DOMA, Prop 8 & SCOTUS

A couple of weeks ago the Supreme Court heard arguments for and against California's Proposition 8, a voter-initiated law banning gay marriage, and the Defense of Marriage Act, which prohibits the federal government from recognizing gay unions. Since my grandkids live in a household with two moms, my daughter explained what was happening to Phinn, aged 6, and Harper, who's 4.

"Because of laws like this," she explained, "Mama and I can't get married."

"I thought you and Mama were already married," said Harper, frowning worriedly.

"Mama and I committed our lives to each other," my daughter reassured her, "but we can't legally get married--not until that law is overturned."

There was silence from the back seat as the two children considered the implications of that. Finally, Phinn spoke up.

"I have a list of people I might marry," he said, "but they're all girls, so we won't have to wait."

"And I'm marrying Vincent," Harper was matter-of-fact as she named the kid who's been her her best friend since the day she started nursery school two years ago. "He's a boy, so we're good."

I think there's a message here for the more patient members of the gay community, the ones who are willing to wait for the world to change and the next generation to grant gay couples their rights: that may not be such a great option.

A Story in Pictures

This is the switch that stays off.

This is the ceiling fan controlled by the switch that stays off.

This is the bucket that caught the water that cascaded through the ceiling fan controlled by the switch that stays off.

This is the tub that was being cleaned when the water cascaded onto the floor and through the ceiling into the bucket beneath the ceiling fan controlled by the switch that stays off.

This is the shower head that flipped upside down inside the tub, spraying water onto the floor that cascaded through the ceiling and into the bucket beneath the ceiling fan controlled by the switch that stays off.

This is the tub cleaner (with bleach!) that was being sprayed off the tub that was being cleaned upstairs when the shower head flipped upside down, spraying water that cascaded into the bucket beneath the ceiling fan controlled by the switch that stays off.

This is the sweater that got tub cleaner (with bleach!) on the sleeve, causing the wearer to toss the shower head into the tub so she could rinse out the sleeve in the sink and then carry the sweater into the bedroom to inspect it for damage, all the while the shower head was fire-hosing water onto the bathroom floor that cascaded through the ceiling fan and onto the hardwood floor (the bucket came later) so that the switch must stay off.

I am sure many of you will have useful suggestions for how such an event might have been avoided. Save them--Old Dog has this topic well-covered.

Fiction Friday: The ABC's of Structure

This term, my writing class is on structure. There are several classic structures used in storytelling:

• Linear--most common. Chronological, escalating tension. Used for most screenplays and novels.
• Quest--episodic, with multiple antagonists. Think Lord of the Rings.
• Pattern--scenes not arranged chronologically, but by relationship. Think Love, Actually.
• Framed--an outer story and an inner story. Example: The Princess Bride.

To illustrate the impact of structure on story, the professor had us write a short story with the following structure: 26 sentences, first sentence starts with "A," second sentence starts with "B," and so forth. This is what I came up with:

Anastasia Arthur studied the man sitting at the keyboard with icy displeasure. Brentwood Public Library did not tolerate porn surfing on its premises.

            "Computers are for patron use only," she told him coldly.

            Darius Finch studied Anastasia, the corners of his full lips curving into a grin. Every woman should be built along her generous, sensuous lines. Fantasies of engaging her in the activities on his screen ran through his head.

            "Get out of my library," she said.

            "How do you know I don't have a library card?" he asked.

            "It's obvious," she sniffed. "Just look at you."

            "KandyKakes.com is not porn," he said, changing his approach. "Look for yourself--all the women have clothes on."

            "Merciful Mother of God," Anastasia said. "Nothing that small qualifies as clothing."

            "On the other hand," Darius said, his eyes raking her up and down, "you'd be pornographic in a full-length bathrobe."

            "Please," said Anastasia, blushing. "Quit talking like that."

            "Really?" said Darius. "Since when do you object to smutty talk?"

            "Today," Anastasia said primly. "Unless you've finally taken care of that matter we discussed."

            "Vasectomy accomplished," he said, a gleam appearing in his eyes.

“When does the doctor say you can…?”

“Xanthic discharge is all cleared up," he said. "You want to go to my apartment and...?"

"Zoology section is very secluded."

What can you come up with?

Party Time at Grandma's

Tonight, seven of my grandkids, ranging from age four to age 10, will be here for a party/sleepover.

It's a little insane to have that many kids running up and down the stairs, slamming doors and arguing over who's not sharing.

What's even more crazy is this is the 4th year we've done this, which means the youngest was just a year old when we started. That first year, three of them were still in diapers. And two more were pretty shaky on the potty-training.

What was I thinking?

I was thinking about how fast they'll grow up.

When you raise your own children, you don't know how quickly the time will pass. You get caught up in earning a living, keeping a household, staying afloat, and you don't notice something priceless getting away from you.

Later, you want to reach back through time and catch those precious moments, hold them in your fist, squeeze out the joy you were too busy to drink deeply as it spun past.

As a grandparent, you know you only have a moment, in instant, a flash, to see them in their kindergarten pageants, to admire their artwork on a schoolroom wall, to huddle on uncomfortable bleachers and cheer them on to victory, to sit in a darkened theater and watch them try on being someone else. You know you'll have only one or two chances to see her in a prom dress, him in a suit, looking so beautiful in all their adolescent awkwardness it makes you want to weep. You know that all too soon they'll be starting high school, starting college, starting jobs, starting families.

And when that happens, they'll be too busy to party with Grandma.

So bring on the damp sheets, the too-much-partying tummy aches, the I-miss-my-mommy trips home in the middle of the night.

Tonight we drain the sippy cup of joy.

Christmas Songs

(From XKCD.com.)

A Facebook friend posted this last week and it made me laugh, but it also made me wonder which Gen X and Y Christmas songs were being ignored.

After some research, I came up with the following list of Christmas songs released since 1970:

Give Love on Christmas Day The Jackson Five 1970
Merry Christmas Darling The Carpenters 1970
This Christmas Donny Hathaway 1970
Happy Christmas (War is Over) John Lennon and Yoko Ono 1971
Step Into Christmas Elton John 1973
I Believe in Father Christmas Greg Lake 1974
Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy David Bowie and Bing Crosby 1977
Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer Elmo and Patsy 1979
Wonderful Christmastime Paul McCartney 1979
Do They Know It's Christmas Band Aid 1984
Last Christmas George Michael and Wham 1984
A Christmas Long Ago The Echelons 1987
Christmas Serenade Johnny Maestro and The Brooklyn Bridge 1989
Merry Christmas All Denise Montana 1993
You're My Christmas Present Jimmy Beaumont and The Skyliners 1999
All I Want for Christmas Is You Mariah Carey 2010

So, it appears to me that we listen to the Boomer classics, not because we're recreating our childhood, but because most of the stuff since then kind of sucks.

Comedy and Anger

So I was reading McKee's Story last night: "Comedy is at heart an angry, antisocial art. To solve the problem of weak comedy, therefore, the writer first asks: What am I angry about? He finds that aspect of soeciety that heats his blood and goes on an assault."

Years back, I watched my company go from 9000 employees to 3000 over a four-year period. It was month after month of seeing shell-shocked people lose their livelihoods, including the guy who had three kids with muscular dystrophy, whose health insurance expired at midnight the day he was let go. I wrote an essay called "What To Do When You Get Laid Off." It was full of suggestions for regressive behavior to engage in as they walked you out the door. (You can see a shortened version here.) I read the essay at open mic night at the Antioch Writers' Workshop and people laughed. A lot. Waves of laughter rolling toward me. 

One of the workshop teachers was also a comedy writer for the Gary Burbank show. (Burbank was a radio show host in Cincinnati famous for his comedy skits.) After the reading, she told me, "You're not funny." She said true humor comes, not while you're still angry, but after you've processed that anger. 

So who's right? Her or McKee?

Rage does fuel comedy. But it's also scary and off-putting. I was never a Sam Kinnison fan--he was just too angry for me. On the other hand, Lewis Black's rants totally slay me. I suspect everyone has a fulcrum for humor--stuff on one side is funny, stuff on the other side feels too uncomfortable. The comic geniuses are the people who can get you to shift that fulcrum, who can lure you over to the dark side where you see things differently. That's why comedians have so much power for social justice.

What made Erma Bombeck funny was that her essays had this little bite of unpalatable truth to them--the truth that, as much as we love our kids, our husbands, our lives, there are times when we don't like them very much. Example: "I am one of those devoted wives who is trying to up the retirement age for men to 95. My motives are purely selfish. I don't think I could stand Mr. Fixit around the house for longer periods than my present four hours a day, Saturdays, Sundays and holidays." Not too edgy by today's standards, but she wrote that in 1966, when women were still expected to be Suzy Homemaker and like it. Erma did her bit for women's liberation.

The Only State That Matters

According to the pundits, the only state that matters in the upcoming presidential election is Ohio.

If you wonder what it's like to live in the eye of the electoral storm:

• Your phone rings 10 times a night, but it's never anyone you want to talk to.
• The only ads you see are political ads. They're all mean and mostly lies. At this point, I'd give a kidney to see a commercial about what's on sale at the local grocery.
• Some nights it takes three times as long to get home because you're held up by the presidential motorcade. Or because streets are blocked off for some rally. 
• The pile of junk in your mailbox has swollen to twice it's normal size. With more lies and more meanness.
• Talk show hosts are already predicting that you're going to screw up the election, pointing out that even the Amish here act a little crazy. 

This is how bad it is: The instructor for my writing program is relocating from Cincinnati to New Jersey next week. She says it's to be nearer her family and friends, but I suspect the real reason is more political.

She just can't take it anymore.