Equality

If you are allowed have health insurance because of who you are married to, and I can't, you have special rights, not me.

If you can sit at a lunch counter with your spouse and not be ridiculed, and I am forbidden to speak about it on pain of a beating, we do not have equal rights, you have special rights.

If you can go to school without being mugged for the way you dress or speak and I can't, we aren't equal.

If your taxes are calculated by averaging your spouse's pay with yours, and by law mine cannot be, we are not equal.

If you can get married by signing a piece of paper, and I have to pass a law to live unmolested with my chosen partner, you have special rights, not me.

If you can go to the hospital, and decide on the treatment for your spouse because you are of the opposite gender from them, you have special rights, not me.

If you demand that we let you keep your special rights, by calling our demand for equality a "Special Right", then you are blind, and mean-spirited, not me.

If you try to keep us from having equality, by hiding your mean-spirited behavior behind a religious curtain, you are a hypocrite when you claim that we are looking for special rights, because in fact you are seeking nothing less than special consideration of your religious beliefs.

Every human being, gay, straight, lesbian, bi-sexual, transgender, undecided, decline-to-state, every single human being on this planet deserves nothing less than legal equality. And nothing more. This world is too damn tough to have to fight each other just to have one's basic rights not be limited. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal" is not empty rhetoric, but the reality that this country was founded on, the first country in the world founded so.

For those who believe that allowing others to behave in ways that they disagree with will result in the destruction of society, I cannot tell you how intensely I desire the destruction of that "society." When my friends, my children, my family are attacked because of who they love, and you stand there and give your approval, it's time for your way of life to end.

I grew up surrounded by men and women with same-sex and opposite-sex partners. They were and are my family. I cannot fathom the hatred and sheer meanness of a group of people in Washington State and California who would deny their fellow humans the right to have the family of their choice, and still describe themselves as having "pro-family values." I know it is a dog-whistle for right-wing christianity, but I cannot wrap my head around it. How small must your heart be to do this?

In a couple of weeks, I am going to visit a dear friend in the heart of Michelle Bachman territory. Recently, several gay teenage children have committed suicide in a suburb close to where I'll be. (It's in the current Rolling Stone, if you have the stomach for it.) Part of my work is to make sure that the GBLT and questioning teens I meet know that there are adults who will protect them, unlike the cowardly teachers and administration of their schools, who piously defended their inactions. I don't seek confrontation, but I will not back away from it.

The Happiest Dog

He was born in September, 2007, amid the smoke and fumes from the Southlands’ worst fires in decades. His sire was a decorated rescue dog from Germany; his dam, a future champion herder. The kennel recorded the litter with the letter, “S”, and all the pups were christened with “Smokin’ ” as their middle name.

I wanted an Australian Cattle Dog (aka Blue Heeler), as enough time had passed since a tumor punctured the heart of my beloved heeler Chelsea (and soon after my heart as well) for me to be ready for a new dog. We wanted a male as in this breed they tend to be less intense than the females, and either a red merle or a red/blue mix. Joy found Wallaby Kennel down in Bonsall, and they had a recent litter that would be ready in late November. But the only pup left when we arrived was a little red bitch, who was cute, but not the right dog for us.

2 weeks later, the kennel called to ask if were still interested in a mixed-color male who had been returned from his prospective family. Apparently, the new parents had just let him out into their (unfenced) yard, and the neighbor’s German Shepard had taken a strong dislike to the little guy. Unwilling or unable to deal, they returned him to the kennel. We were next on the wait list and in December we became his new family. On the way home, searching for a name, I came up with “Tucker”, Aussie slang for food, and given his delight in his meals, it was an appropriate choice, and “Wallaby’s Smokin’ Tucker” it was.

He was supposed to be my dog, but once he got home, it became obvious that this was not to be. Aliana took one look at him, and that was that: she loved him and he loved her back. “My fuzzy teddy bear”, she called him, and he showered her with licks and snuggles. He looked like a furry cross between a Corgi and a pot-bellied pig, swayed like J-Lo when he walked and shed like there was no tomorrow, and she could not have cared less.

Ana & Tucker

Oh, he was a cute little boy: pudgy and happy, into everything the way puppies are. Oliver, our 3-year-old Golden Doodle, was delighted to have a playmate at first, but as time went on and Tucker’s natural dominance grew, Oliver stepped into the back-ground to avoid being run over by Tucker on his way to a tennis ball. We got used to the sound of snapping jaws as his mouth closed on thin air (he wasn’t a very good catcher), and gradually the gnawing on everything in sight slowed, though not before the piano bench and several chairs bore scars.

Oliver & Tucker

Around the time we got Tucker, our older daughter Alysia adopted a cute little mutt named Bella from a shelter in San Francisco, and when she came to visit, the two pups became fast friends. In fact the three of them became a pack, and the rough-housing wouldn’t stop until parents intervened, and sent one or another to bed. It was like being with 3 4-year-old boys, who just happened to be wearing fur coats and liked to snap at each other.

Tucker, Bella & Oliver

And sniff cat butts. In fact, it was not uncommon to see Tucker walking around the house with his nose pressed deep into a cat behind. Our grey tabby, Gracie, enjoyed this so much we were often tempted to offer her a cigarette when they were done. And so, one night we were treated to the spectacle of Tucker, with his nose pressed against Gracie’s hind end, while Oliver humped Tucker, and Bella (not to be left out) tried to hump Oliver. Yes, folks, it was an interspecies gay orgy, right there in the living room. My regret is that I couldn’t get it on film to send to Pat Robertson.

When Tucker was 18 months, he decided that he wanted the ball so badly, he learned to swim. At first, his coat soaked up the water so much that he swam essentially vertically. But as time went on, he learned to motor very efficiently and quickly retrieve the “errant” throw, bring the ball back to us, and crouch in the ready position, tail flicking back and forth, and barking if we didn’t throw quickly enough for him.

His favorite resting spot: we call it, "monorail dog."
He would sometimes patrol the patio by walking back and forth along the wall.

About that bark. I took him to agility training at the Humane Society, and we had a great time. Until he decided that he wanted one of the other dog’s attention, and let loose with one of his “stun the cow” barks. This noise, so high pitched it was actually painful, cause the entire class to stop and see what or who was torturing an alien being. At which point Tucker went over and sat next to his new best friend, smiling and wagging his tail to beat the band. And then barked again, which led to the leader asking if everything was all right? And, except for bleeding ears, it was.

Then, last year in March, the animals were passing some sort of upper respiratory virus around, first with the cats hacking and sneezing, then Oliver, and finally it seemed to be Tucker’s turn and so we didn’t worry too much. But it never got better, and so off to the vet we went. And, from there things got worse, until we ended up with a diagnosis of Lymphoma, Stage 5b. Oof.

Even through the chemo, we had good days, lots of them. Right to the very end, he was never unhappy, going off with the techs to get his next dose even when it made him sick. But there is no cure for animal lymphoma, only palliation, and 10 months later it was time to say good-bye. And then, there were no more words.

Wallaby's Smokin' Tucker

9/2007 - 1/2012

May you chase and catch all the balls your big, furry heart desires.

Susanna Photos

OK, so I didn't finish any of the summer/falls stuff, but I'm going to. Really. I promise.

Let's start with a couple of photos of the Good Ship s/v Susanna.

That's her, in the foreground. There's another boat right behind her, with a green and white spinnaker, named Gentian. We're in the Deer Isle Thorofare, in Maine. We're winning. :-)

In harbor, near Camden, ME.

My Mom, in 2009, I think. She was never happier than aboard Susanna. Sleep well, dear.

On the flatbed which brought her from Maine. That's another story in itself, as she's almost 14 feet tall, and if they couldn't have kept her low, we would have needed to send a pair of escort vehicles to move power lines to let her under.

In the water at last, in Ventura.

And finally, ready to go.

I've sailed with my brother a couple of times now, once just the two of us, and it is a lot of fun. But boy oh boy, am I glad it's him thinking about taking care of her and not me! It's a LOT of work.

OK, one down, a few more to go.

Chili con carne for a Super Bowl crowd

So, a week from Sunday, 1/2 the country will eat itself into a coma, while watching grown men hurl themselves around a field. I will be one of them, rooting with my wife for the Giants :-)

Before that, however, we will host a tailgate party, and this is part of what I'm cooking up.

Chili for a small crowd.

Makes about 4 quarts, easily doubled or tripled.

Base:

1 large yellow onion

1 head garlic

1 large can diced green chilis, hot or mild

3 bottles or cans dark beer, like Negro Modelo

3 # ground beef

1 large or 2 small cans diced tomatoes (I use the fire-roasted ones for more flavor)

Spices:

10-15 dried Ancho Chilis, prepared as below (most authentic, most delicious and most time consuming)

or

2 packages Carroll Shelby's Chili fixings (my favorite, easiest, flavorful, straighforward)

or

1/4 - 1/2 cup Penzey's Chili 9000 mix (tasty choice, order now)

or

a large amount of your favorite chili blend (most comfortable)

(if you are using the Anchos, you will also need 2 tsp cumin, 1 tsp ground coriander, 1/4 tsp cinnamon, 1TBS dried oregano, and 1 TBS adobo seasoning)

2 whole Habanero peppers

2 TBS creamy peanut butter

1/4 cup masa harina (corn flour for tortillas, which comes with the Shelby mix, but is available at most supermarkets in our area.)

For Serving:

Red skin or dry roasted peanuts

Chopped jalapenos

Chopped habaneros

Grated cheddar cheese

Sour Cream

Chopped red onion

Chopped cilantro

Corn and/or flour tortillas

Taste the beer. Seriously, just taste it. You'll want to know later how much to add.

If you're going to go whole hog and make the chili base from scratch, start by heating a large skillet over med-high heat, and toast the ancho chilis (not the green chilis!) a few at a time until they are browned. Remove them to a plate and let cool, then cut them open with a pair of scissors, and remove some or all of the seeds and veins, which is where the heat is. Put the prepared chilis in a bowl, and cover with warm water to soften, 30 minutes. Then puree the chilis in a blender, adding more warm water if necessary to get a thick sauce. Strain the mixture into a bowl, stir in the spices and set aside.

Taste the beer again. Make sure you have at least a 1/2 bottle left or open another.

Finely chop the onions and garlic, and saute the onions in peanut oil or vegetable oil over low heat in a dutch oven or large pot until very soft, 15-20 minutes, then add the diced green chilis and the garlic and saute until very fragrant and softened.  Remove the veggies, and add 2 TBS oil and turn the heat to high. Brown the meat in batches, removing it when ready and adding the next batch, taking care not to burn the pan. When all the meat has been browned, pour in (up to) 1/2 bottle beer, and scrape the pan to get up the flavorful bits that stuck to the bottom. Let the beer cook for a bit to burn off some of the alcohol, and then add the meat and veggies back to the pan and stir to blend. Add the chili and its spices if you're going that route, or the packaged spices, and stir well. Add the tomatoes, and stir again. If the chili looks thick at this point, add a can or two of water (if you use the Shelby's, you will need the water.) Lower the heat to medium and bring to a simmer, then turn the heat right down, add the peanut butter and stir until blended, and then drop in the whole habaneros, which will add a lot of flavor, but not a lot of heat unless they are cut open. <--- WARNING

Now, put the whole thing in a 250 degree oven for 4-6 hours, which makes sure nothing burns. You could use a crock pot, or a flame tamer and leave it on the stove, but whichever way you cook it, you do need to check a couple of times for spiciness, and fish out the habaneros if the chili is getting too hot. Use the beer to cool your mouth.

When the chili has cooked for a couple of hours, taste for salt by spooning out a couple of tablespoons, and adding a little salt to that first. (Salt changes the way food tastes, so it's best to check on the side before adding it to the whole pot.) Now you can mess with the flavor by adding more spices, a little brown sugar, etc. The chili should cook for at least 4 hours. There will probably be a puddle of red oil floating on top: don't get rid of it! Or, at least not all of it, because it's where a lot of the oil-soluble flavors are! Instead, mix 1/4 cup masa harina with enough COLD water to make a thin, pourable batter, and add 1/2 slowly to the chili. Mix well, and add more if it's not thick enough.

Done. Now open another beer (you did save ONE, didn't you?) and enjoy. If the chili will be served cool or at room temp, it will SEEM less spicy, but the next day your lower body will know exactly how spicy it was, so be careful.

Bonus tip: when you chop spicy peppers, you inevitably get pepper juice on your hands, which is tough to get off before you do something silly like pick your nose or go to the bathroom. So, before you have an emergency which will cause your spouse/friends/rommies to fall around the room laughing at you, when you are done chopping the peppers, rub a teaspoon or two or vegetable oil on your hands, and thoroughly rub the oil in, paying special attention to the places that the pepper juice could get into. Then wash your hands well with soap and hot water, and still be careful for a while. (Until your next shower, anyway.) OK? OK!

A Motley Fool is still a Fool

God, it hurts to give the idiots any link love at all, but if you are using Motley Fool as a tool to help you learn to invest, you deserve all you lose.

http://www.fool.com/investing/general/2012/01/25/what-were-154-million-apple-fans-thinking.aspx

The basic idea is that you should wait to buy a new product until just before the new one comes out, thereby saving yourself some money. It apparently has never occurred to this fool that if everyone did that, there would be no new products.


And he proudly calls himself Aristotle. Un-fucking-believable.