Whinging It

I continue to struggle with the waves of anger I feel about Prop. 8 and the ignorance of the separation of church and state, but I also continue in therapy in an attempt to come to terms with it.

In the meantime, the world and I march on to Thanksgiving, and for that I am grateful, among other things:

I am grateful for my girl, whom I love with all my heart (and other mushy phrases not fit for public consumption for fear of mass vomiting).

I am grateful for my friends and family, and that includes the beloved animals, no matter how rotten (Cat) or crazy (Dog).

I am grateful to live in a country where freedom is guaranteed for most, and grateful that its government allows those of us who are currently denied protection the option for fighting for it.

I am grateful.

Things I will not be doing this weekend:

- Going to see “Twilight.” The book sent me into a conniption fit of feminist and general character development self-righteousness for days, and I refuse to give the movie a dollar. Well, y’know, until it’s on Netflix. But that’s different; that’s practically free mocking.

- Gardening. And man does my yard need it. Meh. Maybe I’ll mow the lawn.

- Cleaning. I have once more succumbed to the siren call of a housecleaner in lieu of going out to dinner so much.

- Hiking. With the loss of a will to live life (not to be confused with a will to live at all), I’ve completely gotten out of the habit of working out. I hope to start again soon, but am taking a small break. I have managed to maintain eating well, so that’ll do for now.

- Going to a protest. There’s a potentially big one in Sacramento this weekend, but I continue to question the effectiveness of protests, and will draw the line at commuting to them.

Things I will be doing this weekend:

- Giving the dog some belly rubs.

- Spending time with my girl.

- Going to our favorite speakeasy with Sister-in-Law and Brother-in-Law.

- Visiting the in-laws in their new house that’s two hours away.

- Seeing Lisa and her munchkins.

- Finishing The Seamstress in time to get it back to the library before its due date. This is almost certain to be a failed attempt, but am a little apathetic about the twenty cent fine. (Note: Good book. Thanks to Lara for the rec.)

- Hopefully finishing the sweater I’m knitting for my mother. All that’s left is piecing it all together and sewing on the awesome Czechoslovakian glass buttons.

Wife and I went to a Prop. 8 protest/rally at the Oakland Civic Center on Saturday.  I’ve never been a giant fan of protests.  I live in the San Francisco Bay Area, so I encounter a protest at least twice a week.

The typical scene:
Whinger: [Tip-tap-typing away at her day job.]

Outside: Rahjah jah! Rahjah jah! Woooooooooooo!

Whinger: ..?

Outside: Rahjah lee! Brug lee! Wooooooooooo! [Whistles and drums.]

Whinger: ..? [Sighs and wheels chair over to window to look down at crowd twenty-some stories below.]

Outside: Brug rahjah lee!

Whinger: ..? [Strains to see signs, but they are never clearly printed.]

Outside: [More whistles and jumping up and down.]

Whinger: [Calling to co-worker down the hall.] Do you know what the protest is for today?

Co-worker: [Pause while she looks. Calls back.] No, but it looks like they’re headed toward the water, so we should go the other way for lunch.

Whinger: Good plan.

I even recently lectured the girls at Peet’s, who were wondering what the protest was that was passing us by at the time, about the need for clarity in chants and signs.  Walking down the street with a flag that could or could not be Ireland’s is not the way to tell me about your cause.

Anyway.

So despite all protest reservations, we went to the protest at the Oakland Civic Center, and it was beautiful.  The day was lovely, and they had good speakers lined up.  But above all, as I was looking around, I realize that I live in a city of beautiful people, and not in the sense that everyone could grace the covers of Vogue.  The people are charmingly and engagingly themselves.

I saw a lot of families with both straight and gay parents, and they were all adorable and loving and romping underneath the giant Oak tree on the Civic Center lawn.  I saw many couples, also gay and straight, who casually leaned against one another for support.  There were folks of all ethnicities and sizes, and they were all bound for this common purpose of being proponents of love and family.

We had cheers for different people in the crowds: One for the same-sex couples like us who got legally married recently, one for the couples who were planning to get married, etc.  The last cheer was for the straight friends who were out to support the cause, and that cheer was by far the loudest and longest.  We all know that the gay population will never achieve protection and recognition on its own; it will never be above 10% of the population, the very definition of a minority.  And so we rely on those who love both us and equality to help, and we were not let down on Saturday.

It was a joy to see.

It’s Noodle Friday, and lunch can’t get here quickly enough.

Noodle Friday wasn’t always. Friday used to exist without any standard starch tie-ins.  Lunch on Friday was like lunch on Tuesday; there was no telling whether I’d have soup or a sandwich.  However, over time, Aunt B and I kept finding ourselves at our favorite Hunan restaurant to enjoy our favorite dish.  And in the effort to keep ourselves in any sort of slender fashion, we had to limit the noodle excursions to Fridays.

When we walk into the restaurant now, the waiter yells, “It’s Friday!” and brings our meal without asking what we want.  Co-workers will ask, “Can you meet on Friday?  Not during Noodle Time, of course.”  When others join us for Noodle Friday, they know that there is little wiggle room in the menu to accommodate different tastes.  People know that there is a ritual to Noodle Friday.

It is not time yet, but I’m smiling as I think about the rest of my day.  Everything just seems a little sunnier when there are noodles in the near future.

Please don’t send me to Noodle Rehab. (Although, what famous person would I meet there?)

All urban gyms should start on the second level of buildings.  There’s something a little disconcerting about seeing a roomful of pelvic thrusts when one is returning from lunch.

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I have two friends who are newly pregnant (awkward segue from pelvic thrusts, I know), and I couldn’t be more thrilled that I get to make two (TWO!) baby sweaters. There are few things as fun as getting to pick out a pattern and yarn for a completely useless piece of clothing that a child will outgrow in five nanoseconds.

Oh, and there’s the excitement because a baby completes the circle of life and is a physical manifestation of love and all that.

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For the last three years, I’ve been keeping a spreadsheet of potential Presidential candidates, their stances on various issues (environment, education, etc.), and scoring those stances against my own as a gauge for where my political campaign money should go.  I got to archive it this morning as I don’t anticipate needing it for another few years, and I was pleased to note that the final tally was that I preferred Joe Biden above all (although in the “Drawbacks” section, I’d listed his biggest problem as “says stupid things”), and President-Elect Obama came in third.

It should probably be noted that McCain wasn’t too far down on the list.  (He and I mainly disagree on implementation of some of his policies, something I’m certain he’s terribly interested in discussing with me.)  After past elections where I’ve felt like I’m mainly voting against someone instead of for anyone, I was happy this year that both sides put up great candidates, something for which we should all be proud.

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Coming down from the election pundit hangover, I enjoyed this thoughtful and well-written P. J. O’Rourke article, which highlights very well why I’m so liberal (although the article is anything but kind to liberals).

I also loved this commentary on Prop. 8 by Keith Olbermann, who even cutely tears up a little in a few places.