TinyTall 2.0

Ah, senator from Ruby-Red Idaho, my dear homestate with barely a page’s worth of listings in the gay men’s travel guide. Six months ago, when I heard rumblings about the possibility you’d had a few trysts with men, I was willing to give you the benefit of a doubt. I’ll be honest, though, quit beating people up with the “family values” stick when you know full well that legislation needs to stay out of what two (or three, or four, or more) consenting people do. You’re one of those people you’ve been beating with that stick.

HOWEVER, what concerns me is the arrest. Not that it was you, Larry Craig, that was arrested, but the arrest in general. Two major questions. One, what the heck was an undercover police officer doing in the bathroom? I realize that being accosted in the bathroom is not a situation anyone should be put in, but come on.

Second, and more importantly, it concerns me that someone actually got arrested for what is comparatively mild. Every second-hand report of what the police officer accused that I’ve been able to find discusses how Craig allegedly looked in through the bathroom stall, placed his suitcase on the floor, then ran his hand under the stall door. A little creepy yes? Obviously inviting sex? Not so much. Not only was nothing directly said, but he could have just as easily been trying to make sure he got an empty stall, ensuring privacy in said stall, and then begging for some toilet paper.

Even if it was that, nothing “lewd” happened – he was arrested for the equivalent of saying “hey, nice ass.” I’m sorry kids, but gay sex (never mind being-hit-on-by-someone-of-the-same-gender) is legal now in every state. What are we in, the 1950’s where even considering being gay was a cause to be put through everything from jail to electroshock therapy? Please. If there are going to be arrests for lewd behavior, start with the couple joining the mile high club in the seat behind me – not some guy in the bathroom doing what may not be hitting on you. Just because it makes you uncomfortable does NOT mean it’s illegal.

Am I very saddened and disappointed that a man who may be struggling with his sexuality used his political power to make life more difficult for GLBT folk? Incredibly. Does the arrest that’s brining this possibly to light scare the hell out of me? Oh yeah.

What a way to kick off the autumn. Admittedly, it’s not “officially” the fall yet, but there’s a nip in the air and the quilt is back on the bed. Of course, that bed is still in the apartment and not the house… I was hoping to start moving in this weekend, but floors were still drying yesterday. And only one bedroom is done. It’s technically my bedroom that is done, but the other two are just as important, since all 4 of us have to be out of our respective current dwellings by the 31st. So it’s a matter of packing and moving after work almost every day this week. Ack!

However, this weekend was put to very very very good use. Friday night began with an evening at the Blue Door. A rather hilarious evening that included everything from making ice cream to seeing God’s take on Guam. Next on the docket was Rocky Horror Picture Show. While it wasn’t as adventurous as last time in February, it was still a lot of fun. Even though someone stole my whip when we got up to do the Time Warp

Saturday was a very full day – after sleeping in until the unheard-of hour of noon! Coffee and internet at the local shop, then helping a friend get ready for amateur drag night. Everything from dress shopping to doing nails and makeup… including watching a bit of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert for inspiration. The performance was great, and the evening out was just pure fun. It was quite interesting to watch the reactions of both the crowd and individuals. Of course we stayed out dancing until after three. YAY!

Sunday… I had hoped to move. Instead, however, I did nine loads of laundry, cleaned up the house, and even sorted through six month’s worth of a pile of opened mail.

And as far as my reactions to the weekend – mentally, I’m stressing less about the move. I have reached the point where I can’t do much of anything, and stressing does me absolutely no good. This means I could actually relax and realize I have amazing friends, I will like my roommates, and life is generally looking up. I’m going on nine months in this city now, and it feels like it’s been two months… or two years. Either way, we’ve got a few killer parties planned!

There are days I really think that someone messed up somewhere and I ended up in my sister’s job. Today is one of those days – the last 90 minutes in my office has been spent in a debate about the Oxford Comma (aka Serial Comma)

Here’s the Wikipedia page for those of you who aren’t grammar geeks

I was not a grammar geek in college. Somehow, though, the fact I grew up around my mother (the decided grammar geek) and my sister (the English major) has seeped into my skin.

While I don’t like how it looks, I think the serial comma prevents a lot of confusion when writing copy about products. Because compound adjectives are used quite often, the dash and the “and” are very common. Without a comma, it’s not entirely clear if something is a compound adjective – “red, waterproof and breathable” or two adjectives in a list “red, waterproof, and breathable.”

The most famous example, of course, is “Eats, Shoots, and Leaves”.

No matter what my feelings are, however, some days I still wonder how I ended up in my sister’s job!

I never thought moving was something I would do easily. However, after living in the same house for 17 3/4 years, I have moved more than I like to admit. By my count, including moves to various rooms around campus during college, I have moved eleven times.

And now, I am preparing for move #12 in the last 6 years (approximately). From my current little apartment to a house. In the end, this move will be very good. It’s a three bedroom, two bathroom Victorian-style house, built probably somewhere in the 1920’s. It’s got the high ceilings, arches, and cool architecture that I love. It’s got enough space for a piano, dinner parties, and private space. It’s even got a big backyard and a place for The Band to practice. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, big kitchen, two “living room” areas, fireplace, etc etc.

It’s going to be a very creative house. The Roommates are going to be NT and a couple that we get along with very well. The three of them, along with a few other people in our group are going to be starting a band. I’m going to have a space for a miniature photo studio. The piano (made famous by Guerilla Piano) is going to live in the house. Heck, I won’t even be the only one in the house that loves to cook!

There have been minor hiccups along the way. Plans to move in this weekend have been … iffy, considering that our landlord hasn’t finished little stuff like painting… or finishing the floors… or putting in a fridge. Minor things, right? I have been doing my best to not stress out, and am taking things as they come.

As soon as we’re actually moved, I really think this is going to be a very good thing. I just need to not stress. Give up on sleep. And figure out how to move between the hours of 6pm and 6am every day while still putting in full days at work. And attempting a social life. Speaking of which, all four of the roommates as well as a bunch of friends are going to Rocky Horror Picture Show tonight. And are going to attempt to not get the car towed!

Once there is actually internet access at the house, updates here will probably become much more regular.

What began as an entirely innocent (ok, *mostly* innocent) conversation about bad pickup lines quickly devolved to a listing of possible pick-up lines for hopeless computer geeks. Only half of these are mine, the other half blame on the wonderfully long-haired author Jay Lake

“can I plug into your usb port?”

“sorry, baby, I’ve only got firewire compatibility”

“mmm, I loves me some slot-based interfacing”

“especially when it’s plug-and-play”

“here, let me reformat that bad sector for you”

“darlin’, you defragment like nobody I’ve ever known”

“mmm…nice rack…I’ll bet you have a tight wiring harness, too”

“your IP address is about to reset my DNS server”

“remember the old finger protocol? Well, i do…”

“I never thought they could get better than the three and a half inch floppy… but you’re way ahead of that minidisk”

“can I do a soft reset on your power button?”

“You’re like a electromagnet on my hard drive”

“have I got a download for you”

“I’m built ergonomically, with a split down the middle, so you won’t get carpal tunnel from me”

“I’ve overclocked my chipset just I can render you in realtime”

“I’ve got a dual-core processor so I can accept any programming attempt”

“I’m dual boot, happy to run you on either OS”

“The trackball is designed to be user-friendly”

“Nice monitor, what are your dimensions exactly?”

“I’ve seen that photo before – you’re an Easy Share, aren’t you?”

“flickr all the way…want to see my Creative Commons?”

“My integrated speakers are ready to blow your soundcard”

“I’ve modded my box just to store all your games”

I’m stuck on this guy named Dewey
It’s been a rocky storybook romance
You see

On the surface
He is every
Debate-literature-poetry
Geek girl’s wet dream
And when he drags me back
Into the dark, dusty stacks
I just get… excited

He’s the kind of guy
Who has lifetimes of knowledge
And, if you can unlock the code,
He knows how to “use” it
If you catch my drift

I’m stuck on this guy named Dewey
But issues have been brewing
I don’t understand, for example
Why Philosophy and Psychology
Come together, 100 on his list

While religion it’s own category
Poetry is split
Then buried
All the way in 800’s.

Don’t get me wrong
Organizing that much
Is one big freakin’ sexy challenge
But

To be stuck on this guy named Dewey
I had to go through
Over one hundred, thousand, million numbers
Fight thousands of grey-haired fans
And decode a seemingly senseless language
Which took finding the stacks labeled 400.

Social science is practically
Opposite of history in his mind
And he usually forgets our anniversary

But for all of this
I’m stuck on this guy named Dewey
And Library of Congress be damned!
I’m a Dewey Decimal Devotee

He’s not without his flaws
But I’m a slave
To the printed word
And he helps me navigate
Those dark, inky seas

So yes,
I’m stuck on the Dewey Decimal System
And you’ll find the epic of my devotion
Somewhere in the decimal points
Of his numerical potion.

3:10 AM – Get put into an incredibly difficult situation where there is no good answer, then told that the decision is mine.

3:30 AM – Unintentionally make friend cry. I can’t make decisions at this hour, much less decisions where I don’t have the strength for what “should” be the answer;  don’t have the lack of guilt that makes the other options easy.

6:15 AM – Wake up. Can’t get back to sleep.

7 AM – Send a “hope you’re not dead” text, since if the answer is that there has been injury, I am the ultimately responsible party.

7:15 AM – Decide to treat myself to a fresh bagel. It’s too fresh- the center is raw.

7:30 AM – Drive. Still can’t figure out a good answer to the 3:30 AM dilemma.

7:45 AM – Order an almond mocha. Get an almond latte. Spill it on my white shirt.

7:55 AM – Clock into work. Am behind on hours this week.

8:45 AM – Network is acting weird. Half of IT is on vacation.

9:30 AM – Find out my travel plans have been messed up. The extent of which is still unknown.

10 AM – Impromptu meeting about the usage of articles (such as “the”) in writing. Isn’t grammar FUN, kids?

11:45 AM – Get a message that grandpa has been taken via ambulance to the hospital. 600 miles away, can’t do anything.

12:34 PM – Get red rice on my shirt. Still no word from the 7AM txt.

The dregs of a modern Pompeii
Frozen in time
Unmoving – for the next few hours
Abandoned toothpaste
And the modern pencil mosaic
Scream of life interrupted
By a lifetime of incarceration

Frozen in time
A single markered eye
Stares accusingly at us
Asking defiantly who the hell we are
Saying as little as the gods
The dregs of a modern Pompeii

Veseuveus reincarnated
By modern rule of law
Archaeologists breathing air toxic
Studying the artifacts
Of a life that will reanimate
Five, Ten, Twenty years from now

Digging through a half-emptied home
Being gutted on short moment’s notice
Evaluating, the vulture archaeologists
Look to possess
Recreate
And make this artifact their own

In the dregs of a modern Pompeii
You are frozen in time
With dreams rendered
Unmoving and unachievable
By the light of a Jester’s Moon.

Written for the Anarchy Poetry Slam, every Wednesday night at the Empyrean Coffee House, Madison Ave in Spokane. 8pm. Competition season isn’t too far away, but this is a great place to get a coffee or beer or wine and feel all artsy with some amazing poets!

Milk
Eggs
This poem started
As my weekly shopping list

Chicken
Cheese
How one person
In a cheap studio apartment
Can go through this much

Olive Oil
Flour
Salsa
Still mystifies me
Rice
CousCous
Curry
Not that I eat alone
All that often anymore

I could never
Cook for just one
Or even two
Cocoa Powder
Jalepenos

“Come over for dinner”
Is my standard greeting
I come from a family
Where food was not
Merely sustainment
But sustaining

Yeast
Butter
A family where
“More people to eat!”
Was the honestly happy greeting
Butts sticking out of the
Overflowing fridge
The sign of a happy home

Life lessons via the kitchen
To cook and love with abandon
Drink too much wine
And do the time warp again

When you eat with others
Share the visceral joy
The dance of flavors
The mix of need and want
You share the ancient tradition
That every human
Of every creed
Shape
Religion
Country
Vision
Must, of necessity, share

Sharing your humanity
Means it is impossible
To be entirely alone
Eating fast food
Sitting in your car
Is denying yourself
What could be shared
And discovered

So come over for dinner
Share with me who you are
Because this poem
Started as my weekly shopping list
I’ve got a full fridge
And can never cook
For just one, or even two.