Actual Fun Bar Slated to Open in Augusta

There are four bars right around my neighborhood
Three of them are dives
And the one ain't no damn good.

My hometown has all the makings of a fun little town to spend an afternoon, do a little shopping, stay for dinner and a drink, listen to some music...well, except shops and restaurants. (Excluding chains. There are plenty of those in utterly fun-free, unwalkable congregations on either end of town.) But Augusta has the river and some great architecture, in walking distance of the Capitol. State government offices alone should guarantee that there are people in town who have good jobs and a little money to spend.

But as of today, Augusta has no good bars. It has three dives, going from bad to worse like the Three Bears'  porridge, and one sedate, almost geriatric establishment where the beers are five bucks.
Is all that about to change? In early summer, Augusta is supposed to be getting a new bar: Charlemagne's, described by owner Tina Charest as "a classy, comfortable place." 
Charlemagne's, which will be located in the newly-renovated Chernowsky's building,  will offer "light music" and sports.

It's gonna be a great summer.

For the Perigee Moon

Song for Ishtar

By Denise Levertov

The moon is a sow

and grunts in my throat

Her great shining shines through me   

so the mud of my hollow gleams   

and breaks in silver bubbles

She is a sow

and I a pig and a poet

When she opens her white   

lips to devour me I bite back   

and laughter rocks the moon

In the black of desire

we rock and grunt, grunt and   

shine

Social Disobedience

For a woman, failure to strive for hotness, in public, is an excoriating offense.



Look what happened to Jen McCreight when a photo of her unadorned face appeared on the front page of reddit. Jen is an atheism activist, which is how she came to be holding a sign and photographed in the first place, but it isn't really relevant to my topic. Religion or lack thereof doesn't seem to play into the treatment of a barefaced woman.


I don't mean, say, in the grocery store. But in media? On TV, on the Internet? Made-up female faces are the norm. It seems some men would like it to stay that way: appearing in media without the markers of male appeasement - done up hair, made up face, tight or revealing clothing - is a brave act, due to the hail of abuse that will follow.


Why? What do they care? it's not because women are naturally hideous and require alteration in order not to horrify; if any of those asshats at reddit saw a barefaced woman on the street, they probably wouldn't notice. If they saw McCreight in a bar, some of the same men calling her ugly would probably hit on her.

The absence of a nod to male appeasement is a threat to male privilege. How dare she walk around as if she doesn't care if strangers are sexually attracted to her or not? It's like the failure of an enlisted soldier to salute an officer. Why does the officer care? Because the purpose of the salute is to acknowledge the officer's superiority. In the same way, a displayed lack of interest in hotness is a defiance of the social order that awards higher status to men.

Such things are subjective, but to my eye, McCreight is a pretty woman: certainly no less attractive than average.

In response to the viciousness at reddit, she posted a "hotter" photo of herself. I completely understand the urge to do this! (You rarely see photos of my unadorned face, although here's one.) Jen is braver than I am, though, in that the profile photo that appears on her blog is of her nude face, which is sort of an act of social disobedience. I read her blog regularly (although I often disagree with her) because she is smart, funny, and insightful. Now I have another reason: because she is bravely breaking a norm that constrains all women. It doesn't seem like not wearing lipstick should be a brave act, but nevertheless, it is.

Goldfinch!

We had this cheery little visitor at the feeder this morning! We don't get finches very often; we switched to an all-sunflower mix in one of the feeder, and millet in the other - the one the squirrels can get to. Hope we can keep this guy coming back.

Adrienne Rich, 1929-2012

The first poet I ever loved has died. Adrienne Rich passed away on Tuesday, at age 82. Here's one of her poems.

Living in Sin

She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
had risen at his urging.
Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
under the milkman's tramp; that morning light
so coldly would delineate the scraps
of last night's cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
that on the kitchen shelf amoong the saucers
a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own--
envoy from some village in the moldings...
Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
while she, jeered by the minor demons,
pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
a towel to dust the table-top,
and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
By evening she was back in love again,
though not so wholly but throughout the night
she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
like a relentless milkman up the stairs.

Let the Gardening Begin!

After a surprisingly mild winter, we had a bit of a false summer last week, with temperatures topping 80 more than once. Doug and I got out in the yard and did some raking which, yes, really should have been done in the fall. I have to say it was much more enjoyable now than it would have been then: in the fall it was a chore that had to be squeezed in (or not, as it turned out); last week we were dying to get out into the garden, but warms temps notwithstanding, it was and is too early to do any planting or pruning. You can't even buy mulch yet, so having the raking to do was a blessing.

Allowing the leaves to remain on the lawn over winter has a deleterious affect on grass, and we may suffer some bald patches as a result. Most years, too, the leaves would be wet and harder to deal with after the thaw, but this year due to very little snowfall and a period of no precipitation at all, the leaves were as dry as they would have been last fall.

In a sad/funny postscript, we discovered that sometime between November and March, somebody stole our wheelbarrow. Dude, really? It almost had to be a pedestrian, as it would be hard for a driver to see into our yard. Someone, perhaps walking back from the grocery store, had to grab the wheelbarrow and then just walk down the street with it. My neighborhood is not the best; or rather, there are some crime-heavy neighborhoods an easy walk from here, and the supermarket is right across the street from us, so people from all the neighborhoods come here eventually. It was a bummer not to have it while raking, and most of the leaves are still in piles getting rained on as I type. But the bottom was rusted through, and I spent last summer thinking I would have to buy a new one soon, anyway. So I'm not that fussed about losing the wheel barrow but will be more careful about locking up the power tools.

The first green crocus shoots were up on February 29th this year, the earliest I've ever seen them.

Slut Pride

Probably everybody knows by now about Rush Limbaugh's vicious attacks on Sandra Fluke, the Georgetown student who attempted to testify at a hearing on the mandate that insurers cover birth control. She was denied that opportunity, but was later invited to give her testimony before House Democrats. Fluke testified in favor of the mandate.

And then comes Limbaugh, calling Fluke a "slut," a "prostitute," and "round-heeled." He also falsely stated that Fluke had asked for a new "welfare program to pay for" her birth control; in fact Fluke only spoke in favor of insurers being required to cover birth control. He repeatedly accused her of having "so much sex" that she couldn't afford the birth control for it.

Since these remarks are utterly nonsensical: surely even an idiot like Limbaugh knows that more sex does not require more birth control - and false: Fluke never mentioned her own private choices - the purpose of them was simply to shame. Though things are improving, we as women are still supposed to be ashamed if anyone implies that we are sexual beings. The message was clear: women, speak up for yourself, and you will be publicly humiliated.

Well, fuck that noise. Let's take that arrow from their quiver. Being sexual is nothing to be ashamed of. I'll say it right now: I have a lot of sex. I had a lot of sex as a single woman, and I have a lot of sex as a married woman. If "a lot of sex" is what makes it so, I am a slut. Certainly I was a slut by the more common definition, when I was single. And pleased to be so. To paraphrase Margaret Atwood, I loved well, loved richly and many. I did and do take great joy in my physicality. I embraced life, and a fair number of men. I can't be shamed for that of which I am proud.

While most women are understandably more reluctant to declare themselves, I say on behalf of all of us who stand with Sandra Fluke: today we are all sluts.

Here's a Weird Thing: I Don't Hate Rick Santorum

I hate lots of his ideas, but the guy himself, no, not really.

Hate is a strong word, anyway: I use it for that blood-boiling feeling I get when someone - a politician, usually - says something blatantly ignorant or racist or sexist, or tells a bald-faced lie assuming listeners will be too stupid to see through it. And Rick Santorum does all those things, all the time! But for some reason, it only makes me roll my eyes.

Newt Gingrich makes me pull my hair and rage at the screen: I think ambition and self-aggrandizement are his main driving qualities, and he is willing to betray anyone, anyone at all - not to mention any principle or scruple - to satisfy them.

Ron Paul I despise because he is such a good liar. Such an effective liar. He stands up and claims to be in a libertarian, but he is only in favor of state government curtailing personal rights, rather than the federal government. And the newsletters! He publishes dozens of brazenly racist newsletters, with his own name right on them, the staff of which have publicly said he approved the content...and his supporters still pretend to believe he had nothing to do with them. Yeah, eff Ron Paul, too.

Romney I can't despise for the same reason Republicans will never love him: we all sense that he says that rightwing shit, but his heart isn't in it. He wasn't the worst governor, and he probably wouldn't be the worst president.

But Santorum? He does mean it; he means it with all his heart. I wouldn't vote for him in a million times a million years, but he doesn't make my blood boil. I keep thinking he'd probably be a good neighbor, who would help you find your cat if it got lost, even if your cat was gay. It's too bad he was raised with hatey ideas that warped his mind: he seems seriously, sincerely distressed about other people's sex lives.

But: good neighbors do not necessarily make good presidents, and I'm sure President Obama would help find an errant cat, too; and do so without judging your intimate relationships.

Goodnight, Sweet Prince...

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.


Queequeg died Wednesday afternoon.

Between

There is a terrible stretch of hours, between the moment you decide your dog must die, and the death itself.

I am in this godawful wasteland.

My poor dog injured his back late last winter. Since then we have been on a roller coaster of recovery and re-injury, but since August he has been unable to navigate stairs, and for the last few weeks he has been steadily losing mobility. A few days ago I noticed how far our definition of a good day had slipped: we've been calling a good day, if he is willing to lift his head and wag his tail when we approach.

Last night we decided that this can't go on.

Unfortunately the realization came on a Saturday, after the vets have closed. Or perhaps it's fortunately in a way, as it gives me an opportunity to reconcile my decision. My heart cries, "No! let's give it another chance. We'll adjust his medication. We'll get him a wheelchair. We'll find a way." Every time the refrain begins, I go to his bed, and look at him. Each trip outside for functions is an ordeal, after which he lays trembling for an hour or more. In between he lays as still as if he were already dead, alternatively because he is in pain, or because his pain medication makes him so groggy and dizzy he doesn't care to move. It's no way to live.

So tomorrow I will call the vet; the one that makes house calls, because transporting my dog has, in past, exacerbated his injury and caused him days of incapacitating pain. He hates the vet's office, and I won't let that be the last thing he sees. I will ask the doctor, mostly likely in vain, if there are any options. I am nearly certain there are not, but I will ask; and feel like I am begging.

This is the worst thing, just the worst fucking thing. Most likely tomorrow at this time, there will be no more Queequeg. I put my hand on his warm fur and my mind reels.

Frugal Life: Shiny Hair

I have a love-hate relationship with hair care products. Not shampoo or conditioner, so much, but all the post-shower products, especially the texturizers and "silkening" lotions. Or maybe I just love them but I hate their prices, partly because I strongly suspect they aren't much different from, say hand lotion. Or baby oil.

So I tested it out. Why not, right? It washes out. I would not recommend hand lotion, unless you are going for an unshiny, rumpled, just-rolled-out-of-bed look, ala Bumble and Bumble's Bb Texture. Also, though I was willing to try it once, there are lots of unpronounceable ingredients in hand lotion (not that there aren't, in the Bb product) and I really don't know what effect they would have on hair long term.

Baby oil, though: there's nothing but mineral oil and fragrance in to. It's meant to go on a baby's skin. It's also ridiculously cheap, and I loved the effect.

Obviously it's easy to use too much and come out looking like a greaseball. I put a single drop on my palm, rubbed it over both my hands to coat, and then ran my slightly-shiny hands through my hair. Voilà! Shiny hair, slightly piece-y, no oily look. My hair is normally on the dry side, so getting any shine is a miracle. (Not a miracle worht $40, however.) A quick google reveals that I am not the first to try this, and while people are saying it makes your hair oily - no surprise there - no one is saying it does any harm. How could it? A few folks claim it makes hair stronger or encourages faster growth. I doubt that, but that isn't what I am looking for anyway.

I love it: beauty on the cheap.

Four Breast Cancer Fighting Charities which are not Susan G. Komen

Done supporting the Susan G. Komen Foundation in the wake of their move to de-fund Planned Parenthood? (Read the whole story here, if you've spent the week spelunking or otherwise without an internet connection.) Komen has outed themselves as false allies of women's health, their purported walk-back notwithstanding. Not only were their motives laughably obvious and their excuses ever-changing and insultingly transparent, their supposed reversal changes nothing. Planned Parenthood was always free to apply for future grant monies; I just can't see an avowed anti-choicer rightwinger like Karen Handel, Komen's president of recent vintage, allowing PP to be awarded such monies. If Komen gives Handel the old heave-ho, I might believe that they've really seen the error of their ways. But until then, forget it. Thee are other, more worthy charities.

So here's a brief list of organizations that operate with the goal of fighting cancer, as opposed to the goal of selling pink doodads and advancing a right-wing agenda.

• The Breast Cancer Research Foundation
• The Breast Cancer Charities
• Cancer Care
• The Cancer Research Institute

and, if your goal is advancing women's health care, there's always good old Planned Parenthood itself.