director. Before she died, she had chosen a local funeral home that was very close to where we lived, instead of the fancy one in the next town.

The funeral director's name was Freddy Coffin. C-O-F-F-I-N. Did she know? I already knew Freddy from school, although I never knew what his family's business was. Nobody wanted to get that close to him. I had managed to avoid him until my mother died, because he had been held back a year in fifth grade while the rest of us moved on.

Most funeral directors greet you in a dark suit, a white shirt and a tie. They speak in reverent, hushed tones and refer to the deceased as if he or she were a former head of state.

Freddy was sitting behind a desk in his office, wearing an open collared shirt with a button missing just above his belt, revealing a fat, hairy stomach. He looked and vaguely smelled like he'd just come up from working in the basement. From time to time as we talked, he sipped from a can of soda next to him.

I began to have an out of body experience.  I was no longer sitting in a chair in front of this ghoulish apparition. I was watching from a place on the ceiling.

FREDDY:  Your mom looks pretty bad. She's lost a lot of weight.

ME:  Well, she had cancer, Freddy.

What was he doing with my mother's body?

FREDDY:  I put some red nail polish on her fingernails. I think it looks very nice.

ME:  She never wears red polish, Freddy. Only clear. Take it off.

What was he doing with my mother's body?

I had brought one of her favorite outfits for her to wear. I even had a diagram for how to arrange the scarf on the dress exactly the way she liked it. As I tried to explain all the details of how to accessorize her clothes, I looked up at Freddy and suddenly realized that he didn't care.

Ordinarily I would have gone ballistic because my mother was dead and it felt like her body was being defiled. But in a split second, a strange sense of peace came over me. and the rage that was rising suddenly evaporated.  I heard two words, "It's okay."  I don't know where they came from.

Instead of trying to gain control of what was becoming a living nightmare or some kind of cosmic joke, I let it go and decided just to watch the absurdity unfold.

The next character in this black comedy was my mother's hairdresser. His shop was across the street from the funeral home. Because of the chemo, she had lost her hair and wore wigs. He had washed and styled one of hers and was dying to see how it looked. I agreed to meet him at the funeral home so he could see her laid out in the casket.

We walked up to see her together. He was wearing a baby blue barber's shirt and had his little dog with him. I remember thinking I'd never seen a dog in a funeral home before.

HAIRDRESSER: Oh my gawd, she looks awful! So thin. But the wig looks fabulous!

Then he turned around with a flamboyant flourish and left.

Now it was my turn to look at my mom lying in the casket. Except that I didn't notice her. I only saw the outfit. It looked like it had been put on backwards. I also noticed her nails and I could see traces of the red polish I'd told Freddy Coffin to remove.    

And I heard, "It's okay."

Later, during the wake, one of my mother's friends pulled me aside and said, "How does she look?" I said she looks a little thin. Casting a furtive glance in the direction of her coffin, he said, "I can't look at dead bodies, I just can't."  I told him it was okay.

A few days later someone called from the company that made my mother's wigs.  

"Her new wig is ready for pick up."

"She died last week."

"Well, tell her the wig is ready for pick up."  

I didn't really look for the humor in my mother's death and funeral. The humor hit me like a pie in the face. After she died I began looking for it in any situation.

Finding something funny where nothing funny seems possible can diffuse anger, salve a wound, lift a spirit, break the tension, and even bring someone back from thebrink of despair. It may be slapstick, corny, cerebral, physical, or black, but a funny moment can save the day.

Humor became my way of saying to someone, "It's okay."

Ironically, those were the saddest days of my life.  Nothing was funny then.

Everything is funny now.


I chose the picture above primarily to show you how sad I was most of the time. All the pictures of me from back then are pensive. I never seem to be smiling when caught in repose.

Looks Like The Coyotes Are Trying To Tell Us Something, Pappy

 

I talked to my girlfriend in Bozeman today. Her life used to resemble mine, because she once lived only five miles away. Then she moved to Montana, where there is a hamburger place in her town called Bob's, with a neon sign out front that says SORRY, WE'RE OPEN. She's got eagles instead of pigeons sitting on her fences, and mountains instead of Chem Lawn trucks out her front door. Not to mention elk steaks for dinner. No more frou frou chef salad crap for her.

She says the birds are all gathering like they're getting ready to leave town. The skunks and coyotes are also coming down from the mountains. Granted none of this seems like much on the face of it. But this movement of animals is all happening six weeks early.

An early migration means it's going to be a nasty winter. So what do the birds, skunks and coyotes leaving Montana have to do with me sitting here in Chicago?

Well, if you look at a map of the country and  follow the weather patterns, lots of stuff comes down the pike from out there yonder. I have scientific proof, too. Everytime my friend calls from Bozeman I ask her what the weather is that day. That's so I know what to wear the day after tomorrow. Really. Because, for some reason, their weather becomes our weather about forty-eight hours later. 

Montana, by the way, has been having a bad drought. This summer Chicago had the worst drought since they started keeping records.  So, if this early bird, coyote, and skunk warning holds up, Chicago is going to be hit with some hellacious weather in a few months. 

After paying almost eight hundred dollars for a turbo-charged, dual carb, hemi snow thrower that I used exactly once last winter, I'm not feeling too bad about a chance to put that baby to work again. So bring it on.

Maybe I can find the picture I took of my neighbor's fence after one pass down my driveway with that monster machine.

The fancy fence they put up within ten minutes of moving in.

The fence that's six inches higher than code. 

The fence that almost got installed in the middle of my garden except for an accident of fate that found me at home, so I could come running out my back door screaming at the migrant worker, "No, no, no, that's my property you're digging that hole in."

That fence. All covered with a two foot layer of snow graffiti. A nice touch if I say so myself.  

The bad news is that we may have to brace for some heavy duty winter weather coming from Montana. The good news is that I'll have a chance to fling two more feet of snow up and down that fence again.

There's always a silver lining.

Audio entry that should have been deleted

The Institution of Marriage Part Three

FIRST DRAFT EVERCHANGING

Margaret Mead, the famous anthropologist, thought that society had marriage and divorce reversed. It was too easy to get married, she thought. And too hard to get divorced.

She proposed that getting married should be difficult, but divorce should be easy.

As I recall, she had two levels of marriage in mind.  One was marriage without children. After five years you would decide whether you wanted to split up, stay the same, or move on to the next level  The next level was marriage with the expressed purpose of having children.

It would be very tough to get into that second group. In fact, until you were accepted everybody would be on the pill, If you got preggers by "accident" you'd have to pay a huge fine and agree to hormone implants.

Actually, enough time has passed since Ms. Mead died that co-habitating has taken over her idea of the first kind of marriage.  These days hetersexual AND homosexual couples often decide to get married only when they have a child on the way or they want to make one. There seems to be no rush to marry when the couples don't have religious or parental pressure.

In any event, Mrs. Linklater thinks Ms. Mead was onto something. She likes the idea of making it hard to get married if you want to have children. Really hard.

Put the future parents through boot camp to earn their license. And make them pay for the privilege, too. Save that money for the kids' twenty-first birthdays.

At the very least, Mrs. Linklater's Rules for Marriage, as spelled out by the Manuel [ha, there's a thought, Manuel the Marriage Rules Guy], would include some or all of the following:

A prenuptial agreement that describes exactly what property and money is being brought into the marriage by both parties. The Las Vegas ash tray is his. The John Stamos poster is hers.

Every year, the loot would be reviewed and various household items, cars, etc., would be added to each one of their lists. That bobblehead doll is his. That rabbit thing from the adult store is hers. Any inequities would be balanced out with cash or tickets to the play offs.

The number of children would be agreed to ahead of time, but this could be amended up, although only with the consent of both parties. "We need another boy."  "No we don't."  "Yes, we do."  Which brings up another thought -- rules for choosing the sex of your children.

There should be a lie detector test for both individuals. With lots of questions about their histories, including what happened at the class party senior year with that chick Tammy. And the truth about weird Uncle Al. They have to fess up to how much they both drink, smoke, and lurk in chat rooms. Stuff that can come back to bite a marriage on the butt.

If problems with the truth came up -- like say, what the definition of sex is, the marriage could be called off, or postponed or delayed until the appropriate fix had been made.

Each person would take some test, certified by someone who would annoy them both, Dr. Phil for instance, to find out if, in fact, the potential mom and dad were really compatible.

If it turned out they weren't compatible -- even in a DNA way -- any personal information could be used to help create an account for one or both of them on Match.com or get them invites to one of those five minute dating deals at a bar some night.

These are just examples of the safeguards that must be in place to prevent catastrophes. Anna Nicole Smith wouldn't have been allowed to make that old man think he'd died and gone to heaven.  Well, at least by marrying him.

Sexual preferences would be discussed in depth with therapists who specialize in not blinking when they hear what turns people on. This would be included with multiple choice tests to reveal any hidden proclivities that are either too expensive or require animals not permitted in this country.

For people who don't have a clue about sex, a four month course with homework would be required before the marriage took place. They can do the course alone or together, online or in the classroom. We're here to help.

They could also opt to remain virgins and take the course after the ceremonoy. But everybody takes the course. Wonder what the final will be?

Mom and Dad, Mom and Mom, Dad and Dad also get the basic cooking, cleaning, and clothes washing review up front. With instructions on the correct way to take out the garbage, which should be done before the news is over.

When the first baby is aboutto deliver, a crash course in changing really gross poopy diapers and cleaning spit up from bibs is scheduled.

To get into the marriage, the couple has to pass all the tests and get at least a C in every class. Two failing grades and your beloved gets cash from you to spend as he or she pleases until you pass.

Just the thought of having to go through all this rigamarole ought to help keep the population down, if nothing else.

If you are accepted for the next level there are several benefits:

Taxes for married people with children would be half the rate of those who aren't married. And zero taxes if you put the money away for college.

The government would provide babysitting. National Guardsmen would be dispatched to your home on weekends. And families get free medical care.

If, for some reason, the safeguards failed and a divorce was requested, a judge could end the marriage in a minute. But only after the kids get a chance to tell the judge what REALLY happened. No lawyers would be allowed in the courtroom.

Since a marriage is never really over when you've got kids, post divorce the non custodial parent would be required to visit with the children half the time. And not just watch the ballgame while they played on the computer. While we're at it, neither parent is allowed to make the kids spend a single minute with the dorky new girlfriend or boyfriend unless they want to.

Also, parents are not allowed to badmouth each other to the kids. Or the kids get a trip to Disneyland.

These examples are pretty silly on purpose. But sometimes exaggeration makes the point.  Over the past thirty years marriage has been turned upside down.

Well educated upper middle class white women became liberated during the sixties [black women had been liberated for a long, long time prior to that] and the media thoroughly covered it, along with Vietnam and the civil rights demonstrations, since all were on parallel paths.

Congress passed civil rights bills. Discrimination based on sex, gender, race, and nationality became illegal. Followed by protection for gender preference.

But marriage didn't change. Women could have careers in formerly male dominated professions, making as much as their future husbands, but if they got married, they were still expected to do the housework, take care of the kids, and let their husbands make the decisions.

Finally that is beginning to change. Women still carry the brunt of the parenting load, but there are more stay at home dads, and more helpful dads who share the responsibilities of getting up with the baby, changing diapers, and fully participating in the family.

Also, a woman doesn't have to get married anymore. Except for love. Having a baby without being married no longer carries the same stigma it once did.  Abortion has been legalized so there is a choice now. Females can earn enough money to raise children by themselves if they choose. A man doesn't have to marry his girlfriend to get sex. In fact, one of the criticisms of the women's movement is that it has only given men the right to expect sex and take none of the responsibility.

How could traditional marriage not be in flux? Not to mention what gay marriage does to the equation and the blood pressure of the conservative right.

A wedding is no longer the beginning of something, a stepping off point for the rest of a couple's life. It's usually saved for last, for having kids. [Although Goldie Hawn may disagree]. Or, it's for financial reasons [sorry, just had to throw that in].

If it used to be that marriage was intended to be the start of a life together, now it's in the middle somewhere.

During the last five years, one of my brothers, an attorney, bought a house with his girlfriend, also an attorney. Then they got pregnant. Then they got engaged. Then they got married. Wait, he says they got engaged, then they got pregnant [four years after that] and then they got married. Sorry, Dave. 

Marriage used to be driven by a strange code of behavior intended to protect the honor of a woman by locking her up in a relationship and throwing away the key. Now women have much more financial freedom and they are much more confident that they can take care of themselves. Ultimately, does this make them better spouses? Will their greater freedom of choice create more meaningful and longer lasting years of wedded bliss.

Society has changed. Women have changed. Men are changing.  Somewhere in all this marriage has to change.

And since it seems to function best when it's about the children, maybe we just have to find a way to make it the best possible, happiest, and safest place for children to be.

The Institution of Marriage Part Deux

FIRST DRAFT STILL/SUBJECT TO CHANGE OF OPINION AT ANY TIME

Responding to news of two heterosexual Canadian men who plan to marry to take advantage of Canada's tax benefits, Patrick of Patrick's Place postulated that marriage is supposed to be for love, devotion, and commitment, not for financial reasons.

Mrs. Linklater disagreed and postulated her first point:
If nobody had money. Nobody would be married.

The debate continues with Mrs. L listing the other reasons she believes that people have chosen marriage.

Once again she argues that the ideals of love, devotion, and commitment have nothing to do with the decision to enter the institution of marriage.

Historically, marriage was the only job available to an adult woman for centuries. All women were trained to be wives. And this continues in third world countries.

In western tradition, when a woman married she became her husband's property. Her property became his property too. He could rape her because sex was his right. He could beat her -- as long as the stick he used was no bigger than his thumb -- thus the rule of thumb.

As contracts go, marriage wouldn't hold up in a court of law. And it hasn't. Basically it has been an agreement by a woman to be a man's servant for the rest of her life. It took a few centuries, but women started to say, hey, wait a minute.

However, staying single was not easy. An unmarried woman must have something wrong with her. She was unattractive so nobody wanted her. Perhaps she wasn't a virgin and therefore defiled.

Becoming a governness, a nurse, or entering a life of service became her options if there was no family money to provide for her at home any longer while everyone waited to see if someone -- please -- anyone would marry her. One wrong move and she was considered a whore.

Essentially, until recently, women were for breeding and taking care of men.  Women on their own were an anathema and subject to great criticism.

Marriage by contrast, no matter how restrictive, became a safe refuge. And the most socially acceptable place for a woman to be.

So once again, given the history of marriage, Mrs. Linklater reiterates her firm belief that the reasons for getting married have had nothing to do with love, devotion, and commitment.  

Here are her top ten reasons from the last fifty years in no particular order:

NUMBER ONE: Financial -- He/she's got a pile of dough, can make a pile of dough, can print a pile of dough -- I can live with that

NUMBER TWO: Sexual -- Man this virgin thing sucks; I can't get past first base if I don't marry her. Sheesh.

NUMBER THREE: Child on the way -- I wish her dad would get that shotgun out of my ass.  Bet this baby isn't mine either.

NUMBER FOUR: Clock ticking -- I have ten more eggs left and and nobody on the horizon except this guy.

NUMBER FIVE: For breeding purposes -- With her height and my speed we could have a whole bunch of linebackers at Notre Dame

NUMBER SIX: For Tax Purposes -- Just think, money for a new boat!

NUMBER SEVEN: Escape -- if my stepfather comes into my room at night one more time I am leaving -- even though I don't have an education or a job, because my boyfriend said he'd marry me

NUMBER EIGHT: Arranged -- Darling, this is Chauncey Fauntleroy the Fourth -- I think he'd make a better date for the prom than Timmy Jones your boyfriend since first grade. And while we're at it, I forbid you to ever see Timmy again.

NUMBER NINE: I'm gay -- I can hide my orientation behind a marriage and nobody will ever know. I hope.

NUMBER TEN: Just Freaking Do It -- Well, Mom keeps bugging me about grandkids; I'm not getting any younger so I might as well ask my secretary if she's not busy. Heck, she keeps her desk neat.

BONUS!! NUMBER ELEVEN: I don't want to die alone.

POINT TWO:  Love is not the reason people get married. It is the reason they stay married.

Marriage as an institution has been compromised for hundreds of years. Its ideals have never meshed with its reality.

As women and men have become more equal financially, legally and in a host of other ways, the institution of marriage needs to be re-thunk so people will stop trying to escape from it.

Next time -- Mrs. Linklater's New Rules of Marriage

The Institution of Marriage

FIRST DRAFT AND IT ISN'T EVEN FINISHED

When I was over at Patrick's Place today he went on a rant about the two Canadian hetero guys who are getting married so they can save money.  Gays can marry legally in Canada -- so they thought since they were best friends, why not take advantage of the opportunity, even though they're not gay.

Hey, go for it, I say. What are loopholes for if you can't wallow in them?

But I got the distinct impression that Patrick felt this was an affront to the INSTITUTION OF MARRIAGE <<< sounds of drums and a trumpet flourish >>>

Marriage, he went on to say is supposed to be based on love, devotion and commitment, not for financial reasons. The key word is SUPPOSED.  

That's what makes Patrick such a wonderful person. He's like the kids who clap their hands for Tinkerbell and think they've saved her life.

NAH. It's all make believe.  

Patrick, I'm afraid you've been naive. In a good way, because you are a good person. Just very mistaken. In thinking that love is to marriage what chat rooms are to the internet, you've given Mrs. Linklater something to sink her teeth into. And shake until it's dead.

First of all the only reason women got married in this country up until about twenty-five years ago was for financial reasons. Period.  A man's salary was her only route to nice clothes, a nice house, a nice family, a nice life.

Love was an accident. However, I'm sure I'll get no argument from women of a certain age how easy it was to love someone who could give you those things.  In fact, there must have been a study done by now to confirm how lovable people with money are versus people without money.

A fatass slob with a combover who farts at the dinner table will leave any number of women starry eyed if he's got enough money to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. Okay, diamonds and furs, too.

Perhaps Mrs. L has overstated the power of money to overcome somebody who is supremely unattractive. But is there anyone more frightening to imagine coming on to you than Hugh Hefner?  Besides Bill Gates?

I rest my case. 

So Mrs. Linklater's first point is that if nobody had money, nobody would be married.

Bet you can't wait for her second point.

Patrick's Saturday Six Air Show Edition

I don't remember the air show here ever being cancelled.  But I think it has been. Clouds and rain. [Oh. . .it's next week. Ha.]

1. A reader to "Men's Journal" recently wrote about technological innovations, stating that there isn't any gadget he couldn't live without:  "To see how vital technology is, spend a few days in the backcountry without your phone, pager, PDA, laptop, cappuccino machine, or MP3 player.  You'll emerge cleansed and refreshed."  Could you go a whole week really roughing it with no modern conveniences?  Would you want to?

This is SOOOOO easy.  I can live without all that stuff. And the men they came in on.

In fact I still don't have most of it.  I just got a cell phone about six months ago.  And I'm in a business that almost requires them. Call my landline, cell whore. My vacations have often been to places where none of this stuff works anyway. Besides, I don't even have a pager, PDA, or MP3 player. I don't drink coffee, Starbucks losers. I don't have a laptop although I do live on my computer. But I can upload a journal entry by phone. Or not. And get my email that way, too. I refuse to take my cell phone to the toilet. So leave me a message.

2. What is the most you've ever paid for a:
   A) Shirt
   B) Pair of Shoes
   C) CD or Album
   D) DVD
   E) Book
   F) Vacation

Four thousand is the most I've paid for a week at a resort with my older daughter -- her graduation vacation present from high school.  I'm sure I paid a fortune for one of the silk blouses I bought at Fred Segal's in LA.  I  have some Stuart Weitzmann and Bruno Magli shoes, and they ain't cheap. But they're not $1000 either. At least the ones I bought.  So sue me.

On the other hand, I refuse to pay full boat for CD's or DVD's. I usually buy books in the paperback versions, not the hardcovers. And I always read someone else's paper. 

3. Looking back at the answers to#2, which one was the most foolish?

The vacation.  Resorts are way overpriced for what you get.  And I got food poisoning that trip. I should have had them comp my trip.  I always wondered what the other folks who got sick did.

4. Take this quiz:   Which snack food are you?

Spaghetti?  Since when was that a snack food? Personally I think I'm a bag of Cheetos. A big damn bag. 

5. There are three wells:  Love, Beauty and Creativity.  If you could only drink from one of them, which would you choose and why?

Creativity, nothing else comes close.  Love -- overrated, except the altruistic stuff and I'm no Mother Theresa. As for Beauty -- is there anything more self indulgent? Hey, I only get my hair done a coupla times a month, nails, too.

6. If you were another person, do you think you would be friends with the person you know as yourself?

I'd be calling myself for advice all the time.  Too bad I'm me and know that I haven't got a clue. 

Ask Mrs. Linklater -- Some of My Best Friends Are Gay Edition

In honor of the Lutherans' latest rejection of committed gays as members of their clergy, Mrs. Linklater takes out her frustration on the advice columnists because they're such easy targets. The fact that she is not a lesbian or a Lutheran had no bearing on her decision. She just likes to annoy people.

Sister-in-law's sexual orientation worth discussing?

ASK AMY
Published August 12, 2005 CHICAGO TRIBUNE

Dear Amy: I have reason to believe that my sister-in-law is gay. My husband (her brother) and I have never discussed her sexual orientation, but we are both accepting of homosexuality.

Because her being gay has no bearing on my life, I largely feel I should never bring it up. However, in a way, if the subject were broached, perhaps she would feel more comfortable coming out, and I would not feel that the topic was taboo around my husband.

Should I bring it up to him or let it continue to rest?

-- OK With Gays


Dear OK: If everything is really OK, then what is that elephant doing in your living room?

I gather from your letter that you are wondering whether you should have this conversation with your husband (not his sister), and I can't think of why you wouldn't. In my experience, husbands and wives discuss all sorts of things that have no direct bearing on their lives, and I agree that broaching the subject might put it "out there" in a way that proves positive.

You: "Honey, have you ever thought that Nancy might be gay?"

He: "No. I don't know what you're talking about."

You: "Well, would it bother you if she did happen to be gay?"

He: "Come to think of it, it wouldn't bother me at all."

See? Now it's out there. Time to move on to other topics.

Mrs. Linklater falls out of her pew laughing at people who are "OK with Gays." And then obsess about them. What's with that?  Even worse, the conversation between a husband and a wife is so not real. Mrs. L has been married. She knows that the dialogue would go way more like this:

WIFE:  Have you seen my motorcycle helmet, Honey?

HUSBAND:  No, didn't you wear it to the tattoo parlor last week, Sweetums?

WIFE:  I thought I did, but it's not hanging in the mudroom with my chrome studded dog collar, Poopsie.

HUSBAND:  Well, I can imagine your homicidal frustration, Lovebug.

WIFE:  When you get up can you look in the closet for me, My Beloved?

HUSBAND:  Certainly, Sweetcakes, I would be happy to.

WIFE:  While you're at it, Sugar, see if  your sister is in there, too.

See, no need to use emotionally charged words like GAY or LESBIAN. At the same time any thoughtful, concerned sister-in-law can out her husband's butch or lipstick sibling without resorting to blackmail or poison. Or sticking her tongue out and saying NA NA NA NA NA.

Mrs. Linklater also has practice conversations you can use to tell everybody you work with that your boss is performing unnatural acts with No. 2 pencils.

Why libel and slander the people close to you when you can accomplish so much more with rumor and innuendo.

Stop the whining, Mrs. Linklater is here to help.