See Phydeaux Speak - Ahrrrrgh!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Avast Ye! It's talk like a pirate day, and talk like a pirate ye will, or I'll run ye through with my snicker-snee! Arrgh.

(While I'm trying to think up some more piratey things to say, go See Phydeaux Speak for a great video on how not to be a Christian.)

Shiver me titties, but it's a fine day fer a pirate!

Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:50 AM 1 comments  

Labels: Funny Fluff, Humor

In Case You Had a Single Illusion Left
Tuesday, September 18, 2007

About the Mainstream Media, Check out my Googles from this morning:



First, the smashing coverage of the John Kerry tasering incident.

452 articles! Way to chase a story, MSM!

And then the coverage on the Republican Attorney from the Pensacola US Justice office who arrived in Detroit with a Dora the Explorer doll, hoop earrings, and a jar of vaseline, planning to rape a 5 year old girl.

21 articles. Hmmm.

Note that the headlines do not ever use the word "rape", opting for the kinder, gentler term "child sex".
Note to MSM: It is impossible to "have sex" with a five year old. It is always rape. Always.

This story doesn't appear in "top stories" -- I had to dig for it within Google News. Before the arguments begin about how this does not represent slanted coverage by the MSM, let me just pre-refute them:

Anticipated Argument #1: "But Kerry is a main player. Atchison is a nobody attorney from Florida. Of course the story isn't going to get the same coverage!"

Refutation: Bullshit. "Nobodys" who are involved with child molestation make the Top Stories page all the time. Even more so if they are people of color, or poor, or uneducated, or mentally ill.

And as far as what the MSM considers "important news" -- today, a story about a city manager who got lost while hiking was more of a "top story" than the fact that a fucking representative of our justice department was arrested for coldly calculating to rape a child.

Anticipated Argument #2: "But he hasn't been convicted. Innocent until proven guilty is a part of what makes our country great!"

Refutation: Tell that to the prisoners in Guantanamo.

Anticipated Argument #3: "It was entrapment."

Refutation: Don't even start that shit with me. And while you're busy shutting the fuck up, take a look at the "cheerleading" program at the youth group that he helped with.

Based on recent experience, I think that the Republican party should be stripped of its right to use the phrase "Family Values" ever again, in any context.

Regular readers here will know why this particular story strikes close to home for me. I hope this man is put in prison for the rest of his life. However, I also hope that there is massive media coverage of it, because it highlights something I've always known: While the MSM rants on about sex offenders in the community and Cosmopolitan magazine warns us of the 5 places that sexual predators search for women, the same media ignores the fact that one of the most dangerous places for children to be is probably with some "upstanding" guy who constantly touts his family values, publicly and politically, and who is trusted because he is in a position of authority and adheres to a political party that claims the mantle of moral rectitude.

I noticed that when Melissa blogged about this over at Shakesville yesterday, there was suddenly a flock of commenters that I had never seen before. If they show up here, I'll consider that they are Republican flacks madly searching for Atchison references to hush up.

This is a rape scandal that conservatives cannot possibly justify with "entrapment" arguments, or ridiculous bullshit about being afraid of black men in the park -- its a crime so heinous that they must simply try to get us to ignore it. (Check out the "Look! A kitty!" tactics that were attempted over on the Shakesville thread.)

Try it over here, and I will go all avenging angel on your ass.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:30 AM 3 comments  

Labels: Mainstream Media, Rape Culture, Truth

I Think I'm Blushing
Monday, September 17, 2007

Well, I've been invited to contribute at Shakesville. I feel like I'm getting to "play with the Big Kids", and I'm somewhat, but not totally, daunted by the prospect.

I actually said "I'm honored" twice in my first post over there. Geez, I feel like a flustered teenager meeting a celebrity at the 7-Eleven.

Anyhoos -- thought I'd let you all know that I'll be blogging there, too. Most likely, I'll cross-post stuff from here.

A new adventure! And just about the time my parental duties were over. Hmmmm.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:06 AM 3 comments  

Labels: Shakesville

The Abe Lincoln/Will Rogers Manifesto
Sunday, September 16, 2007

I've been thinking for a while that I might list some of my basic tenets and principles -- oh, just for information's sake -- or maybe you might actually find some of it interesting enough to try it out as a philosophy.

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that most everything I wanted to express had already been said.

So, here is:

Posted byPortlyDyke at 9:02 PM 4 comments  

Labels: Hope, Humor, Spirituality

The Parental Summit Report
Saturday, September 15, 2007

Well, in the spirit of considering parents and their children everywhere, I want to start with an announcement that my blog-rating has changed since I last checked. This Blog is Now Rated:



This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

* dyke (20x) * pissed (7x)
* fucking (16x) * death (5x)
* shit (13x) * dead (4x)
* suicide (11x) * hell (2x)
* fuck (9x) * mother-fucker (1x)
* kill (8x)

So, don't say I didn't warn you.

Not that there will be a lot of dirty words in this post. After all, I'm talking about my Mom and Dad.

All in all, I had a very nice time with them. I will highlight some particularly "parental" moments, to give you an idea of the visit.

Saddest moment (already recounted): Mom saying "Oh, I wouldn't write my stories down. I've never done anything exciting". I did follow through with frequent nudgings and encouragement to her to tell her tales, and I think that it might have gotten through. I'm going to keep on her about it, though, until she flat out says: "No. I don't want to."

Most Surprising Moment: My parents really loved one of my friends who I wasn't sure they would get on with. In fact, my mom even commented that "she has kind of an edge, doesn't she?", but also said to her as she left after a day on the whale watching boat: "I don't always like all of my daughter's friends, but I like you."

Best moment: My dad is really great at telling awful jokes. My mom only laughs at a few jokes at all, but those which she enjoys, she does make the attempt to re-tell occasionally. The moment of the visit that is most imprinted in my memory is my 80-year-old mother, attempting the tell the joke about the condoms and the Dramamine, but cracking up so badly that she was weak with laughter, and literally could not get the punch-line out. (The punch-line is "Son, if it makes you so sick, maybe you should consider giving it up.")

My mom is a bit of a mystery to me. She is incredibly self-contained -- a classic stoic midwestern Swede -- but she pops up with stuff like this every once in a while (she told me one of the funniest penis jokes I've ever heard -- I'd recount it here, but it's a visual joke), and even though she will seemingly walk a million miles to avoid an "uncomfortable" situation, she can also be suddenly and brashly honest (a couple of glasses of wine helps).

We went to a casino and played blackjack together (my parents, retired school teachers, only discovered that they enjoyed gambling after they had been retired for a number of years). My mom is incredibly lucky, and a really sharp blackjack player. She looks like a nice old lady, and dealers seem a bit surprised when she starts playing, and winning. We didn't win any money, but we didn't lose much, either, and we had a lot of fun.

On our way home from the casino, we stopped at a cafe that touts one of the nation's best hamburgers -- Fat Smitty's, on Route 101. I hadn't been to Smitty's since before 9/11, and the place has . . . . well, undergone a bit of a transformation. Smitty is an ex-Marine, and the cafe has always sported various Semper Fi stuff, but this time, the table-cloths were plasticized red, white, and blues, "patriotic" stuff was all over, and there was a framed picture of Preznut over the cash register (which, if my parents had seen it BEFORE we ordered, probably would have nixed this restaurant for them, as they are lonely democrats in a very red state).

We took an all day excursion on a whale-watching boat and saw stellar sea-lions, a mincke whale, porpoises, the beautiful San Juan islands, and lots of fog. The Orcas were hiding out, apparently. My parents have become avid travelers since their retirement, so they enjoyed themselves but did not seem over-awed by the magnificence of where I live, except in that way that I still am, after nearly 30 years in the Northwest.

I ate more meat this last week than I usually consume in a month, beat my Mom at Scrabble three times, learned how to play rummi-cube, and hung out, hung out, hung out.

We had some political conversation, and this part was interesting -- I was always the "radical" in the family. As we were visiting, and Bush was doing his speech on Thursday night (in the background), I made the comment that I sometimes felt a real human compassion for him from this perspective: That I don't think it's possible for a human to practice these deep levels of inauthenticity without suffering deep, soul-searing damage, and that, in that sense, I felt sad for him.

My mom said: "Are you kidding? He doesn't have a conscience. He's an idiot." It was kind of strange -- in some ways, my statement was still kind of "radical" -- this time because of my spiritual approach, rather than a political stance -- still, it was the first time that I had the sense of me being the "moderating" voice in the conversation.

I've had a rather strange life, from my parent's perspective -- I've had a million different jobs (they worked in the same field until they retired), a large number of relationships (they've been married to one person for nearly 60 years), and it's never been a big goal of mine to get rich. I live in intentional community, which is how I intend to live for the rest of my life, and this, I think, is kind of mysterious to them.

Sometimes I suspect that they come out to visit me just to make sure I'm "doing OK". Unfortunately, their perspective on what "doing OK" means has a lot to do with whether you own a certain type and amount of property, how much money you have in savings, and whether you have a "solid" job. My perspective on what "doing OK" means . . . . . no, wait -- I don't even WANT to just "do OK" -- I want to thrive and grow and flourish -- so my definition of a "good" life has to do with whether I love my work (which I do), whether I am involved in a vibrant, deliriously loving relationship (which I am), and whether I have real, thriving relationships with my friends and my community (which I also do).

I think of myself as incredibly successful, and very rich. Most people who would look at my bank balance (and thank god my parents' middle-class, midwest sensibilities are such that they would never, ever ask me what my bank balance was, because I think it would freak them out) would not think of me as "rich". However, a lot of people who look at my life tell me that they wish they had a life like mine.

My dad did (delicately) ask if I had a "401-K or anything like that" one day. I said "No". He then asked if I had kept up on my social security (self-employed for nearly 20 years). I said "Yes, of course." I could see them visibly relax. "Oh good," they said in unison. I think their concern is truly just a basic human desire to make sure their kids are going to be okay -- however, what would be "OK" for them is very different than what would be "OK" for me, in terms of a fulfilling life, so it's sometimes hard to bridge that cultural divide.

Still, it felt good to have my parents in for a close-up look at my world, and it seems to comfort them. Last year, when I went back to Kansas to visit for Dad's 80th birthday, as we were leaving, he said to my spouse: "Thank you for taking such good care of our daughter." Sweet, but the Beloved and I kind of rolled our eyes at one another as we drove away -- our relationship is based profoundly on each of us taking good care of ourselves, and supporting one another to take care of ourselves, and then sharing the wonderful riches that result from that self-care.

This year, as we were bidding the 'rents fare-thee-well, Dad said to spouse: "Thank you for loving our daughter so well."

"Ah!" I thought, "I think they may be getting it."

Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:13 AM 5 comments  

Labels: Family, Very Personal Details

How to Enjoy Your Parents
Tuesday, September 11, 2007

When I think about my parents as "my parents" (some monolithic cultural construct) -- I find that I don't enjoy them very much.

However, when I just sit back and observe/listen/experience them as individual human beings, I find that I enjoy them a great deal.

I'm beginning to form (or re-form) a hypothesis about how "grouping" people may decrease my enjoyment of the individuals in the group.

Still, I find that I do this mental "grouping" constantly. Today, I sat with my parents and one of my friend's parents (who are closely related in terms of their generational material), and I found myself thinking: "I'm listening to a generation."

In truth, however, I think I'm listening to four voices of a generation, which I do not dream represents an entire socio-cultural experience.

I notice my monkey-mind attempting to categorize this experience, however.

I think that this is probably enormously short-sighted and scope-limited.

It's ironic to me that the distinct individuality of my children proved to me that each human being is unique, but with my parents and others of their "generation", I seem to want to sweep them all into some broad category that "explains them" to me.

I think that this is, possibly, a sign of true laziness on my part.

This post seems disjointed and obtuse to me, in some ways, but I'm about to hit "publish post" -- think of it as a simple revelation: These are the thoughts I am thinking tonight, after a day in which I have been breaking down and observing the individualities of the unit I have called "My Parents". I have no conclusions -- no universally-encompassing insights -- just more questions.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:28 PM 3 comments  

Labels: Family, Very Personal Details

Family Stories
Monday, September 10, 2007

When my mom and dad arrived yesterday, the first thing my dad wanted to do was grub around in his suitcase.

"I've got something for you," he said.

He couldn't find it right away, but finally my mom poked around and found a manila envelope. Inside was a bright red peachie-type folder, with my dad's memoirs from WWII. He had, at the urging of my uncle, finally written them down.

Later, at the dinner table, I said to my mom: "Now it's your turn."

She answered: "Oh, I haven't ever done anything exciting."

This from the woman who survived the dust bowl on a small farm in Kansas, who was the first woman in her family to attend college, who defended the school library from censorship in 1968.

I realize, though, that what she really meant was probably: "I've never been to a war."

There were all sorts of levels of sadness in her statement. I'm wondering how much it has to do with being a woman in a man's world, in the devaluing of herself simply as herself, or even the dismissal of midwestern rural life as unimportant and "less than".

I'm going to be working on her during the visit and letting her know that I want her stories.

As I said before, I'm working on having a "real" relationship with my parents, which I believe means that I must come to know them better -- as they are now, and as they perceive themselves to have been (not just as I have perceived them to have been).

Funny -- the longer I go on living, the more interested I seem to get in the details of nearly every person that I know. Life is so fascinating, and humans are so diverse.

Here's to all the lost stories.

Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:51 PM 4 comments  

Labels: Family, Very Personal Details

Parents, Incoming at 1 O'clock
Saturday, September 8, 2007

Hi all --

I thought I'd take a moment to explain my rather funky, funky, funky absence from blogging.

I and all those I hold dear are fine. It's not a crisis thing -- it's a well-planned visit from the originators of my FOO (that's: Family of Origin, for those not in the know).

My parents arrive tomorrow at around 1 pm for a four day visit.

I'm actually pretty excited about the visit. They are both upwards of 80, and very spry, but I'm aware that every visit we spend together may be our last, or that, next time I see them, they may be in a very different state physically (although they show no signs of slowing down -- they have literally run my ass off when we have vacationed together).

My last visit with them was over a year ago, when I went to visit them at their house in the deep midwest. They are excited to come out to the great Northwest, and we've got a whale-watching excursion chartered for Wednesday, picnics on the beach, and fantabulous Scrabble games planned (my mom can KICK YOUR ASS at Scrabble -- guaranteed).

I suspect that I'll actually be posting during the visit more than I have during the preparation for the visit (OK, now you know why all that basement cleaning was going on). Today, I washed the fucking windows in the kitchen and scrubbed the crap off the bathroom ceiling (not literal crap, just that extraneous crap that seems to accumulate, no matter how much you run the fan).

It's not like I need to impress my parents, but they were a great excuse, to tell you the truth. Equinox and Rosh Hashanah are coming right up, so the timing's perfect -- as we head into another season, I'm going to be doing so with a whole lot more light in the kitchen, and without fear of the greebly mold-demons falling on my head while I'm showering. Thanks, mom, you're an inspiration.

I have some nervousness about the visit, but mostly, I'm just suffused with excitement. In the past 7 years or so, I've been working toward having a more authentic relationship with M & D. That's always a bit nerve-wracking in the preparatory phases, but rarely that difficult once the interactions begin.

So, look for me through the week. I'll either be posting some lame-ass redirect to youtube, or writing something deep and meaningful about my visit with the folks.

You probably won't see me commenting on other sites much. I'm sure I'll have a shit-load of blog-reading to catch up on during the coming days. I'm choosing to concentrate on enjoying and exploring my parents, and occasionally posting here.

Wish me luck!

PD

Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:56 PM 4 comments  

Labels: Family, Functional Relationship, Very Personal Details

I Spent the Day Organizing My Basement
Thursday, September 6, 2007

"After the ecstasy . . . . the laundry" ~ Chris Kammler

I will paraphrase: "After the garage sale, the re-organization of the garage."

My parents are coming for a visit next week, and I'm using their imminent arrival as the perfect excuse to attend to a lot of things I've been wanting to attend to anyway.

So, I'm giving you a cheap and easy blog entry (because I'm currently working on an entry about my personal addiction to Shit-Storms).

In the meanwhile -- watch this:



Oh, and BTW -- I've liberated you all from captcha - at least until it becomes a problem -- comments ahoy!

Posted byPortlyDyke at 11:17 PM 4 comments  

Labels: Funny Fluff, Video

Is This Thing On?
Tuesday, September 4, 2007

OK, sorry for the abrupt and unannounced hiatus. Here's my excuse for the lost weekend at Portly Dyke's place: It was Labor Day.

As if.

I'm self-employed, and have been since 1988. It's not like I take "days off" or anything (except that I do -- those are usually the days that I consume blog content as if it is a constant stream of Entenmann's chocolate-covered donuts, and comment as if I am the goddess of all True Truth -- usually, that's Wednesday and Thursday).

Last weekend, though, I had an accidental holiday.

I prepared for a garage sale on Friday, had the garage sale on Saturday, recovered from the garage sale on Sunday, and by Monday, I just had a huge case of the Fuck-Its.

I considered putting this up on the blog for the weekend:

But I thought it might not really be comprehensible to anyone under the age of 40, so I opted for radio silence instead.

I'll post a short bit here about "The Humiliation Factor of Garage Sales", and pick up with my usual pithy commentary Wednesday morning (on my "day off" -- which means that I've only REALLY had one day "on" since Friday -- how cool is that?).

The Garage Sale (aka "tag sale", "jumble sale", "yard sale", depending on where you live and/or how high-falutin' you are) is a VERY FUCKING WEIRD phenomenon, in my opinion.

I sort through a bunch of stuff that I don't want any more, and I put it outside, on my driveway -- maybe tag it or price it, maybe not -- hoping that you'll want it, and you walk up my driveway and take a look at the stuff that you may or may not want, just for entertainment, or because you are actually looking for something, or because you're bored and have nothing else to do, and we interact in the confluence of my desire to just have this stuff go away while I might make a small amount of money, and your desire (which I really have no idea about).

At some point, I, the seller, must assume that I actually wanted the stuff that I now do not want -- enough to buy it, in a retail store or at a garage sale, or, in the least incriminating circumstance, perhaps I received it as a gift.

You, the buyer, are strolling through my sale, judging not only whether or not you want any of my (many) particular items, but perhaps, while assessing the overall quality of the sale itself.

I kid you not -- these are some of the comments that I heard during my sale: "Well, the prices are certainly 'right'", "Very well organized", "Well, you've got a good crowd!" and "Did you advertise?"

So now, there are several complex levels of interaction going on. The judging of the stuff in terms of personal proclivities. The judging of the presentation of the stuff. The judging of the general appeal of the stuff. The judging of the size and quality of the population viewing the stuff.

The humiliation factor comes in when someone breezes through your sale, sniffs at all your stuff (Hey! I wanted that stuff! . . . . at some point), and breezes out again -- not just with indifference -- but with a look of disdain for you, your stuff, AND your sale.

Ouch. That hurts. My stuff that I don't want any more has been judged -- and I'm supposed to somehow feel inadequate about that.

OK. See!?!?!?!

That is fucking twisted.

I think I need some therapy.

(Just kidding. This was a whisper in a maelstrom, but I did notice it, subtle though it was. In reality, this was not what I needed to recover from. It was more like standing on hot concrete for 8+ hours, and making $137.57 on items that were mostly priced under $1 -- that's a lot of stuff! Well, that's why I had the sale on Labor Day weekend -- you can't say we didn't have a huge crowd of people perusing the stuff we didn't want.)

What was left is going to the local "free store".

Anybody need another Stylewriter printer?

Posted byPortlyDyke at 10:47 PM 7 comments  

Labels: Blogging, True Stories