tammytoes

Today, Ray and I officially became “words” for Shelley Jackson’s new story, “Skin.” Each word of her story will be published by being tattooed on the body of a willing participant, who will become an actual word in the text. It’s a fascinating combination of concept and story, one that immediately appealed to my interest in the power of language and the concept of the body as text. It’s thrilling to be part of a community of words. And the tattoos are quite lovely – Ray and I chose the font Baskerville, which is very elegant. For those of you interested, I am the word “of” and Ray is the word “the.”

As of 11/11/03, Jackson had signed up 1,051 “words” out of the 2,095 total. If you’re interested in finding out more about the project or you want to become a word, check it out here.

Today’s Calvin sighting is truly baffling. I spotted a Mercury Cougar with a sticker of Calvin pissing on a Honda symbol today. Somebody please explain the logic behind this one to me. I’m flummoxed.

(That’s a fun word! I shall endeavor to use it more often.)

Pet Inferiority Complex: I just tuned into a segment of “Stupid Pet Tricks” that featured a parrot who would play dead on command. Our birds aren’t talented enough to do this. Stupid parakeets!

Happy Sunday! I’m back after a decongestant-inspired week of restless sleep and anti-motivation. Thanks for all the cards and letters. Two items of note for the beginning of your week:

There’s a new website dedicated to finding Mrs. Kucinich! Check it out and add your bio, if you like. I’m waiting for the reality TV show.

If you have pesky wax stains on your carpet, I have a household hint for you care of my friend Kari. (She claims that she sets a lot of things on fire because she’s a fire sign. Um, yeah right.) All you need to do is put a paper bag over the stain and run a warm iron over the wax. Keep moving the paper around until all of the wax is absorbed. Presto! You have wax-free carpet!

Move over, Heloise.

Lots more ranting and raving to come this week! With two working nostrils, I am unstoppable!

Dear Dethicated Reathers:

My apolothies for not blothing this weethend. I’ve been thick with a head colth. I will writhe more when not thwacked outh on coth methicine. In the meanthime, pleathe enthoy this link to The Meatrix and free your minth.

-Tammytoeth

Back to the fray…

Yesterday, George W. Bush signed the “Partial Birth Abortion” bill into law. It’s really a sign of the times that social conservatives have hijacked the dialogue so thoroughly that the bill is even called this, despite the fact that “partial birth abortion” isn’t a medically-accepted term. Regardless of how you feel about this particular medical procedure, can you really agree with outlawing it without an exemption to protect a woman’s life? Besides, this is just a first step measure. This administration – and the reactionary conservatives who have completely stolen the Republican party from any moderate positions whatsoever – won’t stop until they’ve taken control of our bodies and our private lives. If you think I’m kidding, check out this photo of the smiling white men who have just taken some control over your uterus. If that doesn’t scare the hell out of you, I don’t know what will.

In other news, homophobic bigot whacko asshole Fred Phelps is at it again. This time, he wants to erect a monument to Matthew Shepard in Casper, Wyoming – the town yours truly was born in.

“But, the monument will be no memorial. Phelps says the monument would be 5 to 6 feet tall and made of marble or granite. It would bear a bronze plaque bearing the image of Shepard and have an inscription reading “MATTHEW SHEPARD, Entered Hell October 12, 1998, in Defiance of God’s Warning: ‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind; it is abomination.’ Leviticus 18:22.’”

The problem is that the geniuses at the Casper City Council accepted a monument praising the Ten Commandments for their City Park some years ago and are now legally bound to accept monuments expressing other faiths, if that’s even what you’d call Fred Phelps’ hate-mongering. But if they don’t take it, Phelps is going to take them to Court. If you’d like to join the chorus of other flabbergasted decent human beings who find this appalling, you can sign a nationwide petition here.

Finally, it seems like there’s quite a flap about Howard Dean and his comments about white southern voters who drive around with confederate flags on their trucks. If you’d like to read a balanced, well-written appraisal of the situation, check this out. As for my take on this, I do think that Dean spoke clumsily about the issue, but I have a tremendous respect for the sentiment behind his words. What he’s talking about is the right-wing strategy of splitting southern voters by race – white, low-income voters used to belong to the Democratic party, but are now staunch Bush supporters. Yet, as Dean points out, they should be involved in conversations with the Democratic party because they may be out-of-work, uninsured and disenfranchised. Sure, no one really finds this voting demographic desirable (except, of course, Bush) but their presence is a call-to-action for an honest conversation about race AND class in this country. I also think it’s telling that Dean has referred to this population several times in his campaign, and yet the other Democratic contenders never felt the need to call him out on it until the ‘Rock the Vote’ forum. Hm… perhaps they’re a bit nervous that Dean might seem like a reasonable choice to young voters so they’re going to try and slam him on a pc-issue in a potentially volatile debate.

I’m not supporting any one Democratic candidate at this point, but Dean has definitely scored points with me on this issue. Here’s one thing I feel strongly about, though: the Democratic party needs to present an actual alternative to the current administration. It’s going to be an awful feeling next November if the election is between Bush and Bush Lite.

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, and some of it more than just movies and music and all the rest of that wonderful nonsense I love so much. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandparents.

I’ve lost a bunch of my grandparents over the years. I say a bunch because I’ve had a bunch, actually. Both sets of my grandparents divorced and remarried (some several times) before I was born. I grew up never knowing it was weird to have four sets of grandparents and a lot of extra “aunts” hanging around. (“Aunts” were my paternal grandfather’s ex-wives.) Over the years, I’ve lost some of them to disease (a grandmother and step-grandfather to emphysema, one aunt to breast cancer) one aunt to old age and another set to estrangement (what was really better for everyone involved).

These past couple of years, though, I’ve been losing two of my remaining grandparents to Alzheimer’s, and that loss has been more difficult for me to face than any death or estrangement I have previously experienced. Watching a family member descend into the fog of Alzheimer’s is an awkward, confusing loss – one that comes with a strange sense of finality – but no closure. My Grandpa Norm, a gifted engineer and intellectual, has become dependent on full-time nurses, babbles pointlessly, mixes up details, and forgets his family members. It’s been painful to watch such a sharp and worldly mind become so confused, strained by the attempt to capture a single detail. And the last time I spoke with my paternal Granddad was nearly two years ago – he didn’t remember me, but he was sincerely pleased to meet my acquaintance. I learned later that he was on Prozac at the time and had developed a friendship with a large wild bunny that started living in his backyard. This is the same man who shot his hunting dog, Murphy, in the butt because Murphy wasn’t paying attention one day. The same man who filed his own tooth down with tools in his garage because he didn’t want to pay the dentist to fill a cavity. The same man who taught me how to fill shotgun shells in the gun shop he ran out of his garage. The bunny thing was really pretty perplexing. I guess, though, that maybe the memory loss (combined with the antidepressants) was a kind of blessing. In a strange way, it allowed him to let go of all the bitterness, anger and distrust that he had been holding on to his whole life. Or maybe it was just easier for all us, really, to see him so sunny before he forgot everything entirely. Writing that story makes me smile, even though it’s sad, so I guess there’s been some funny moments too.

I come from a family that just doesn’t reach out much. We will help each other whenever possible, but we don’t share our feelings about each other very often. Hugs are always a bit awkward and words of affection are often passed over for sarcasm. The times I put words to my feelings about other members of my family always make me feel like a freak. Like the rest of them, then, I retreat into the interested – but not involved – position, letting my mother moderate the family switchboard like she always has. As a result, I’ve seen my grandfathers’ battles with Alzheimer’s from quite a distance.

And it’s that realization that makes me the most uncomfortable, makes me feel a sense of profound loss. My grandfathers are still alive, hanging on, but my words would make no sense at this point in time. I am the strangest of strangers, and all my words of affection, all the memories I want to share, will fall on uncomprehending ears. To bridge the distance I feel like I would have to travel millions of miles, only to be greeted by someone who doesn’t know me anymore. And the understanding that I have contributed to that distance brings with it an overwhelming sense of regret.

I know at this point that the only thing to do is bridge the distance with my family who are still within reach. It’s a disconcerting thing to look out at a future of awkward hugs, second-hand stories about each other and year after year of sarcastic greeting cards. The silence is comfortable and convenient for all of us right now. But in the end it’s deafening and awful. So I’m going to try. I really am going to try.

I don’t often write so personally in this space. But reflecting on all of this makes me realize just how important it is. So let’s take care of each other a bit more and bridge that distance whenever we can. Thanks for reading.