So my politically active, pagan lesbian friend Emily sent me an e-mail this week. Planned Parenthood is doing an online petition to get Supreme Court nominee John Roberts to disclose his stand on abortion. Now, you and I and my cats know John Roberts' stand on abortion (like, duh), but hey, I want to help, so I signed my name and sent the petition to four other people.

One of the people I sent it to was Ellen, a former writing-group participant with me. She wrote me back a few minutes later, saying: you're the worst republican *ever*

I called her the next day, after I stopped laughing. For, yes, I AM the worst Republican ever. Last October I went to the Kerry campaign HQ and asked for a “Republicans for Kerry” button. Shortly before we moved here from Chico, I got a phone call from the Republican party.

“Yes, I'm calling to thank you for your continued support,” this 22-year-old man told me, “and to ensure that we'll have your continued continued support this November.”

“No,” I said, “I don't think you will.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, when I registered with the Republican party 14 years ago, I did so because I believed it was the thinking-man's party. Unfortunately, I no longer believe that to be true.”

I don't think the guy had a response to that in his script, so he sputtered politely; I wished him good day and hung up.

And you know, it pisses me off that we came into the year 2000 with a strong fiscal situation, little debt, and now that the pro-business Republicans are in charge, our financial situation and national debt are ballooning, along with the deathcount of our soldiers in the Middle East.

And is our President a “thinking man?” Well, his nickname for his #1 secret-leaking political adviser, Karl Rove, is “turd blossom, which, granted, is the height of sophistication among third-grader playgrounds everywhere, but dontcha think the president of the United States of America could maybe come up with something a little less… scatalogical?

Apparently not. And I'd like to see G-dub improve not only his thought factor but also his Christianity factor. I'm not usually one for bumper-sticker philosophy, but I saw a great one the other day:

So my soul-sister, California-capitol-city girlfriend Becky sent me an e-mail yesterday. Subject: you'll enjoy this. Becky and I are remarkably like-minded — if she says I'll enjoy something, dammit, I do. So I clicked on the e-mail and got a great big shock.

You see, Becky used to date this guy called Lloyd. And they dated for a year, and she was so serious about him that she continued dating him even after learning that he is 1) a Southern Californian and 2) a Democrat (this was back before G-Dub fucked up things but good). She was super-devoted to him, and when he announced that he was going to run for the California Assembly, she spent the equivalent of weeks of time working on his campaign for free, and flying and/or driving herself down to LA (which is the pit of Hell, trust me) on most weekends, just because she's such a remarkable person. Becky has a big job and about forty philanthropic campaigns on her plate, yet Lloyd's campaign took up one of her two front-burners. Becky was the #1 campaign girlfriend — I for one figured she'd be the Assemblyman's wife before much longer.

As I recall, it was about two months after the election when she found out that Lloyd had ANOTHER girlfriend; and although he said this other woman was his “ex,” they were attending couples' counseling together. Naturally, this woman knew nothing about Becky. Broke Becky's heart. What a fucking bastard.

She got over it, got a way better boyfriend, who is WAY cuter and has an awesome sense of humor, so much so that he's a rising star of the Sacramento comedy troupe circuit (compare: the one time I met Lloyd, he struck me as rigid and cold, but it was at Becky's 30th b'day party, and he was meeting a lot of her friends for the first time, so I didn't want to pass judgment or anything).

Which brings us to my e-mail from Becky yesterday, that of the “you'll enjoy this” subject line.

It's an article from that past Saturday's Los Angeles Daily News, entitled “Assemblyman eyed for ABC's 'Bachelor'.” And it's all about that fuckhead Lloyd, described in the lede as “Six-foot-three and sharp in a pinstriped suit, Lloyd Levine could soon be one of the hottest men in America.”

Now, I've never seen “The Bachelor,” though my cousins had Andrew Firestone in their wedding as a groomsman, and he didn't seem much happier for his TV experience. But as far as I know, it's essentially TV-sponsored pimp-and-whoredom.

Which, I think, makes Lloyd the ultimate candidate: after all, he's been involved in California politics for *years*. Talk about a bad thing happening to a bad person. I hope they pick him. I can hardly wait.

Read it for yourself (and laugh at the faggy, ugly-tie-to-divert-your-attention-away-from-the-fact-that-he's-losing-his-hair picture) here.

And, because people from Becky's work read her blog so she can't blog about it, I've taken the mantle as a good sister would. So feel free to comment your support of Becky on my blog. She will read it and enjoy it over a glass of California wine with her adorable new boyfriend, who is worth 10 of Lloyd and would never, ever, ever choose a tie as ugly as Lloyd managed to pick for himself.

Got an e-mail from dear friend Steve, all the way in Washington state for his eldest son's wedding. Steve's such a good guy that even though he's all wrapped up in family, he still sent me an e-mail asking, “you haven't blogged about your pregnancy lately — how's that going?”

Good news is, it's going great. Baby is pretty active whenever I lie down or wake up — the other night it felt like he was building a workbench in there, or maybe cobbling some shoes.

I have my final midwife appointment with my current midwife on Tuesday: a standard test for gestational diabetes. I'm having to change midwifery groups due to the change in my insurance. I'd be freaking out more, had my best friend not changed primary providers in her sixth month. So thanks, Anne! I've got an appointment with another midwifery group in mid-August, and a woman who goes to our church (we found a church! yay!) goes to this “new” group and likes them, so that helps.

The other good news is, we've named him. The name is in line with Brian's “world-leader” and my “literary/author” name preferences, and our family is really excited about it. I'd unveil it here, but names are VERY powerful, and I wish to keep it off the public record. If you want to know, send me an e-mail.

Or call me! I'm home a lot these days.

So MDH and I have been having a bit of a film orgy recently, having heartily availed ourselves to the “artsy” video store, which catalogs its top-floor movies by director, and boasts every film on the “America's 100 Best Films Ever” list from AFI. We really enjoyed “Chinatown,” especially the vistas of Ventura County as open land and orange groves. “Kinsey” was interesting but icky — is anyone else getting tired of all the movies about infidelity? Really: Sideways, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Closer, etc. Booor-ing.

“A Very Long Engagement” is one that I've been waiting for since I missed it in the theater. The novel, originally written in French by Sebastien Japrisot, is on my top-five list of all time (along with _Moby Dick_, _To Kill a Mockingbird_, _The Catcher in the Rye_, and one I haven't read yet). They did a good job with the film. It was especially entertaining to watch Jodie Foster speak French, which she does remarkably well. MDH had a bit of a tough time keeping the characters in line; frankly, if I hadn't read the book multiple times, I would have too. So, read the novel first, but then rent the film. Otherwise, don't be ashamed if you have to take notes.

We haven't gotten to “Being There” yet. I'll keep you posted. And hey, did any of you catch “Miami Ink” on TLC tonight? It's worth a look.

So back in the old, old, olden days, the term “tragoidia” was coined because it was Greek for “goat song.” The rumors (for nobody who went to the yearly tragedy festival(s) are extant) are that the playwright who created the top tragedy had a goat sacrificed in his name, once all the plays had been performed. It was the culmination of a great deal of very hard work — for, children, writing a play is hard fucking work, even if it's just about two foreign exchange students in a laundromat, or a couple on their last date, or whatever — and the victor was able to enjoy the spoils, if not during his life, then by pleasing the gods and enjoying a happy afterlife.

Of course, Aristotle says nothing about this in his Poetics, still pretty much the book on how to write the book on tragedy, but rumors are rumors, and a rumor that's been around for more than 2,000 years is a pretty solid rumor, if you ask me.

So it is interesting to me, and seems a logical tangent, to determine from whence we get the term “scapegoat.” A scapegoat is defined as one who shoulders the blame for the actions of others. And yeah, this one goes even farther back than our goat song: all the way back to Leviticus 16:8 (hello, Torah), which stateth: “And Aaron shall cast lots upon the two goats; one lot for the Lord, and the other lot for the scapegoat.” The scapegoat wasn't killed, but rather led off into the wilderness, bearing the sins of Satan. Hebrews believed it would be claimed by the fallen angel Azazel.

And yet I can't help but meld the two, “goat song” and “scapegoat,” because every tragedy features a tragic flaw in the protagonist (say, blind trust), that results in a catharsis (say, the audience feeling intense shadenfreud, a joy tinged with sadness and guilt for feeling joy), and then the goat song that was the most successful, resulting in the greatest catharsis, the greatest feeling of “o God I'm so glad that didn't happen to me, but it could, but it didn't so I'm happy, but it could happen to someone else, and that makes me feel like shit,” resulted in a sweet little goat being led to the altar and getting its throat cut.

To which all I can really say is: Mehehehehenh, mehehenh.

You will be happy and excited to hear that in my inability to do an actual real job, I've been writing. The good news is, I've written the lyrics for all but one song for Act One. Bad news is, there's like eight songs in Act Two I have yet to begin. Oh, and I've got complete melody lines for the show opener and the “Mayoral Moritat.” So, like, yay.

So, I started today by reading _The Kite Runner_, which had way more butt raping than I ususally like in a novel, and ended it with “Me and You and Everyone We Know,” which had NO butt raping and was exceptionally lovely. So, that's a thumbs-down on _The Kite Runner_, and a see-it-immediately on “Me and You and Everyone We Know.” And then, call me on the phone and just say, “macaroni.”

Don't really know why I'm posting, other than the fact that I've been up since 4 this morning and the cats are tired of me hunting them down for kitty hugs. Dad and his significant other arrived yesterday; we're off to Boston today. I hope to sleep all the way there. We'll see.

Boy, do I pick the right week to get fired or what? Praise Jesus for looking out for me. Amen.