Someone's using faulty reasoning

This, from An AP article about Sarah Palin:

"Palin opposes abortion, including in cases of rape or incest, and has lived out her convictions by bearing son Trig in April, knowing he had Down syndrome."

Having Down syndrome is not the same thing as being the product of rape or incest.

And choosing to have a child knowing that it has Down syndrome is not the same as forcing rape victims throughout the country to carry a reminder of their trauma for nine months.

Sarah Palin scares me. She's an Uncle Tom for white women -- I actually came up with a word for such women: Palin-drones.

Oddly enough, until she was unveiled as the Republican vice presidential candidate, I kinda thought, "Well, if Barack doesn't win the election, we'll have McCain, and McCain's certainly not awesome but he's a big improvement over what we've got now, if only because he doesn't believe in torturing other human beings. I could live with 4 years of McCain."

But Sarah Palin offends me so much -- as a woman, an American, and a human being -- that I'm now praying feverishly that if Barack Obama doesn't win, John McCain becomes immortal.

Thank you, Dahlia Lithwick

I'm a little late on writing about this, but someone else has realized that Hillary Clinton is not the only experienced female politician in the country. Over at Slate.com, Dahila Lithwick's article "One-hit wondering: Yes, Virginia, there will be another woman candidate in your lifetime" includes this marvelous list of powerful women in the world of U.S. politics:

Even if it were true that no new female candidate can appear to amaze and inspire us by 2012, we are already blessed—as even the naysayers concede—with a bullpen that's both deep and wide. It features female talents such as Kansas Gov. Kathleen Sebelius, Washington Gov. Christine Gregoire, Arizona Gov. Janet Napolitano, Sens. Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota and Claire McCaskill of Missouri, Condoleezza Rice, and former New Jersey Gov. Christine Todd Whitman. Why diminish all these women with claims that whatever qualities of Clinton's they lack are precisely those qualities needed to become president someday? What possible evidence do we have for that?

And these ladies aren't even the full roster. For example, I could see Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison from Texas making a play for a higher-ranking job.

The day after Lithwick's article was published at Slate.com, another piece showed up on Yahoo News, by Ben Adler, that I thought gave a good illustration of why it is, in fact, possible to not support Hillary Clinton while not destroying women's rights or even being a misogynist:

Like Hillary Rodham Clinton, the three other women most frequently mentioned as possible running mates for Barack Obama are widely recognized as shrewd, trailblazing politicians who would provide critical ballast to an Obama-led presidential ticket.

But according to interviews with Republicans in their home states, Kansas Gov. Kathleen Sebelius, Arizona Gov. Janet Napolitano and Missouri Sen. Claire McCaskill differ from Clinton by two important measures: They’ve managed to win elections without developing polarizing personas, and they’ve shied away from emphasizing gender in their campaigns.

'Nuff said. Not everyone is going to like Hillary Clinton, because she's got eight years' worth of national political baggage attached to her. And it doesn't matter if you're male or female -- if you're that controversial, a lot of people are going to shy away from you. And some people just won't like you. It has nothing to do with your anatomy.

In less than two hours, we'll start hearing the exit poll results from the Democrats' last two primaries, and most major news outlets are already reporting that Barack Obama already has the nomination tied up. This doesn't mean that we're all going to end up barefoot & pregnant in the kitchen again. What it means is that there are at least four years during which the powerful female politicians out there can start beefing up their credentials and making some plans.

June, moon, spoon

I have been invited to perform at an all-women's spoken word shindig in early July. I need to write one new piece for the occasion, but I have nothing to say.

Which is also why I haven't been blogging over here very much. I doubt anyone who happens across this blog would be interested in my cats, weight loss efforts/workout routine, hopes and wishes about moving back to my home town, or quest for a blues band with which to play bass. And lately, those are the things that have been dominating my mind. Particularly the eventual move back to my home town, San Marcos. It's the elephant in the room inside my skull. I miss being around my best friend, my brother-type friend, my amazingly significant other, my family, my home. I've lived in Austin for about 3 years and though this is, in fact, where I was born, it has never been a home.

I'm hungry for a home. And when you're hungry, nothing else matters until you're fed.

Maybe that's what I should write my poem about.

I'm bad at being a woman

The ongoing race for the Democratic presidential nomination is many things. It's historic. It's forcing America to ask itself questions about race and gender. And on a personal note, it has shown me that I am, by broad societal standards, a bad woman.

I've always been pretty bad at displaying the usual, or at least expected, characteristics of a woman -- I prefer denim to silk and T-shirts to dresses, I don't wear a lot of makeup, I prefer straight shots of bourbon to fruity cocktails, I don't want to have children (I'm even infertile -- incapable of the one completely feminine act of conception), I don't feel particularly abused by "the patriarchy," and I like to say "fuck" in public.

I've been particularly bad at being a feminist, because frankly I thought great numbers of us had moved beyond the dog-like behavior of examining each other's genitals to find out who our friends should be. I see sexism going on in the outside world, and believe it should be stopped because insulting someone based on gender debases everyone involved in the exchange. But on a one-on-one, personal level, I am a bad feminist. I hang out with a bunch of guys. Most of the time we talk as equals and treat each other as equals. If one of them makes a joke or comment about how weird and complicated women are I shoot right back with a generalization about men. And I say things like, "I've never understood penis envy because it's easy enough to borrow one for a while." Bad feminist.

But the icing on the cake, according to lots of media and several friends, is that I am a woman who supports Barack Obama. Beyond that, I am not even allowed to explain why I like Obama better, because apparently any disparaging comment about Hillary Clinton is misogyny.

I'm not going to deny that Hillary has faced sexism on the campaign trail. I'm not going to deny that there are lots of people out there who just don't want to see a female president. There are plenty of Neanderthals out there (and some of them are women). What I do deny is that she is womanhood's Last Great Hope to lead the United States; that calling her calculating, self-interested and power-hungry are attacks on her gender (as if women are the only creatures on the planet who can be calculating, self-interested and power-hungry); and that I don't like her simply because she is a woman and/or reminds me of some unpleasant female relative with whom I have deep-seated issues.

Salon.com has been a goldmine of rhetoric from both women for Clinton and women for Obama. Most of the rhetoric I see from the women for Clinton just infuriates me. Lynn Harris wrote this piece about how there is not any real division among women over the Democratic race, but that Clinton supporters are frustrated. Among her reasons for frustration is:

And we are, yes, frustrated by people -- enlightened people! -- who say things like, "I agree with all her policies, I just don't ... like her." Or that she’s "cold." Or "calculating." (We all know about "shrill.") (Which to me, for the record, describes John McCain.)

The thing that bugs me about this is that if these same things were said about a male candidate running against another male candidate, no one would get so frustrated about it or call the accuser unenlightened. But Harris says, "That, my friends, is sexism the way racism is crossing the street at night when someone black approaches; it's ingrained at this point, reflexive."

I just don't see it.

Furthermore, it's apparently bad if you just don't like Clinton. I guess all women should like all other women, and that character and demeanor are not important in politics. (They are -- it's just that most voters and "rational" people don't like to admit it.)

And then there's this, from Salon.com's War Room:

On Saturday, Robin Morgan published "Goodbye to All That (#2)" over at the Women's Media Center. In it, she let it rip, blasting the double standards applied to Sens. Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama ("she's 'ambitious' but he shows 'fire in the belly'") ...

I didn't realize that "ambitious" was an insult. I know people who would like to be considered ambitious. I know people who consider "unambitious" to be the equivalent of "traitor."

Then there's this article from the Houston Chronicle in which a Democratic activist and Clinton supporter voices her frustration at women flocking to the Obama campaign:

"They're running to the rock star, to the momentum, to the excitement," said Ewing, a family law attorney who chairs the Dallas County Democratic Party. "And I am worried that if Hillary doesn't get elected, I am never going to see a woman president in my lifetime."

What kind of faith in the female gender does that point of view show? Unless you're 90 or above, if you believe that there are plenty of competent women in government, why would you think that not one of them stands a chance at getting elected?

Also at Salon.com, I found a voice that harmonized with mine in Kate Michelman, in an article discussing Chris Matthews' rough treatment of her (he asked Michelman, a longtime abortion activist and Obama supporter, how it felt "to have abandoned the cause of your life" by announcing her support for Obama):

Laying this guilt trip, this hypocrisy, on women -- saying that those women who don't vote for other women are turncoats -- is tantamount to saying that women who exercise independent thought haven't the right to do that either. Could there be a more anti-feminist contention?

When a presidential candidate's core values are unity, equality, opportunity and creating an atmosphere of respect and harmony, both nationally and internationally, then that candidate's vision aligns with the best hopes and dreams of the women's movement. And that is precisely Barack Obama's vision.

Then Frances Kissling came forward with her reasons for not supporting Clinton -- that she represents the same kind of politics that Bill Clinton represented, has not made any indication that she would do something that no male president would do, and has run as a "typical male" candidate:

But whatever the reason, there is no evidence that Clinton's feminist history currently influences her thinking about women, or that it is any further advanced than Obama's and Edwards' thinking. The sad fact is that Clinton has felt compelled to run as a stereotypical male. In her own mind it is only a certain kind of man who is qualified to be president and she will be that man: tough on everything from war, flag burning, kids' access to video games, illegal immigrants and Palestinians. ... She has shown no interest in using her extensive international experience to push for more women in party leadership, state legislatures and even the Senate. A woman candidate who considered her gender a strength (as opposed to something she needed to overcome) would announce a series of measures specifically designed to ensure that women's needs and rights were at the forefront of her agenda.

This of course raises the question of whether it's misogynistic to not support Clinton because she's not feminist enough.

Chew that over. I'm going to go put on my bluejeans, buy a bottle of bourbon, call the man whose penis I borrow sometimes, and smile once again at the North Carolina primary results on CNN.com.

Carla Bruni lyrics translated

Ever since I posted a blurb in praise of French President Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni, I've received lots of hits on my blog from people looking for Carla Bruni lyrics translated from French.

I wish I could help you more -- I'd like to see more of her lyrics translated, too.

The only lyrics of hers that I've seen translated are from the song "Quelqu'un M'a Dit," and the only place I've seen them is in the liner notes of a delightful Putumayo compilation CD called "Paris."

However, I've also just spent my beer money on an MP3 download of her latest album, "No Promises," from Amazon.com. It's one I'm really excited about, since she sings in English (the lyrics are all poems written by American and English poets, including William Butler Yeats and Emily Dickinson), and the couple of songs I've listened to so far are just marvelous. I think she's wonderfully talented. I don't even like many female singers, but her low, slightly smoky voice is friendly, familiar and soothing. I'm just amazed.

I am also amazed at the weird dichotomy toward her that the press is displaying. Before her recent visit to the United Kingdom as France's first lady, one newspaper printed a bunch of nude photos of her, basically declaring, "OMG, she's nekkid!" During her visit, as the media followed her around and saw how well she handled herself and the good impression she made on everyone, the media declared her the next Princess Diana and changed its tone to "OMG, she's nice!"

Just think -- all this international fuss over one attractive woman.

Magical Cooch, or What's Going On Down There?!

So apparently Ashley Dupre, the prostitute that Eliot Spitzer was hiring, has a magic vagina. Salon.com's Broadsheet has a short article about it. In the article, the pimp says, "Dupre had 'the most beautiful vagina in New York … Big hedge-fund guys, the heaviest hitters, called and I’d say, this is the girl with the magic pussy.'" Another call girl says, "'As soon as I saw her coochie, I told Jason, this is special.'"

I just have to ask the same question Broadsheet asks: What makes a vagina magical? I know men will do crazy things to get into one, but honestly ... magical? Is that just a euphemism for "tight"? And if hedge-fund managers and governors are paying frequent admission charges to it, how long can your Holy of Holies remain "magical"?

One of the links from the "magic vagina" article goes to another Salon.com article -- this one about vaginal rejuvenation (plastic snatch surgery). Most baffling quote from that article -- and believe me, there are plenty -- has to be this one:

With her new vagina in place, Helena was drawn to the option of getting a new hymen. "My husband and I would have loved it if he had been my first. Our anniversary is coming up; we're renewing our wedding vows. We want to have the virgin experience."

WHY??? Dear God, WHY???

I shudder at the thought of having to lose my virginity a second time. The first time, the only way I could relax enough for anything to go in was to have 5 tequila shots on an empty stomach. And even then it was extraordinarily painful and awkward and weird. As much as I love sex, I wouldn't go through that initiation rite again if you paid me.

[EDIT: Perhaps the most amusing thing about the Ashley Dupre article is the placement of headlines on the sidebar. Right above "Is your vagina magic?" is "It's no jet pack, but it ain't bad."]

Subjective politics

When Ted and Caroline Kennedy came out and endorsed Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton responded by basically blowing it off, saying, “at the end of the day this is not about anyone else other than the candidates.”

Of course the next day, her campaign issued an e-mail to the press promising the announcement of a "major endorsement" (Maxine Waters).

So I guess endorsements don't matter unless they're Hillary's?

Hello, Dolly; Goodbye, Satan

Seems that Dolly Parton will be playing South by Southwest 2008. I wonder if she'll sing "Stairway to Heaven." (Click here for a listen -- last song on the album.)

I heard her version not too long after it came out and was actually rather impressed. The sad thing is that apparently some folks took it as an opportunity to revive the "Led Zeppelin are Devil worshippers!!!!" mantra parents chanted back in the '70s, even dragging poor Dolly into it this time around.

I guess everyone has to have a great evil, real or perceived, to point to as an example (for conservative Christians in the 1970s, the Great Satan was Led Zeppelin; for conservative Muslims living in Iran, the Great Satan is the conservative Christians living in America ... I could go on), but come on. I'm pretty sure that all the hype about Led Zeppelin's predilections for whips, drugs and orgies was heralded as "Satanic," because ... well, it's just not what nice boys do, is it? The image was then then fed by Jimmy Page's increasing air of mystery and mysticism (which is a damn good marketing ploy, I don't care what rock band you're in).

Led Zeppelin was 30 years ago. Dolly Parton is not evil. And I don't know much about Alison Krauss, but I'm pretty sure she's not a Satanist, even if she is singing with Robert Plant.

"Jesus Camp" and a religious experience

I watched "Jesus Camp" a couple of weeks ago, and it gave me lots of flashbacks to my adolescence and the time I spent going to a Southern Baptist church. One of my friends from school, deeply concerned about my immortal soul, asked if I would go to church with her family. I said I'd give it a try. I immediately did not fit in, but I tried. I memorized Bible verses in Sunday school, helped out with the puppet show for the younger kids at Vacation Bible School, never said anything inflammatory on purpose, sat quietly while Brother Taylor gave his impassioned sermons about how everyone must accept Jesus into their hearts because without Jesus in their hearts, they would go to Hell.

One Sunday, motivated partly by the fear of Hell and the worry that I was firmly in Satan's grasp, but partly by a sincere desire for salvation, I did accept Jesus into my heart. I was 12 or 13. Brother Taylor was up there behind the podium, pacing back and forth and yelling about Jesus and the certain damnation I would face without my Savior. He was red in the face and the veins in his neck were bulging. I figured if he was that excited about it, maybe it was a good day for me to ask for forgiveness and salvation, so I did.

And nothing happened.

Nothing changed. I didn't feel different, my desires and thoughts weren't different, nothing was different. Which made me wonder if maybe it was enough when I was christened into the Methodist church when I was a baby -- maybe Jesus entered my heart then but I was too young to know it & had been living with him in my heart for so long that I was used to it. But then of course I wondered if maybe Jesus just wasn't going to come into my heart & make me a good person. Maybe I was so full of sin that Jesus did not want to be my Savior & I was just supposed to go to Hell.

I couldn't tell the nice family that had taken me to church that nothing was different -- I was supposed to be feeling a sense of relief and joy and not wanting to wear jeans or watch movies with swear words in them anymore, and if they knew that I still loved wearing jeans, even to church, and wanted to go home and watch "Top Gun," they might think I'm the Antichrist because I invited Jesus into my heart & he didn't show up. So I pretended to have the joy of Christ in my heart because I wanted them to think I was OK, like I was like them, until I could come up with a good excuse to drift away from the church.

I never actually felt the Divine in my life until years later. A few of my girlfriends & I went swimming in Cypress Creek in Wimberley. We were fully clothed -- we couldn't skinnydip because there was a restaurant just a few yards downstream from where we were, but the water, shallow though it was, ran clear and cool and just seemed so inviting.

After we all got in the water, a sudden feeling came over us. At the same time, we all had the same experience of being at one with everything and being touched by something greater than ourselves. None of us spoke a word as it happened but we all somehow knew that we were sharing the feeling. It was so powerful that none of us spoke for at least half an hour (do you know how hard it is to keep five teenage girls from speaking for 30 minutes?). And since it didn't happen in a church, I had no idea what it meant -- after all, the Baptists had said that God is found in church and in the Bible, not out in the woods -- but it steered me sharply away from atheism and eventually set me on a path back to God.

The God I found is very different from the one they talked about at the Southern Baptist church, but I believe it's the aspect of the divine that I am meant to know. Now that I'm older I think that maybe Jesus didn't enter my heart that day in my adolescence because the Southern Baptist church was not the place for me to experience grace. It is right for some, obviously, but God wanted to wait until I was ready, until I was in a place -- mentally and physically -- that was more comfortable for me, where I could receive the unexpected without being scared and rejecting it.

Of course, since I experienced grace in the one place my evangelical friends had said I never would -- outside the walls of a church -- I never told them about the experience. As far as they know, I am wandering through this world, lost without the beacon of God's love. They wouldn't believe me if I told them that I know exactly where I am and where I am going, or that there are millions of people to whom God has made His presence known at someplace other than a church service.

Butt Paste and Camouflage

The Internet can be a disturbing, if amusing, place.

First, a few months ago I came across a Web site that sells diapers and costumes for birds (and whose phone number is 888-412-POOP). The latest funny-yet-scary thing I've seen online is a product called Boudreaux's Butt Paste.

When I first saw the product name -- on a coupon at CoolSavings -- I figured it might be some sort of … Cajun personal lubricant. Perhaps containing bacon grease. Upon further investigation, I discovered that it's a diaper rash ointment made in Indiana.

However, that does not help explain why the Boudreaux's Butt Paste Web site has a link to a Web site about ghillie suits.

Diaper rash + heavy camouflage = ?????