I've held off for awhile, but it's time to roll back into the political arena. The news on Obama today revolves around James Dobson who has accused Obama of "distorting the Bible and offering a fruitcake interpretation of the constitution." Now, I'm really excited about this on a number of levels. First there's the idea of a "fruitcake interpretation" which is an incredibly bigoted comment. Why? Because fruitcake is a commonly known slang for homosexual and when you start using it as an insult we're back to the equivalent of "nigger-rigged" for fixing something on the fly. People might disagree with that, but just because you don't realize something is offensive, it doesn't mean it is. And, on a side note, we gripe because some (like myself, for example) read too much into things i.e. "fruitcake interpretation." After all, in this context it just means crazy, another vernacular meaning for the word so why am I being so sensitive? Because it is precisely the people who are sensitive that decide what is offensive. If you're goal is to not be offensive in a bigoted way then you don't get to pick and choose what someone finds bigoted. Just wanted to get that one out there.

Now on to the big stuff. Obama pointed out that Bible scriptures are, shall we say, a bit inconsistent. His point seemed to consist of two ideas 1) that there are multiple Christianities at work in our country so even if we are a "Christian" country that doesn't narrow down what moral/ethical code we should be running on and 2) literal interpretations of the Bible aren't helpful to the running of the government--think Leviticus. Now, I'm biased. There is no question about my bias and, furthermore, that I'm a crazy NON-Christian. In my perfect world our government would run on a set of ethics that owed nothing to religion. I want to clarify that I am completely aware of where I stand on this issue. That being said, I find this comments absolutely delightful--a politician that recognizes the logical fallacies undermining much of our political discussions today and says it out loud? How many times have these almost exact words been spoken between friends? And here is a man who is willing to say it out loud. I find that incredibly exciting. Furthermore, no where in these comments, this article, or anything else I've read has Obama even hinted at being anti-religion. He isn't going to stop people from going to church or their right to go to church, but is willing to stop people from forcing others to go to church. See the difference? As an avid non-churchgoer I'm thrilled by that. I'll fight to the death for your right to worship in whatever harmless way you desire, but I'll also fight to the death for my right not to.

Being a liberal isn't nearly so simple as those who curse us would have you believe.

I'm seeing more and more in Obama a man who might be too smart to be President. What I mean by that, is that he will say out loud things that are true. For example, you can't outlaw abortion because of the Bible. It's true. The government can't base laws on religion (or, rather, shouldn't). That means that the law itself must come from another ethical background. But for someone that does base ethics and morality on religion and cannot conceive of not using religion as a basis for those things that sounds like crazy talk. Plus, if you believe you are right--as anyone who actually believes in their faith does--then you don't want to have a law that allows for beliefs disagreeing with your own. It's a tricky, sticky situation and saying we can't base laws on your religion because other's don't believe it doesn't get through to these people. Their religion is fact and so it doesn't matter whether others believe it or not.

And that is, perhaps, the crux of the problem. We, as a society, have no interest in living our lives in a solitary fashion. We want to save those in need; we want to help each other. That means for the big issues, like abortion, we can't agree to let someone kill a baby (if indeed that's what we want to call it) we want to stop the atrocity. For the smaller stuff, like gay marriage, we don't want to stand by and silently condone an act that is repulsive. I speak of "we" here as society. And to some degree, there is no resolution to that situation. Those that believe abortion is murder will never allow it to continue unmolested and those that despise homosexuality will never support their equality. But quite frankly, I'm not interested in those people. Maybe I'll teach their kids some day and I'll deal with it then, but I'm not going to change any minds in that quarter, and neither is Obama. Those are the lost cause.

But, if every time they speak loudly against rationality (and yes, I am judging here) those who deny their monologic world view speak loudly in protest the damage might be controlled. Those that believe single-mindedly are powerful in their speech because they believe. The masses react to that. But if all of us who believe passionately for freedom of/from/to belief/believe then those that are not fanatical will have something else to consider. We will never all agree, but we might some day discuss. That's worth working towards.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25343812?GT1=43001

Pool parties are the bane of the chubby girl's existence.

I'm going to a pool party this afternoon, and it will doubtless be fun. But I am completely, wholly, and utterly terrified. Why? Because I'll be the only fat girl there. Now before I lose you, this isn't about woe is me or anything as trite as that. And this isn't me hating what I am; I say fat because that's what it is. I believe in naming the thing, not renaming it in hopes it will be different; there's more power and happiness in truth than there is in imagination. But I digress.

These people are my friends, some of them friends I like quite a bit. I trust most all of them not to look cross-eyed at me, or make a rude remark. I wouldn't go if there was a chance of that happening, obviously. But here's the thing about being the only friend that's different--you're different. And when it's because you're fat, as I'm sure it is with most anything, there is the added stigma of guilt. You're different because you aren't good enough to be the same, yadda, yadda, yadda. Same old song and dance, different state, different year.

And that's the crappy part. This isn't a new feeling. This is the feeling I've had since I was ten and we swam in gym class for the first time. This is the feeling I get every time I walk out in a bathing suit by myself. Granted, I walk out anyway because nobody tells me what to do (something that's actually been a negative thing at times) but the feeling is still there. That damn sense of "Oh no, they're all gonna laugh at me!"

And it's silly. Nobody doesn't know what I look like. It isn't as if I put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and I'm suddenly mistaken for a size 6. Oh my god! You're in a bathing suit and you're HUGE! But our culture is permeated not only with revulsion at unattractive things (and I'm using unattractive here in the most societal sense) but also with guilt at being unattractive. Think of all the times we close our eyes and say, "I don't want to see that!" or "A little consideration please!" Sometimes these thoughts are justifiable, such as in the case of spandex or mullets, but often it's just because it's a fat person in clothes we don't like.

So all of this is a long-winded way of saying: this isn't a new feeling, nobody is going to stop being my friend because I'm fat, yes I love who I am, go me. But it's also a way of acknowledging the stigma. We're back to that truth thing. It would be more pleasant for everyone, myself included, if we could all pretend that it's what's on the inside that matters (think Care Bears) and nobody looks at you differently when you aren't classically beautiful, but that would be a lie. If I put on a bathing suit today and actually was a size 6 (think selling soul to devil for new body) not only would everyone be shocked, but they would compliment me, they would congratulate me, and, probably, some of the guys would hit on me. This is simply a fact of life, and I know it to be true because it's happened before.

Because the fact of the matter is, nobody wants to sleep with an ugly person. I say that plainly and, perhaps, harshly, because it is true. The catch is what we define as ugly. Often times, what we think of as ugly changes with age, friendships, and personalities, but when we sketch our fantasy in our mind nine times out of ten we sketch something society considers beautiful. And it is that impulse towards societal beauty that makes the pool party so difficult. That causes this feeling I'm discussing right now. Because even though all my friends will still be my friends after this afternoon there will be the moment when their eyes register that I'm not physically what I'm supposed to be. And then they'll flinch. Just a little; just a slight twitching of the eye. But it will happen because it always happens. And then I have to pretend like I didn't notice and that no, it doesn't bother me at all. I really hate that part.

And I do it to. I love Jack Black, but when I fantasize I'm imagining a Spartan. I get it. I get the mindset because I'm aware of the times I too have the mindset; the times my eyes do the half-flinch when I see someone that is startling in their difference from the norm. And that's what it really boils down to. Being different. Oh the cliché, it makes me weep for it's Hallmark predictability. I like being different. I want to be different. I actually wouldn't be anyone else if given the option. But sometimes, just sometimes I get tired of standing there and smiling while someone quickly deals with my difference; sometimes I just want to be one of the group instead of making a stand, in a very literal sense, and fighting the good fight for my difference to exist.

So that's why pool parties are the bane of the chubby girl's existence. And that's while I go, walk slowly and purposefully to the pool, get in and have a great time.

I've finally begun watching season five of Angel. It is everything Joss Whedon always is, which is fantastic. It's also so much better than season four as to be ridiculous. However, as I sat watching the show I was struck again and again by how much of a brooder Angel is. I mean, seriously, that vampire broods. Everything is serious; everything is cause for more guilt. After two or three episodes I realized that if I ever actually hung out with Angel...I would kill him. Or at least make him cry.

In honor of Angel's magnificent brooding I've decided it's time for another top ten list. I respectfully acknowledge the prevalence of vampires on this list, but what're ya gonna do? Apparently eternal life turns men into brooders. Who knew?

The Top Ten Brooders

10. Mr. Darcy

It seems like an odd choice I'll grant you, and unlike most of the others on this list he is neither insane, undead, or evil. But Mr. Darcy does brood. Think of all the staring he does at Elizabeth; the man seriously stares a hole through her and the A&E version really plays this up. Plus, I wanted at least one brooder who wasn't a bad boyfriend on this list.

9. Nathaniel (Last of the Mohicans, movie version)

What happens when you take Cooper's fairly weak character, unfortunately named "Natty Bumpo," rename it Nathaniel and cast Daniel Day-Lewis to play him? Hotness my friends. Pure, brooding hotness. This movie isn't nearly as good as I think it is; I know that, and yet I still like it. But Mr. Lewis, long before there was blood brooded like a champ, in the woods, in buckskin. I see nothing wrong with this.

8. Dracula

Yes he's evil. Yes he may or may not be the devil, or the servant of the devil, or just misunderstood. But be that as it may, Dracula fairly defines brooding. The man discovers eternal life he broods so much. And, when his true love happens to be born again what does he do? He goes to find her and broods some more. Serious brooding here people.

7. Heathcliffe (Wuthering Heights)

I hate Heathcliffe. Detest him with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. But he is a brooder. I find his character evil and not at all sympathetic--it doesn't help that I hate Catherine too and they pretty much just destroy each other. Two crazies don't make a right people. However, Emily Bronte's character sort of defined the brooding, windswept, wild man before anyone else knew what to call it. Therefore I acknowledge his place on this list. I still hate him though.

6. Edward (Twilight)

I've only read part of this book, but it was enough to know that Edward was a serious brooder. He's a vampire. And he's been in high school for nigh on, what, one hundred years? That's brood worthy, I'll grant you, but when you combine brooding with high school...high schoolness? I'm out.

5. Lance (Voltron, Red Lion)

Going back and watching this show as an adult I'm struck by how much of Lance's brooding might be attributed to his obviously homosexual nature. I mean, really. When I was little I loved the guy because he was always so angry (why is anger so hot to little girls?) and his passion was exciting. He and the Princess never got together, though, and I'm pretty sure it's because he's gay. Just goes to show brooding doesn't have a sexual orientation.

4. Cowboys (In General)

We all know how I feel about cowboys. And I should say I'm not talking about cowboys as people here, but more specifically how they are portrayed in movies and books. Hell, even in Lonesome Dove the cowboys brood. Maybe it's all that time on the plains. Alone. Probably it's because they've all lost a love somewhere in their past and betrayed by another. It's a hard life being a cowboy. So you go on a brood with your harmonica. There's no judgment here.

3. Jazz Musicians/Poets

This seems to me self-explanatory. Have you ever met a jazz musician or poet? Ever? That's what I thought.

2. Batman

These last two are hard. Batman comes in at number two only because of time; what I mean by that is, Batman only gets to brood for the span of one human lifetime. Now, he does brood more than any other character created most of the time, but eventually his brooding will be thwarted by age. But we know how I feel about Batman and his broody-self.

1. Angel

Angel gets to be number one for the same reason Batman is number two. We're talking centuries of brooding here people, and by all appearances he won't ever stop. Plus, Angel hasn't only failed to save innocents, he's killed some of those innocents. That's pretty intense. It's not that I don't understand his motivations for brooding, you see, it's just that eventually I don't care.

And this is why I'll never make it with a brooder. Oh well.

I have another great horrible day story. It goes a little something like this:

I wake up. That's always one of the worst parts in these stories. I try to get ready quickly but inevitably run behind, and, also inevitably, it's a day where I have a lot to get done before a certain time. Somehow I manage to get dressed and mostly get what I need to get done done--still with me? Now here's the good part. I run to the restroom, late for class and needing to hurry across campus to the building the class is in. I'm wearing a very cute white skirt with what I would say is an attractive red and white tank-top. I'm feeling cute. I'm feeling flirty. I stand up from going to the bathroom and there is the bottom of my white skirt...in the toilet.

Oh yes, I peed on my skirt. But wait, there's more.

I run out of the bathroom, still late for class mind you, and proceed to throw the bottom of the skirt under the faucet in a desperate attempt to rinse whatever may or may not have been soaked into the skirt off. Looking around I see only bath and body works soaps and have no idea what one might use to eliminate a pee stain. Furthermore, I'm standing there with the skirt around my knees as I lift the vast majority of it under the faucet. All I can do is pray as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, effectively without bottoms on rinsing a pee stain out of my clothing. I begin to repeat over and over again, "Please no one come in, please no one come in." As a mantra, I think it's a pretty good one.

Thankfully the slightly dubious color in my white skirt rinses away quickly and I think I might have made a narrow escape when I suddenly realize, I'm wearing a white skirt. And I just got a significant part of it wet. To make things the best they could possibly be, as I have this thought a stream of water makes like the Mississippi and runs down (or up) the cloth of my skirt leaving a delightful wet trail in its wake. I now have a lot of wet white skirt. And I'm late for class.

So there I am, racing across campus to teach in my wet white skirt that may or may not have been peed on and, incidentally, still have a pee stain on it. For the first time ever I was actually glad I was in a desert because I figured any wetness would evaporate in under five minutes as I walked and maybe I wouldn't be caught teaching in a wet skirt with a tinge of yellow.

I am happy to report that it looks like I didn't actually pee on my skirt, or if I did it all rinsed away. No one in the classroom said anything, but then they're mostly college freshman and their skills of perception are, shall we say, lacking?

Speaking of which, I have another story to share.

Last evening I attended a pub quiz at a fine establishment here in the greater desert region. There are prizes for first and second place and also something for most creative team name. In general it seems that the best sexual innuendo wins, but last night our team went with Old Cancery Patrick Swayze. I really felt like this was a classic since I thought it up. Well, as I turned in one round of answers I heard the man reading the questions talking to the man scoring about team names and as he handed one answer sheet over he said, "she's kinda hot." I realized in that moment that creativity didn't have nearly so much to do with "most creative team name" as a great rack.

The team that won last night wasn't bad, but it's the principle of the situation that bothers me. I've faced a lot of gruff in my life for not looking like Pamela Anderson, but I absolutely must draw the line somewhere. I've decided to draw my line in the sand. I'm making my stand and not even a Persian army is gonna move me. You can ignore me, you can disrespect me, you can even judge me. But nobody gets to claim creativity because the judge wants to screw them. That's just un-American people. Our name it had it all: insensitivity, originality, tactlessness and it had them all without referencing sex. How many people can make such a boast? Do you know how hard it is to be tactless AND original without making a sexual joke? Trust me, that takes some doing.

But I did it gosh darn it. I was the most insensitive I could be while keeping it PG--hey, that sounds like a poem one of my students would write--and I'm not going to accept lack of recognition because the judge was looking to get busy. So screw the war, or your civil rights, or the election. Grab a marker, make a sign, and meet on the corner to protest. We're gonna take on biased pub quiz judges. Oh yeah, that's right.

I wonder if peeing on my skirt was karma for thinking up our team name? Crap!

I’ve had several moments I’ve wanted to write about and share, but unfortunately I’ve found neither the time nor the motivation. They were brilliant moments, though; you have my word on that.

But I recently saw both Kung Fu Panda and The Hulk, so obviously we should have a discussion about both. First off, I enjoyed each immensely—what is a movie if not entertaining? I ask this because I also saw The Strangers recently and while it was excellently done, cinematography, music, acting, everything was superb, but I didn’t enjoy myself. Why make a movie that neither educates, nor entertains? Some tragedies are not entertaining (I’m thinking here of Schindler’s List which I still haven’t seen or the ever controversial The Passion of Christ) but teach you something, either about history or yourself. And some movies are pure entertainment without teaching anything. But a movie that doesn’t entertain and doesn’t educate…what’s the point?

I know there are people that no doubt loved The Strangers, but I wasn’t one of them. I have nothing bad to say about it artistically, my dislike is purely a matter of taste. I find porn boring and I find two hours of mental torture needless. Giving me something flashy, fun, and shiny. Or at least dark with purpose.

The Hulk on the other hand, oh my. It has been percolating in me ever since last night and I’m still not sure how I feel exactly, but I know I like it the more and more I think about it. It was fun; it was heart breaking. It was everything The Hulk was for me as a child. I have an inappropriate attraction to monsters, we all know this, but as I watched this movie last night I realized that The Hulk has probably played as much a role in that part of my psyche as Godzilla, King Kong, and The Beast. For much of my life I have truly adored the story of King Kong—not in some sketchy bestiality way that we all might expect of me, but in the way of someone that is moved by a tale of humankind’s inability to appreciate nature, life. King Kong is the great misunderstood monster, and we all have a little bit of that inside of us, right? I certainly do, and I can relate to those stories of one understanding and accepting the monstrosity.

As I watched The Hulk last night, I finally realized it was much the same. Yes Bruce Banner is a man most of the time, but the monster is always within. And he is in a constant struggle to control that monster lest he hurt those around him. How horrific is that? You won’t hurt yourself, in fact, you are almost guaranteed to survive, but you might kill or seriously injure everyone else around you. Those are some serious consequences to your temper there. And Besty Ross, with her 50’s good looks and her soft voice is almost the epitome of feminine softness in contrast to the monster. We all want to be that girl, at least a little bit, the beauty that tames the beast.

But I had another realization, you see (I’m just full of realizations right now) and while I’m not saying I wouldn’t play Beauty if given the chance, I’m not so sure it’s a sexual thing for me. Allow me to explain, when you’re young and female you grow up with the hope of taming the bad boy (at least I did) and that somehow your vagina would heal is broken heart. Don’t ask me to explain where the idea comes from, but most of us girls get it somehow. This means that when I was younger and I wanted to be Besty Ross it was because I wanted to be the one the monster loved; I wanted to be the “special” girl. That’s an intrinsically selfish desire. I’m not passing judgment on it, but it’s a desire that arises from what I want, hence the selfishness.

As I revisit the concept of The Hulk, and all other “monsters” with it, I realize that I don’t want to be the “special” girl, I just want to be a friend so that Bruce Banner, or whomever it is that is battling the demon/monster inside, isn’t alone. Yeah, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit too. But it’s true. I feel worse about the obscene loneliness of the monster than I do my own. Either I’m growing up, or my desire for unhealthy relationships has just gotten more dangerous.

Some day I’m totally gonna fall for The Phantom of the Opera or The Hulk and he is so totally going to kill me. Just so that you all know that I know that I’m not right.

Let's have a conversation about trashy romance novels. Specifically why is it, in almost all of them, at some point the hero in a fit of rage is so much an ass to the heroine as to be almost unforgivable? When did completely awful treatment of another human being become sexy? This is what I want to know.

It's always the same pattern. She, in desperate need, concocts a story of half-truths to lure him into helping her. He, falling for her, finds out she lied and is furious. Inevitably they have slept together prior to the great reveal and now, arguing furiously, he accuses her of using her "womanly wiles" to seduce/control him. Usually it is implied she is some sort of succubus and, in the really classy books, maybe even a trollop. Boy, nothing says I love you like calling me a whore.

Now, I know that angry sex is supposed to be fantastic and you want sparks to fly between your main characters, but how does a guy come back from calling you a whore? Even if you did lie and were a total fake doesn't that seem a little extreme? Unless you slept with his best friend for money, or even just slept with his best friend, I'm having a hard time conceiving of justification for that sort of slander. And if you slept with his best friend I'm really anti that as a premise for a trashy romance novel; though Lordy knows there is probably a book on the shelves somewhere with that exact plot line. It's so depressing when you buy a romance and get XXX Jerry Springer instead--I can't even express how much I hate it when that happens.

Back to my point. What is the thrill of a hero that is (almost) abusive to the heroine? Is it the bad boy thing? The thrill of the conquer? He's a horrible person, but he just can't fight his love for her? Except he does fight his love, is usually justifiably angry, and ends up verbally smacking her, locking her in a tower, and sometimes border-line raping her. Just what are we teaching each other with romance novels? And why is the guy that may or may not hit you always sexy?

He's usually just this side of slapping her, some delightful bit about "trembling with rage" and "clenched fists at his side" makes an appearance but we forgive him because he never actually raises his hand to her. And his horrible behavior--read verbal abuse, treating her like a slave, locking her in a towers (I always come back to that one)--is so out of character for him. The author always goes to great lengths to describe how shocked he is at his inability to control himself or treat the heroine appropriately, but something about her pushes him over the edge. Oooh, sexy. But I have to ask myself, if my pushing you over the edge results in you calling me a whore/treating me like a slave/abandoning me while pregnant for months to a year, is that really what I'm after in life? I mean, as hot as you're loss of control could conceivably be, wouldn't it be hotter if you didn't constantly berate and belittle me? I'm just throwing that out there as a possibility.

And I'm kind of bummed about this. There has been a decided lack of good romance novels lately; I've been forced to read real literature just to pass the time. The one I'm reading now had all the makings of a mind-numbing piece of pure entertainment but then she lied and he got mad and he treated her much, much worse than any rational human being with an ounce of morality ever would and I thought--this isn't hot. I'll accept my punishment when I'm a crappy person, but this whole melodramatic, guilt-ridden, you've betrayed me with your lies you dirty whore soliloquy is just silly. Even more disturbing is the idea that this depiction isn't far from the truth. Maybe fights like this happen all the time and I'm the freak in society who doesn't take pleasure in making someone else cry. Or, I take pleasure in it very rarely.

I don't know. Now that I'm devoting the dissertation (at least in part) to an examination of what western civilization finds attractive and why I can't even read a good ol' fashioned trashy romance without getting irritated. What's a girl to do when she can't fantasize about a really hot man that loves her so much he hits her when she deserves it? And how am I ever going to find someone to love me when I absolutely insist on saving myself when possible? I mean honestly. There was a time when I accepted the message of the romance novel unequivocally: one should be a strong, independent woman, but when she finds her soul mate he will be able to relieve her of the burden of her independence and that defines happily ever after.

What's the world coming to when I question such an innocuous message as that?