You don't hear this often.

Shooting at apartment complex leaves two dead.

The headline, unfortunately, isn't very unusual. Nor is the fact, frankly, that it happened on my side of town.

Here's what I found unusual:

The suspect's father, Roy Mateen, told the San Antonio Express-News that Strong called him after the incident and told him he shot two women but didn't know if they were dead.

Mateen said Strong hinted about fleeing to Mateen's home in Mississippi, but the father told his son he would call the authorities if he tried. Mateen suggested his son turn himself in to police.

“I told him, ‘I'm not going to hold you up for your wrongdoings,'” he said. “He knows my rules. It's terrible what he did.

“The first thing I thought was that he locked himself up for life,” Mateen added. “He killed himself as well as those people.”

snip

Mateen said his son left Mississippi for San Antonio about 15 years ago with the mother of his son.

Strong told his father several times that he was having child-custody issues with the mother. The suspect's father said he thought it was because Strong wasn't paying child support.

“You need to take care of your child the way I took care of you,” Mateen said he told his son. “I stayed out of trouble with the law.”

Hmm. It seems Tabari Strong wasn't a choir boy.

Emily Post must be rolling in her grave.

Our President is clueless about proper protocol.

But that's OK, the NYT is on it!

Canadians still bow to England's Queen; so do Australians. Americans shake hands. If not to stand eye-to-eye with royalty, what else were 1776 and all that about?

snip

There was that curtsy, during the Reagan years, when Lenore Annenberg, herself the chief of protocol, forgot herself entirely and did a little dip to greet a visiting Prince Charles. That prompted a stern warning from Miss Manners against those who might mock the effort that "was once put into freeing Americans from the necessity of bending their knees." Soon afterward, when Nancy Reagan greeted Queen Elizabeth II behind closed doors, her press secretary acknowledged that Mrs. Reagan had bowed her head but insisted, "It was definitely not a curtsy."

snip

But the "thou need not bow" commandment from the State Department's protocol office maintained a constancy of more than 200 years.

(Emphasis here is mine.)

Wait, what?

You mean that wasn't Obama they were taking to task, but President Clinton? Huh.

Well, let's all just pretend it was, OK? I haven't a clue what became of Ms. Annenberg, but she is desperately needed in the Obama White House.

I shall not put too fine a point on it. This is unconscionable, and not just from a political standpoint. It is a grievous error in manners as well. We are Americans. We do not bow to foreign royalty. None of us. That means not you, not I, and certainly not the President of the United States.

A salute, as most of you know, is a show of respect. This is why it is returned by the officer to the enlisted man who has thus greeted him. (There is protocol, of course--the enlisted proffers the salute, as he is of lesser rank.)

A bow is not a show of respect. A bow is a show of subservience. This is why there are varying degrees of bows. A commoner would bow quite deeply to his monarch. A duke's bow would barely merit the term. The only circumstances under which a head of state would bow that deeply to another head of state would be if he was recently conquered and hoping to keep his own head. The depth of President Obama's bow goes beyond mere subservience into obsequiousness.

Either we have a President who is completely clueless as to proper protocol (here's a clue: a handshake is the ONLY proper greeting for an American to give another person in diplomatic interaction), or we have a President who is trying to knock America down a few pegs. I sincerely hope it's the former, but I doubt it.

Debate Heirarchy

I StumbledUpon this neat little graphic over here. It's a graphic representation of this article. I very much prefer the visual representation, having always been a fan of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, though I don't 100% agree with it.**

I try to keep my arguments always within the top three. I abhor making an argument without examples, which is one of the reasons I post relatively seldom. A blog post for me that's not about, well, me requires a lot of research and I try to not use obviously slanted sources. (You will not, for example, ever find me using Mercola to further an argument, no matter that I agree with some of the stuff on the site.)

All this said, I don't have anything against the very bottom level of argument, so long as it is supported by one of the three highest forms of argument. Because, let's face it, calling an asshat an asshat is sometimes deserved.

In my internet meanderings I am sometimes bedeviled by a woman who vehemently disagrees with me on politics. The problem? She never says "Sabra, you are wrong because of X, Y, & Z, and here are links to support my counterargument." Rather, she says "Sabra, you're a fucking stupid-ass bitch." (If that's not a direct quote, it's close!) And she never, ever so much as presents a counterargument, much less provides anything to back it up.

Thing is, on subjects other than politics, she's shown herself to be pretty darned intelligent, and we even find ourselves agreeing on many things. So I have always been rather bemused by these political discussions.

I see a lot of name calling and ad hominem attacks from the Left, and relatively little of it from the Right (Sean Hannity is distressingly prone to this; it's why I no longer listen to him). It only plays into my personal theory that modern liberalism (as opposed to classical liberalism a la John Rawls) is fundamentally an illogical philosophy based more upon feelings than upon facts. That some moral theories are based upon feelings is nothing new--hedonism dates back to Epicurous, and of course John Stuart Mill's destructive philosophy of Utilitarianism is based upon the idea that what is right is what feels good. That I find this attitude incredibly distasteful is also no secret to my regular readers.

At best, much of the "reasoning" I have seen lately from the left falls into the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy--or, to put it in a form you might be more familiar with, the belief that correlation implies causation (not quite it, but close). This is most readily visible in cases of gun crimes. Because guns are easily accessible (they're not; I know), any crime committed with a gun must have been committed because of this ease of access; therefore if we restrict legal access to guns, we will reduce illegal activity with guns. The problems with this argument are readily apparent, of course; nevertheless it is one that is frequently proffered. I think this logical fallacy is why so often it seems liberals are more interested in treating the symptoms rather than the disease (witness choosing abortion as a women's rights issue rather than the continued objectification of women and the overwhelming societal influences encouraging us to depend only on our sexuality for self-worth).

I actually think that classical liberalism has much to offer modern political discourse. It's a damned shame that the Left has allowed itself to be overcome by the feelings rather than facts crowd, and I don't doubt this is a large portion of why conservatism has been strengthening over the last few years. I have spoken in the past of my general appreciation for former President Clinton, and in truth when I turned 18 I registered as a Democrat. I was a Populist as a teenager and honestly continue to think of myself as one. However, I found no home for my populist ideals within the DNC, as I believe the populace at large is best served by strengthening the individual in particular. And somehow, I doubt I'm the only one.

Just something to think about this weekend...










**It's not that I disagree with Maslow's Hierarchy per se, rather that I don't feel it's nearly as linear and well-defined as it's often presented.

Today's pointless quiz...

via Auto Insurance.org

Got the link to this off Mental Floss's Weekend Links blog. Kinda scary that the blog author only got a D--even the ones I didn't recognize straight off were easy to figure out just by looking and thinking for a minute.

Thankfully, she's in Atlanta, not San Antonio.

In which Sabra gets all mushy.

I'm listening, right now, to KFWR's internet stream. It is only one of many wonderful things Erik introduced me to. (Minds out of the gutter...I introduced far more of that to him, anyway.) Texas country. Otherwise known as real country music. Hayes Carll, Bleu Edmondson, Cross Canadian Ragweed, Jason Boland, Randy Rogers Band, und so weiter. Good shit. I don't know why San Antonio doesn't have a Texas country station; KJ97's 10pm-to-midnight show doesn't cut it.

We started reading each others' blogs around the same time--the beginning of July. I first commented on one of his posts on 9 July. Surprisingly enough, this was not directly related to music. We didn't really get into it about that topic until the end of that month. He has since told me that comment of mine, about singing "San Antonio Rose" to my girls as babies (well, before they were even born, really) made him sit up and take notice of me...but he's also the only person since I was a teenager who overestimated my age.

I've told him he was my blog crush. That he had a window of opportunity that had started to close by the time he finally came through it. All of this is true. He has told me he took notice of me almost immediately but didn't think he had much of a chance, but figured he'd better go for it when I started talking about Fred.

I told him the first or second time we chatted on Facebook that I wasn't going to make him any promises. Truth be known, it was myself I was trying to convince, not him. I knew long before I ever heard his voice that I was going to fall for him. What I did not know was how fast, or how hard. An acquaintance told me he didn't really "get" the online dating thing. And that's OK. Because I really don't, either.

Those of you who happen to read Erik's blog will not be surprised by this: He is exactly the same in person as he is in that blog. And discovering that is what made me fall in love with him. Here is the one thing I never thought to find: a person who has as little patience for the typical romantic games and BS as I do. He is honest, and he is forthright, and he haz teh critical thinking skillz. He is also easily distracted, being prone to what we term "Ooh, shiny!" moments. This means he's OK with mine, which are sometimes quite literal (light fixture, baby? ;-) ).

We talk. Neither of us ever shuts up. Our phone discussion last night covered Taylor Swift, the joke that the CMAs have become, moral relativism, reasoning from what is to what ought to be (and why you really can't), Brad Paisley vs. Bleu Edmondson, deontology vs. consequentialism, and more.

He shares my habit of overanalyzing country songs. He was not bothered at all when, on his birthday, I took a breather from making out with him to critique the song that was playing on his Sirius radio at the time. We share, as he has said more than once, a love of the old country, too. His favorite Merle Haggard song is "Rambling Fever." Mine is "That's The Way Love Goes." While his ex-girlfriend (whom we've jokingly named Kitty-Eater) looked at him like he was eating a kitten when he sang along with Merle singing Bob Wills, I have told him he hooked me by playing me that very song the first night we talked on the phone. We've debated the finer points of different versions of the same song (CCR's vs. Ray Wylie Hubbard's "I Wanna Rock and Roll"; CCR's vs. RRB's "This Time Around", the eleventy billion versions of "I Don't Think Hank Done It This Way" and more).

We share a love of the written word. He carries a pen tucked behind his ear. He appreciated it when I took a red pen and copyedited some signs in one of the bathrooms at school. We have long discussions not only of the finer points of grammar and punctuation (he lacks my devotion to the Oxford comma, poor deluded soul) but of journalism, newspapers, the study of journalism, and the writing skills--or lack thereof--possessed by the folks in my Creative Writing class. He makes his living doing something absolutely anachronistic for this era, and he loves the way I am somewhat knowledgeable about his field and more than willing to discuss the finer points of it with him. And that rocks.

At the risk of TMI: This post of his caught my eye very early on. It's unusual, these days, to find someone like that. His lovers outnumber mine by exactly one. He is careful (and I do not just mean in a safe sex manner). I appreciate that. It was a good hint to me that he was my kind of man. And, well, he is enthusiastic. Having been married to a man who not only never wanted to have sex but seemed to make it a point to make me feel bad for wanting to...it's a hell of an appreciated change. I'll just leave it at that.

He has an excellent sense of humor, sometimes self-deprecating. He does have a habit of misunderestimating himself, but the flip side of that is there's not a self-centered bone in his body. At the same time, he is quietly confident in me. In us, I should say ("I know what I want and I will not stop until I get it" <--actual quote). In practical terms, this means that I can wear high heels that make me slightly taller than he (he's only 2 inches taller than I am--yay for short guys!) and my comment earlier about tossing his scrawny gimp ass across the room made him laugh, not get offended.

He is, as I have said elsewhere, a true gentleman. The best of what Texas has to offer. Y'all should hear the way he speaks of his mama. And his stepfather, for that matter. Or his grandmama, or his nephew, or his uncle...Or, for that matter, my kids.

Most importantly, perhaps: We have a shared outlook on life. We believe much the same way. We think similarly. We both want a little piece of Texas countryside and a passel o' floppy-haired chilluns.

I am still more than a little in awe of this. He has said before that he likes the way that, when we are together, I cannot stop touching him. This is why: I am amazed by him. He is what I did not think even really existed. He likes me. This is a strange statement to make, yes. But the truth. All those little quirks of personality my ex-husband merely tolerated, Erik revels in. (He's said he got a feeling long ago that we would be very good for each other. And he was right. And every time I think of that, I get chills.) And because he is so much like me, I am able to relax and be myself in a way I was never really able to before. It wasn't until I met him that I realized this is the way things are supposed to be.

But I'm glad I know now.

One more gone to God

Memory of fallen Marine stays with family.

During the Mass of the Resurrection, clergy and fellow Marines told stories about Ruiz; they said he told his wife that “he wanted to die for a purpose.”

“Know that he rests in the hearts of those who knew and loved him,” the priest said. “He lives in all that we are.”

Ruiz, born in Nava Coahuila, Mexico, grew up in San Antonio and graduated from Taft High School in 2001.

A combat engineer, Ruiz was on his second tour in Afghanistan and second stint with the Marines. He worked with his father as a bricklayer for three years but missed the Marines. He felt that he needed to go back, his family said, and he went back into action with his wife's blessing.

A statue of Jesus with outstretched hands stood above the pews filled from front to back. The wail of restless babies mingled with muffled tears throughout the Mass.

A Marine stood and said Ruiz called his wife before his last mission. He was sure the words “I love you” were said before their final talk ended.

The Marine closed his words with “Semper fi, Marine,” drawing applause from the crowd.

Sgt. Ruiz, it turns out, is a relative of Dave's, who had a post on his homecoming.

I was friends in high school with his cousin, Nora. At the beginning of this month, the same day she accepted my friend request over on Facebook, she posted a photo of his casket arriving at Dover AFB. This is how I learned of his death. Rather more immediate than reading of it in the paper.

I was not fortunate enough to know Sgt. Ruiz personally, but I have seen his family's mourning vicariously, and this is what always gets me anyway. I ache for Nora and can only imagine how much worse it is for those closer to him.

Semper Fi, Marine.

Credit Where It's Due

Cuts from O's speech at Fort Hood today:

But here is what you must also know: your loved ones endure through the life of our nation. Their memory will be honored in the places they lived and by the people they touched. Their life's work is our security, and the freedom that we too often take for granted. Every evening that the sun sets on a tranquil town; every dawn that a flag is unfurled; every moment that an American enjoys life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness - that is their legacy.

snip

One medic - Francisco de la Serna - treated both Officer Munley and the gunman who shot her.

It may be hard to comprehend the twisted logic that led to this tragedy. But this much we do know - no faith justifies these murderous and craven acts; no just and loving God looks upon them with favor. And for what he has done, we know that the killer will be met with justice - in this world, and the next.

snip

We are a nation that endures because of the courage of those who defend it. We saw that valor in those who braved bullets here at Fort Hood, just as surely as we see it in those who signed up knowing that they would serve in harm's way.

We are a nation of laws whose commitment to justice is so enduring that we would treat a gunman and give him due process, just as surely as we will see that he pays for his crimes.

We are a nation that guarantees the freedom to worship as one chooses. And instead of claiming God for our side, we remember Lincoln's words, and always pray to be on the side of God.

snip

This generation of soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines and Coast Guardsmen have volunteered in a time of certain danger. They are part of the finest fighting force that the world has ever known. They have served tour after tour of duty in distant, different and difficult places. They have stood watch in blinding deserts and on snowy mountains. They have extended the opportunity of self-government to peoples that have suffered tyranny and war. They are man and woman; white, black, and brown; of all faiths and stations - all Americans, serving together to protect our people, while giving others half a world away the chance to lead a better life.

snip

Long after they are laid to rest - when the fighting has finished, and our nation has endured; when today's servicemen and women are veterans, and their children have grown - it will be said of this generation that they believed under the most trying of tests; that they persevered not just when it was easy, but when it was hard; and that they paid the price and bore the burden to secure this nation, and stood up for the values that live in the hearts of all free peoples.

I'll get all political in the next day or two. For now, I will say merely that the President's speech, while not without its shortcomings (which I shall allow others to address) was moving and a worthy tribute to those who were killed.

Fort Hood

This is one of those cases where I really can't add to what others have said, so I'll just echo some of it:

JayG reminds us of what's important:

I can't help but think of the 13 men and women killed and the 30 people wounded. Please pray for the dead and injured, that they may find peace in this terrible time.

The guys at Blackfive have a few great pictures and also rightly call out Officer Kimberly Munley as a warrior and hero. I'm going to have to agree with Uncle Jimbo:

I will only say I'm glad the son of a bitch lived and we get to kill him properly. Do we still have firing squads?

Speaking of which, Albatross pointed out that Hasan is being cared for here in San Antonio. (And for the record, I agree with your assessment of him.)

MySA.com has profiles of nine of the victims. They also have a good summary of ways to help.

Stormbringer has what I think is an excellent rundown of the situation (h/t TOTWTYTR). I'll quote this:

This event is very disturbing, on so many levels. The Army is my family; I bleed green. When the Army takes it like this, everyone in our extended Army family hurts - BAD.

(My first thought was worry for a wife or two I know on Fort Hood.)

***


On a semi-personal note, Dave writes here of Sgt. Cesar B. Ruiz, a relative of his. I was friends back in high school with another of Cesar's cousins, Nora. We seem to have had a run of young men from this area killed in Afghanistan recently. It is, simply, heartbreaking. This is the San Anto spirit y'all.

You call THAT a knife?

Yesterday morning, I had this conversation:
“Baby, I need a knife and a cutting board if you have one.”
“I don’t think I have a cutting board; let me check. No, I don’t have a cutting board.”
“Is this the only knife you have?”
“Ah, yes.”
“You own ten guns and this is the only knife you have? What the hell, do you shoot your steak into small pieces?”

The knife in question, y’all, was a paring knife. With a blade that was maybe 2.5” long. The person I had this conversation with was my sweetie.

Is this one of the differences between women and men? I can’t even count the number of sharp, pointy knives in my house. They’re some damn fine knives, too. I have a whole set of knives where the handle and the blade are made out of the same piece of steel. I have a good quality Japanese chef’s knife that I bought in Hawaii before our household goods arrived because I needed a knife to cut things. My boyfriend has a pickup truck, a gun club membership, nicer furniture than I ever thought of having…and a gun-shaped bottle of tequila…but not one decent knife.

That’s OK, though. I ratted him out to his aunt and his mama. He’s probably going to have enough knives to pin a deer hide to the wall in the living room—right by the work bench—before the weekend is out.

I also know what I’m getting him for Christmas.

Devotion

My baby's birthday is Thursday (c'mon, y'all: "Awww").

I'm driving to his place today, after I attend my one "can't miss" class (First Aid, wherein if we miss a single lab, we don't get our certification). Three hundred miles. This trip was planned well in advance, for us--about two weeks ago.

This, my friends, is the definition of love: Willingness to face Houston traffic not once but twice in the course of slightly over 24 hours' time.

(For the record: yes, he's getting a birthday present. No, firearms are not involved. I will admit ammunition was my first thought.)

I am now the mama of a four-year-old.

Happy Birthday to my baby girl.

Some things are cliches for a reason.

Surely you've heard the old line "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

I've been thinking about it quite a bit lately, and have been mulling over this post for a while. I do not typically discuss teh secks, feeling it something better left as a topic of conversation between the two people who are having it with one another. But there are a few things I want to say.

I am not really a prude. I am on the second lover of my life, though, with no plans to expand the list, well, ever. I enjoy sex...but I am not willing to have it with just anyone. The emotional commitment, to me, has to come first.

I have relaxed somewhat in my generalized views on what's acceptable. I no longer hold sex within marriage alone to be the ideal, as in all honesty I can find no specific prohibition of it in Jesus's teachings. I will not teach my daughters to never, ever consider having sex before they're married, but I will teach them to be damn sure they don't have sex with someone whom they're not willing to have a child with. I have been choosy with my lovers, and (I'm not saying anything here he hasn't himself, publicly) so has my partner.

All this said, I am fairly libertarian in my views on what everyone else should do. I'm at least theoretically OK with things like polyamory and promiscuity. I think they're dumb, but so long as all parties involved are capable of giving informed consent...meh. I'm having sex with someone who has essentially the same outlook on the topic that I do, so as far as he and I go, that's what matters.

And yet...there's the free milk issue.

I have an acquaintance who is dealing with the consequences of this situation right now. As she's only an online acqaintance (and doesn't even live in this country), I don't really feel comfortable with telling her off, but this is the thing:

If you allow men to play with you, they will see you as a plaything. Now, if that's what you want, then more power to you. Play. Have fun. Screw around until you have slept with every single man in your social circle and fucking married men suddenly seems reasonable to you. (It's not reasonable, by the way.)

But realize this: Your actions will dictate how other people--male and female--think of you. And when you decide that you want a Beloved rather than a string of lovers...your past actions will make this difficult. Moreover, your current actions will make it even more so.

If you meet a man and set a date with him and you get drunk and fuck him on that date...Guess what? He's not going to think well of you. (And, honestly, it works both ways--most women I know wouldn't think very much of a guy who got drunk and wanted to fuck them the very first opportunity.) If you make yourself into a sex object, that's what you will be treated as--and the emphasis is going to be on object.

Am I saying you should never have sex? No. What I am saying is this: It is an inalieable truth that people will treat you only as well as you treat yourself--and them. It's about exclusivity. Humans place a higher value on rare or exclusive things. If you are willing to give yourself to just anyone, guess what? You're no longer exclusive, and no one has any reason to place a high value on you.

Neither men nor women, generally speaking, will want to form a relationship with--let alone marry--a person whom they do not see as holding value. Is it sexist? Perhaps, though to be honest I don't know many women with any interest in boyfriends/husbands who screw everything that comes down the turnpike either--at the very least, we want the bad boy gone good. There are some folks out there who will form relationships with folks they don't value...but those aren't the relationships you want to be in.

It's all about value.

Conduct yourself always as a woman who is worthy of love and devotion, and men will see you as a woman who is worthy of love and devotion. It is absolutely that simple.

Heh.

I had lunch today at Jack in the Box with my best friend, Mark, and older two girls. Being right after 3 o'clock, it was pretty dead, but the other occupied table happened to be right on the other side of a divider from us. Just one of those oddities.

Well, I am an inveterate eavesdropper. So we're eating and chatting and with one ear I'm listening to this gal at the other table talking about how something (I think she said a bus) his her in the shoulder and she dropped her then-four-month-old baby girl and when she took her to the hospital the state took her away and this and that and the other...Just a very odd story.

Mark's been out of town for a while. Just got back yesterday, in fact. So, of course, we were talking about the Pistolero.

I guess because of this, or perhaps just one of those random kid things, Bobbie (who was sitting beside me) piped up with "Mommy, I remember one of the Four Rules!"

Never being one to pass up a chance to reinforce safety, I said, "OK, Bobbie, what are they?"

"Guns are always loaded!"

...at this point, the women at the next table went silent...

"All guns are always loaded. Good. What else?"

"Beware of what's behind your target!"

...they turned to stare...

(And yes, I corrected her.)

Now, granted, this was an odd place to be having the conversation, but really. Weirder than their convo? I think not. I honestly found their reaction hilarious. We left soon after, and Mark and I really had a hard time keeping straight faces until we were out the door.

(This was actually only one of a series of strange things about today. My favorite part that did not include my boyfriend was the deputy sheriff who walked past me with a smiley-face sticker on the butt of his gun.)

Wordless Wednesday: Beason's Park

But it's for a good cause!

Lottery Tickets Set to Help Veterans

My policy on the lottery is that it's a stupid tax.

I don't think that we shouldn't have a lottery. I don't have much of an opinion on gambling in general (I honestly don't care one way or another about legalization, though I do think if it's left a crime it should be one of those we just don't bother prosecuting).

This, however, rubs me the wrong way.

It's not that I think we shouldn't have it per se, it's just...Well, here's the money quote:

After the usual deduction for prizes and other costs, 23 percent of ticket proceeds will go to the Permanent Fund for Veterans' Assistance for such services as transportation to veterans hospitals, counseling and housing for homeless veterans.

It's a $2 ticket. So 46¢ from each ticket will go into this fund. It will, I have no doubt, work exactly as advertised. They may even be correct to say that it will inject $9M into the fund. And that's a good thing. But, well, I'd much rather give my $2 to them directly...and so I think I'll skip the scratch-off tickets (that, well, I wouldn't buy anyway) and do what I can locally.

ETA: Huh, found a good answer further down: Toy Drive to Benefit Military Families. Here's Operation Homefront's Texas chapter. Of course, there are beaucoup other opportunities; Blackfive has a good run-down. Any of these, I think, would be better than paying the stupid tax.

Presto change-o

In case you were wondering what happened to that last post...

I got a message requesting it be taken down, and I did so. That simple.

Columbus is beautiful this time of year.

Columbus, Texas that is.

I'm dropping Intro to Chem. I'm not getting the hang of the class. It's part the professor and part me. I'd rather retake it next semester than stick with it and do poorly. This is germane to this post only for one reason: doing this means I have Thursdays off. Also germane only for a similar reason: the ex has been taking the girls Wednesdays & Thursdays because those are the days he has off work. They also, coincidentally, are the days my sweetie has off work.

So Wednesday afternoon he and I were chatting on Facebook, as we generally do in the afternoons/evenings and he asked what I was doing and I told him I was trying not to think about the fact that we both had Thursday off. He said something about College Station being 200 miles away for both of us, and I asked him how something 200 miles away from me can be halfway from a guy who lives only 300 miles away. He said it was the closest-to-midway city of halfway decent size that he knew of. So I pulled up Google and plugged his home town and mine into their mapping system and told him that it looked as if Columbus was about halfway. Columbus is also bisected by I-10.

So we joked around for about half and hour before he said we should hit the road. Are we doing this? Yes, yes we are.

So about an hour and a half later (two hours after the idea was floated, more or less), I was on I-10 headed east and he was on I-10 headed west. We know each others' names, of course, and each others' faces and we talked about what we drove and what we'd be wearing...all of the stuff that I suppose is typical for something like this. Or maybe not, but who cares?

My friend Marie had said of he and I that if we were that into each other, we wouldn't wait around for the planned November visit, we'd get it done ASAP, driving to meet each other halfway if need be. And you know what? I think she was right. Because it got to a point for both of us where the ridiculousness of not putting in the two and a half hours or so to see each other was just overwhelming and we had to do it.

I have been trying to avoid overplaying my hand. Trying to avoid any man I thought might be a real danger to my heart. Fred was never a danger to me that way. My sweetheart is. Not that I think he'd ever hurt me--he is the only other person I know who is as honest as I am, and who values forthrightness as much.

The truth is, you see, that I love him and he loves me and though I'm not going to say "Well, this is how it will be"...hand to God I feel about him a way I never felt about my ex-husband, though I did love Rob.

So we met up at a hotel just off the interstate. I got there first and hit HEB, because that is just what you do in this part of Texas to kill time. Then I went back to the hotel parking lot and read Eats, Shoots and Leaves (the title of which I put in here just to amuse him--I told him I'd brought a book, but not which) and looked up every time I heard a vehicle pass--and being that I was sitting in a parking lot right beside an on-ramp, this was an awful lot. Even growing up here, I never took note of all the pickup trucks until I was looking for one in particular.

But he did get there and I got out of my car as he was getting out of his truck and the Heavens parted and the angels sang...OK, not really. Actually, he wrapped his arms around me and he kissed me and I kissed him and the mosquitos decided it was the perfect time to have a late dinner on my feet.

Other than my kids, I haven't slept with another person in bed with me in I don't know how long. Longer than I'd like to admit. I kept waking up and looking at him in the light that was coming in through the window from the back parking lot. Yeah, he's real. Yeah, he's still there.

And that, my friends, is the short (really) version of how I woke up with the Pistolero in bed with me.

And because, as I said before, the cardinal rule of the Internet is pictures or it didn't happen:

There is more to it--a lot more--but I shall leave it to him to tell what he wants to tell. Suffice to say that him being who he is it involved weaponry and old country music, and that fucking rocks, y'all.

Hey Guys!

I'm throwin' this out there for input.

There was the get-together either late last year or earlier this one at the range up here on the NE side o' town. I wasn't able to get to that one, but I know we were discussing having another get-together.

And so I thought...How about we see how many SA and South Texas bloggers we can get together just for a casual thing? I'm looking at second week o' November time-frame. What say we meet up somewhere like Sam's Burger Joint or somewhere of the sort and have a few beers and shoot the breeze?

Tweaker, Dave, Hammer--I'm looking at you. You too, Albatross, if you're feeling up for it. Of course, I'd love to see my guys from farther out as well, but I know it's short notice.

Believe what I say, not what I do.

Obama again pledges to change policy on gays.

Yeah, I'm not holding my breath. I'll go with Cleve Jones on this:

"He repeated his promises that he's made to us before, but he did not indicate when he would accomplish these goals and we've been waiting for a while now."

I've hit Obama's promises to gays in this space before. I've seen no indication he's not talking out his ass on a very important day for gays.

We may well have women on submarines soon. Just so long as they're not gay. And wouldn't that be a hell of a spotlight, if one of the first women bubbleheads got the boot for liking the kitty? (Again, I've known a lot of submariners in my time, and not a single one who gave a damn about the sexual orientation of his fellows, though I'm sure ones who do are out there.)

Time will tell, but I have the strong feeling the Big O simply is pandering to a constituency without having anything concrete planned. Hey, this sort of thing has worked for him in the very recent past, hasn't it?

I was reminded of this recently.

Way, way back in the mists of time, I published this post: New Rule for Next Time. I amused myself with it, and put it up and thought no more of it.


Well, {Redacted} is spending time in my archives as I am in his, and he's pointed this post out to me a few times. Because, as he says, he qualifies. On every part of it. And even some stuff I didn't think to put in there ('cause, yeah, it wouldn't have occurred to me to say "My next sweetie must needs be heavily armed," but he is, and that rocks).

Honestly, I'd forgotten about it. Wasn't exactly combing through men holding them up against it; I don't do the checklist thing.

But for the record, he had me the second he played me Merle Haggard singing Bob Wills. I mean, how can you not love that?

(Not to mention the fact that he sees gay rights as a 14th Amendment issue. YES!)

In other news, the battery was indeed the problem, and the car is no longer a lawn ornament. Yay me!

Not my daughters.

I don't talk much about immunizations on my blog, because I think others do a better job of it than I.

Routine childhood vaccinations are a touchy subject. The majority of people don't ever question them, simply giving them to their children on the usual schedule. I'm not going to go into that here, though for the record I vaccinate my daughters on a delayed schedule. (Should I have any more kids, I intend to follow the schedule proposed in The Immunization Book, by the younger Dr. Sears.)

What this post is about is this story:

Gardasil Researcher Speaks Out

Gardasil, if you aren't immediately familiar with it, is the new vaccine for Human Papilloma Virus, a sometimes sexually-transmitted virus that can lead to cervical cancer.

Those who promote the vaccine--which they want us to give to our preadolescent daughters--have been doing a pretty good job of painting the opposition to the vaccine as coming from a bunch of buttoned-up far-right-wingers who are terrified of their precious daughters *gasp* having TEH SECKS.

And for some reason, we've let 'em.

Here's the crux of my opposition to this vaccine: It is incredibly new and I am not convinced of its safety. I am not the only one, but a good many of those bitching about it aren't exactly believable (Mercola, anyone?).

Dr. Diane Harper was one of the researchers for this vaccine. She helped bring it to market. If anyone has credibility, then, she should. And she has her doubts:

This raises questions about the CDC’s recommendation that the series of shots be given to girls as young as 11-years old. “If we vaccinate 11 year olds and the protection doesn’t last... we’ve put them at harm from side effects, small but real, for no benefit,” says Dr. Harper. “The benefit to public health is nothing, there is no reduction in cervical cancers, they are just postponed, unless the protection lasts for at least 15 years, and over 70% of all sexually active females of all ages are vaccinated.” She also says that enough serious side effects have been reported after Gardasil use that the vaccine could prove riskier than the cervical cancer it purports to prevent. Cervical cancer is usually entirely curable when detected early through normal Pap screenings.

What it boils down to for me is this: I have daughters. Each one is an individual. Her own person. She has, therefore, an inalienable right to bodily integrity (nope, not a one of my girls has holes in her ears). I'm not gonna fuck with that for the sake of making them guinea pigs.

Fickle.

Sometimes I feel as if I am fickle. But then I remember that it is a woman's prerogative to change her mind.

And yet.

If you had told me three weeks ago that one of my friends would decide to cross that line and would do it in so decisive a manner that I haven't been to sleep earlier than midnight since, I would have thought you were crazy.

And yet.

I just got off the phone with {redacted}, and yes I realize that is a forced, silly little construct...but you know the old internet saying "Pictures or it didn't happen"? Well, we're not claiming it happened until there are pictures to prove it. (No, not that kind of pictures! Ones I can put on the internet!) We are amusing ourselves by being coy, although the dots are there and can easily be connected. TBeck, at least, either has figured it out by now or will when he puts five minutes' worth of thought into it. (And yeah, I'll tell you over on Facebook if you get it, but not here.)

Anyway, we've been talking on the phone since he got off work at around ten-thirty or so, and that means that, between phone calls and text messaging and the internet, we have been out of touch 8 of the past 24 hours, and that's only because at least one of us was asleep. And that's weird. What's weirder is that we haven't run out of stuff to talk about yet, and we haven't annoyed each other yet.

I cannot say with any certainty where things are going from here, but we're having fun and pleading the Fifth. We paused in the mocking of some of the people in my Creative Writing class to agree--again--that we really owe JayG a thank-you note.

I will do my darnedest not to be too mawkish. But when the two of us disappear from the internet for about a week, at the same time, I guess it will be obvious if it isn't already.

I'm going to sleep, and try to get another post up later on. A good rant, just to prove I haven't lost my edge.

What the hell, San Antonio?

Bexar County under flash flood watch.

More than 5.4 inches of rain fell at the San Antonio International Airport on Sunday between midnight and 8 a.m., breaking the rainfall record for the day set in 1942.

I totally missed this. Just...totally. I was on the phone with {redacted} last night from the time he got off work til about 0130. While we were talking, I noticed some lightning & thunder. But I was so damn tired by the time we finally shut the hell up I went right out.

So apparently I slept through the friggin' storm of the century. My mom & the girls were all woken up by it. Apparently there was much thunder and lightning and rain and wind enough to wake the trailer.

We even had a bit of flooding. My mother went to church this morning; she was given a ride to the bus stop by one of the neighbors. They did not go to our usual bus stop, but to one in the other direction. They couldn't go to the normal bus stop, because there was water over the road! There is a drainage ditch that runs alongside one edge of the trailer park. Usually we just get flash floods--it's over the road and then gone. Apparently this lasted a little while, although by the time the girls and I got out this afternoon it was gone.

I was a good little steward(ess) of my neighborhood. I kicked some random crap back into the ditch cleared some debris. There was a rather large piece of a tree wedged up against the bridge. I have no idea where it came from. The only trees in the part of the drainage ditch for as far as I can see are rather small. There's no way it came from in the ditch! Man, I thought that week's worth of rain a little while back was bad, but we didn't deal with the flood over here at that time.

And geez, if {redacted} can distract me this much over the phone, Imma be in trouble when he comes to visit!

One of the great things about the internet

Rhetorical questions are always answered.

My buddy down on the coast just posited one over on his blog. As of right now, he's got three answers to it.

Myself, I find the question intriguing. Having had the living shit burned out of me by my first husband, I'll tell you something like that is the only thing that would stand a chance of getting me to go out on that limb again.

Of course, I wish him the best of luck...

No blog for you!

Not yet, anyway. I'm doing the do-si-do with Time Warner once again. 'Net should be back up at home tomorrow or Friday, and I'll get a good post then. (I'm using SAC's net right now, and it's slow and makes Blogger hate me.)

Artifacts.

My car has regained lawn ornament status.

It died yesterday afternoon, thank God at the bank o' mailboxes up by the front of the trailer park. It was, to say the least, a hell of a surprise. I hadn't been having any trouble with the car, that day or at all last week or in recent memory. (Hey, it's 14-years-old. Trouble is to be expected.) So to get in and turn the key and have absolutely nothing happen was a bit of a surprise, to put it mildly.

The landlord helped me get the car home. We tried jumping it, and I was able to get back enough juice to roll up the windows. So it's probably just a dead battery. I jump-started my cousin Becky's car a couple of times in the recent past.

But when I have a problem like that I think alternator as well, as far as possibilities go. So while I was sitting there waiting for the landlord to come up from the back of the park to give the car a shove, I opened up the glove compartment to dig for the warranty for the repair work to the transmission and new alternator that was done about a year and a half ago. I didn't think it was there, but it gave me something to do.

It wasn't, but a lot of other crap was. Buddy Bucks, the current insurance card as well as a couple of old ones...the usual detritus.

I also pulled out a sheet of paper from a little Lisa Frank notebook that Bobbie had a couple or three years ago. I wasn't sure what it was, so I unfolded it. It was an address, a set of directions. With Rob's handwriting on it.

You'd think, more than a year after the divorce was final, that all his stuff would have been successfully sifted out of my stuff. And 99% of it has been. But there are odd things here and there. I recently made Linda a dress using a pillowcase he left behind. A black work sock or two lurks here and there. A book. I refuse to give back the photograph of the battle group he was once attached to; I rather like it.

That paper's the only thing I can think of with his handwriting on it. There's a time finding it would have hit me like a punch to the gut.

Not anymore. It's just a strange little thing to find, a reminder of a bygone era. One I'm rather glad to be past, to be honest.

I am easily distracted.

Oooh, SHINY!

I am also badly in need of caffeine. Gah. Three straight days of going to bed at midnight or later feel a lot different at 30 than at 18, I'll tell you what. On the plus side, I do not have to get up tomorrow. And I am home now, so I do have access to said caffeine (precious, darling Diet Coke, a la Dr. Grumpy).

First exam in Chemistry, taken care of.

First exam in Math, coming up in two weeks.

First story in Creative Writing, written and awaiting scheduling for Workshop on Monday.

Screw this, I'm gonna go see if Murphy's updated his blog...You should too. Maybe if there's a slight (as that's all I can provide) jump in his stats, he'll start blogging more often. Then again, he's about the only one out there making me look productive...

Your stupid's showing.

WOAI had this one yesterday.

The War on Christmas has started early around here.

There State Board of Education is proposing a slight change in the World Cultures curriculum. (There was no such thing when I was in sixth grade; if I recall correctly it was one of our two Texas History years.) Apparently, there's a portion where cultures are studied through the lens of religious holidays.

The change being proposed will have this look at said holidays study one from each of the world's six major religions (Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, & Jainism). Currently, two from Judaism and Christianity are studied, and apparently none from Hinduism, as the insertion of Diwali is what's being debated.

It is being proposed that Rosh Hashanah be scrapped, and I guess that's OK 'cause those people don't even cross themselves right. Or something.

But we can't drop Christmas! According to Jonathan Saenz of the Texas Free Market Foundation (which, as a "libertarian" group, really shouldn't be in favor of teaching any religious holidays in school, methinks), "it's hard for anyone to argue that any other holiday has the same significance that Christmas does, especially in American societies."

He is right, of course. Christmas's importance in American society stretches far beyond religious observances. Virtually everyone here celebrates the holiday in some form. Even neoPagans do this, some of whom erect a "solstice tree" and proclaim the evergreen's ties to a whole bunch of religions they don't practice. (It's okay to co-opt a symbol that's been Christian at least since the Reformation, so long as you proclaim it to have in turn been co-opted from pagans by the Catholic church. But I digress.) Certainly, it's a Federal holiday, and there is always a Christmas tree in the White House and typically at each State capitol, and of course at every friggin' mall in existence, not to mention Wal-Mart...It's all over in the US.

And it is precisely because he is right about Christmas's significance that he is wrong that it should not be dropped from the curriculum.

Apparently, sixth graders aren't the only ones who need to be taught what Christianity's holiest day actually is.

Random shit.

I don't feel like exercising my brain enough to string together something coherent, so you're going to get a bunch of, well, exactly what it says. Fair warning: almost none of these things are connected to any of the others.

• I just got a flirtatious little message with the subject line "Do you like Marines?" *checks* Yep. Still female. Still got a pulse. Of course I like Marines. Are there women who don't? Still, I must admit, the overwhelming urge is to send the boy over to Murphy to be put through his paces. Oh, and to giggle like hell, because it's just funny (the message happened to come from a 22-year-old).

• High up on my list of things I figure will get your ass pulled over fast: Not just running a red light in front of a cop, but cutting him off so sharply you almost clip his front fender as you are making a right turn out of the center lane while running said red light. I was wrong on this.

• I keep getting phone calls from an 860 area code. This is Connecticut. Specifically, this is the area of Connecticut which includes Groton. Googling the number, it seems to be telemarketing, which is what I figured, and why I never answered. Still, possibly-Groton phone calls make me nervous. I figure I'll answer anything that is caller IDed as US GOVERNMENT, and the hell with the rest of it. Oh, and I'll gladly ship them Rob. Just for the record.

• One of my Facebook friends is disgruntled with the NEISD because she had to pull her children out of school today in order for them to listen to the President's speech (apparently unaware it's posted on the White House website). She's writing a letter. Of course, she didn't see fit to advocate for airing the speech last week, when the decision was being made. Easier to complain after the fact?

• Thanks to the Pistolero, I am remembering how much I love George Strait. That man is so damn talented. I do not think he's done a single thing I don't like, and I can't say that of anyone else.
  

• Speaking of which, my long lost twin brother, why are we not Facebook friends?

• My friend Marie makes the most amazing Tunisian-crochet Afghans. She made one for a fellow overseas, from a patch he sent. The afghan has a picture of a vehicle I really should know the name of (I know what it's for, just not what it's called); underneath it says "Route Clearance Vehicle Modernization Program. (It's actually called a Route Clearance Vehicle, isn't it? Am I that dumb?) The very idea of something called that amuses me greatly. For some reason it puts me in mind of Super ServMart.

• I should probably quit reading Alex's blog. It seems to always either depress me or piss me the fuck off. Or both. Of course, this is not Alex's fault. Yet again I'm reminded of one of my favorite Larry Barksdale quotes: "Sometimes I get nostalgic for my days in the Army. And then I beat my head against the wall until it goes away."

• If FoxNews is supposedly so right wing and supportive of the military, why the hell did I have to hit CNN's website for this story? (I heard about it on the radio earlier today, but I guess they got bored with it, because it didn't last past noon, & I was trying to figure out what the hell happened.) Even scrolling down past the lead stories to "world news," I couldn't find it.

• I realize I'm reading a lot of LEO blogs, but it seems the nearest fellow is Texas Ghostrider, and he's in Houston. I read three cop blogs out of California. I should be embarrassed. Anybody know if anyone on SAPD is blogging?

• Speaking of SAPD, robber ran out of a Valero this morning in front of a rookie police officer who probably just wanted coffee. Poor fellow wound up with what I imagine was a metric butt-ton of paperwork to fill out instead. The news story contained the line "the victim has died of his wounds." Let's be a little more clear with this, please. This is how you say it next time: "The dumbass who pointed a shotgun at a police officer is no longer wasting the time of a trauma team at BAMC."

• Although I grasp the issues with speed and death that exist, I still smile every damn time I see a soldier on a motorcycle. I am not sure why.
  

• I bought my own birthday presents this year. This involved a lingerie store and, eventually, a dirty martini. And Fred was as appreciative as a man can be long distance.

• I have four pages of fiction due tomorrow. I had a page and a half due Friday. I actually had three pages on Friday (it was an entire scene). I actually finished the story Sunday night and can now print off pages as required. The short story is 16 pages long. I seriously doubt it will go beyond the class, but it is something I am proud to have written. I am also lucky enough to have paired up with a very smart and talented girl for a critique partner. I am having visions of a writing group that lasts beyond the end of the semester.

• While picking up the girls from school last week, the woman in front of me at the sign-in window complained to the woman in the office that she'd parked out in front of the school, come in to pick up her child, and returned to find a parking ticket. Mind you, there are signs which say NO PARKING ANY TIME about every 10 feet along the street in front of the school. Perhaps that should have been a clue.

• It is good to be back at the gym, and yet a reminder of why I am not like other women. For a grown woman at least my size (if not a little wider) to try to hide behind a half-size locker while wrapped in a towel so that nothing shows while she's getting dressed...well, I didn't laugh. I'm proud of myself. I was, however, disgruntled that because she was so obviously uncomfortable with nudity I couldn't, in good conscience, strip down at my locker like I usually do before heading in to the showers. Women, please. We've all got the same equipment.

• And while I am on that subject. How the hell long can it take one woman to get dressed? I came in, I took off my shirt, socks, & shoes and grabbed a towel, went and took a damn shower, including washing my hair (it comes down to my butt, so this is not a quick thing). Came out. She's still wrapped in a towel. I got dressed. I was waiting for my mother to finish with an appointment, so I went outside to the lobby and read for about ten minutes. Went back into the locker room. She was still there. It took the woman about forty minutes to get dressed and primp and leave, during which time she spent at least five minues straightening out the zipper on her jacket, 20 minutes in front of a mirror doing her face and/or hair, and somehow managed to leave greasy smudges on the full length mirror by her locker. I do not get women.

• Tropical storm Linda? Funny. Tropical storm Fred? Heh. Learning about both on the same day? Hilarious. Seriously, I have been giggling about it since this morning.
  

'Tis all for now, folks.

This is either sublime or ridiculous.

So I'm sitting there in church today, listening to the sermon and crocheting and trying to corral the children, when I hear the door open and someone come in.

Now, the service I go to, we don't actually get to use the church for it. We're in the parish house, in Tom Gish hall, which is set up with a table/altar, some chairs, smaller tables, projection screen, etc. It's pretty laid back. After all, they put up with my kids boogie-ing in the corner on a regular basis.

Still, there are some things you don't think you'll see.

So I heard this noise of someone coming in and looked up to see who it was. It was Tony. Which actually didn't register at first. Because of what he was carrying: a pet carrier. So my first thought actually wasn't "Huh, I thought Tony had deployed already," it was "How is Jonathan going to work a small animal into the sermon?" Only then did it register who was carrying it.

I'm not sure what it says of me that as soon as I realized who it was bringing the carrier into the service that it all made perfect sense.

So Tony sat the carrier down and sat down, and I looked over to see what he had with him. He had two cats. One black. One white. Both very, very quiet, for which I was grateful. Not so much for the sake of the sermon, which was one of those eye-rollers (A battered woman came to you for help on a Sunday morning and you had to stop and think about it? Really? Good priest! No wonder you thought it was OK to compare Obama to God.), but mostly for the sake of my children and my sanity, because the last thing I wanted to deal with right then was three small, cat-crazy little girls catching sight of a pair of kitties.

Ever hear "Mississippi Squirrel Revival"? My imagination pictures something very similar, only with more claws & sharper teeth.

Still had to pull the girls away from the carrier during the Peace, though.

And I am not 100% certain whether bringing a brace of felines into the service is the coolest thing ever, or the weirdest.

One more time...

Marine, a graduate of Judson, is killed.

Retired Air Force Lt. Col. James Grace, senior aerospace science instructor at Judson, remembered (Christopher) Baltazar, 19, as a quiet, respectful young man who seemed more comfortable in camouflage than a military dress uniform.

Using a compass and map, Baltazar and his JROTC orienteering team from Judson would compete against other schools in timed land-navigation drills at Camp Bullis. They would run virtually the whole time through a rugged course extending at least a mile or two, Grace said.

“He was more into the idea of getting out there and being a hardcore military guy,” he said.

***

“He was always a real funny, joyful, happy person,” (Will Weber) said. “He was so excited about being a Marine. He believed in honor and serving his country.”

Christopher's mom is in the Army. He came by it honestly.

Most of us are aware of the phenomenon of the military running in families. My ex-husband's father retired from the Air Force. Rob was in the Navy. Both my parents were in the Army at different times; my brother was in the Air Force. (My mom was also an Army wife once upon a time, I guess I followed in that path.)

I can't imagine how his mother feels right now. Well, actually, I can. It's a fear I think is common to every parent out there, to outlive your kids. Ssgt. Beatriz Alberts, his mom, works at Walter Reed. I'm certain she knew exactly what he was risking.

I'm sure she is proud of him.

San Antonio calls itself Military City. I'm sure we're not the only ones. We earn it, though. We send lots of men and women off to serve our country. A willingness to confront evil is writ in the history of this town.

Christopher Baltazar is the third San Antonian killed in Afghanistan in a month. I will leave discussions of that war to better minds than I.

I am tired. I dislike death. I dislike our men who want to make the world a better place dying while it all falls to hell. I'm already at my "give the women & children 72 hours to clear out and bomb the place into a glass parking lot" point. (Oh, but let's make sure the AP stays behind to take pictures of it, OK?) Granted, it might put a small dent in the world's heroin supply, but I think somehow we'll manage.

Wordless Wednesday: Tuesday's Sunrise

Heads OUT of the sand!

I'm in an argument on Facebook right now over a link I posted that one of my friends re-posted.

It was this story from Alex's blog: The Politics of Purse Strings.

I shared his post with hopes of getting the word out about the problems with the new GI Bill. You really, really need to read the whole thing, but here's a small part:

Under the old bill, Chapter 30, the student must call a hot line on the last day of the month to certify that their status has not changed since the previous month. The payment is then sent to the student in seven to ten days. It has become a ritual for veteran students, a promise to see that beautiful deposit in a week's time. But today, some who have submitted paperwork for Chapter 33 might find the certification for Chapter 30 a bit of a challenge. My school's VA counselor assured a seamless transition - he told me those who were switching over would get paid for the months they already paid tuition for. Once again, someone forgot to forward the memo. Since my claim for Chapter 33 is still being processed, I'm locked out of Chapter 30. Even though I paid for the summer semester, I am not getting paid for August. My case is in limbo, familiar territory for the VA. My bills, on the other hand, are very clearly defined. They pile up as fast as the VA's backlogs.

You know, this is the sort of shit anyone who supports the military needs to be up in arms about. It pissed me the hell off when I first read about it, and I've been considering posting about it & checking Army of Dude and Rucksack to Backpack to see what they said about it, with the intention of adding my voice to it.

It does no good to say "But the new GI Bill is great! My husband will be able to transfer his benefits to me!" Let me be clear: I know that. I knew that before it was ever signed into law. I know what the new GI Bill is SUPPOSED to do. What it's SUPPOSED to do is wonderful. But what it's DOING is fucking people over yet again.

I am not content to say "Oh, well, the system works most of the time!" Because, you know what? It doesn't. Only someone who has zero experience with the Veterans' Administration would ever say that. Now that those words are out in cyberspace, a bunch of people who work at the VA are now laughing hysterically, and they're not quite sure why. Never before have I seen the VA accused of competence!

Further, I was told that we need to spread the good news, not concentrate on the bad stuff. Fuck that. No, what we need to do is spread the good news when there is good news, and shout it from the goddamned rooftops when our guys are being bent over again. The military doesn't use lube, y'all.

This isn't just Alex's problem. It's the problem of damn near a quarter million veterans. According to the VA, almost 500,000 vets will be attending college this year. This means a minimum 40% of the applications have yet to be processed. I've been told the issue is one faced by a minority (and, quite recently, that it's probably their own fault). Forty percent is a substantial quantity. (And if the projected increase falls short, it only grows--minus the projected 30% increase, the number of unprocessed claims would jump to about 60% of all college-going veterans.)

I don't think it's doing them a disservice if we all ask where the hell their money is. They fought and bled and buried their friends for us, the damned least we can do is pay attention to what they need and be willing to fight for it. Really.

I needed that.

Went to church today. Actually, we went to church last week as well, but it was just kind of meh.

I enjoyed myself this week, though. Really felt more as if I was back in the fold. This is in no small part because Tommy & Sharon were there, and they are fixtures of the church.

We had a guest priest today. I don't remember her name (which isn't meant as a dis; I barely remember my own most days)...Karen something-or-other, I think. She's retired. St. Mark's actually has a rotating contingent of retired priests who come through and help us out. We did not replace the Associate Rector when she left; this leaves us with two full-time priests (the Rector, Mike Chalk, & the Assistant Rector, Jonathan Wickham--it's generally Jonathan of whom I speak when I say "my priest") and saves us a little bit of money. It's also really neither here nor there.

At any rate, the lessons were something I needed to hear today. For some strange reason we drop the OT reading during the summer, so we read from James and from Mark.

This, from James, stuck with me:

But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act-they will be blessed in their doing.

I have always held my political beliefs up to my religious ones and done my best to ensure the two mesh. The theory for us Christians is that God's law informs all we do in life, and politics is not exempt from that. (Note, please, that I am not advocating theocracy.) So to see mention of "the perfect law, the law of liberty" in our lesson today stuck with me. I try to live in such a way as to preserve the most amount of liberty possible for others, in the expectation that I will then be free to live my life as I please as well. Not a hard idea to understand, is it?

The Gospel today was from the book of Mark, and one of Jesus's most important teachings as far as the way the Church should conduct itself:

Then he called the crowd again and said to them, "Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person."

Granted, I was sitting there listening to the first part of this, where the talk is of the Pharisees observing Jesus's followers eating with defiled hands, because they haven't washed themselves, or their food, or their utensils, and I was thinking "Screw disease control, we've got God on our side!" But the last paragraph, which I've quoted, is much more instructive. Evil comes from the human heart. All of the evil in the world has been wrought by human hands and most conceived of by human hearts. I'm continually bedeviled by self-serving relativists who pretend there is no such thing as evil (my favorite of the week was the chickie who tried to equate wearing flip-flops to church with adultery--I shit you not), generally in an attempt to rationalize their own shortcomings. Now, I'm not wholly innocent in this, but I do try.

I didn't catch the entire sermon, though I did my best. I make it a point to go to the CAYA service in no small part because a little rowdiness from children is tolerated; nevertheless I had to escort the smallest one to the back because she wanted to sit with Emmet, and referee the other two and a whole bunch of other stuff not conducive to actually paying the sermon my whole attention.

She managed--and I thanked her for this after the service--to remind me why I am generally quite glad to be an Episcopalian. She spoke of the three pillars of the Church--Scripture, Reason, and Tradition. She even managed to echo my line about not being expected to turn your brain off when you come inside the church. It was pretty nice.

Rev. Wickham popped up at the end of the service to hold a blessing for a couple of departing members. The girl, who was moving back to DC to be with her family, I am not best familiar with. Tony I've seen around a few times, but never really got to know him. He came in during the sermon and sat in the back row.

Tony, it seems, is about to deploy. He's there in sunglasses, an Army National Guard shirt, with his iPod around his neck. They call him up for the blessing and hand him a little wooden cross and one of the ubiquitous green prayer books. They call up our lone present vet, a civilian contractor, and the visiting priest, who's apparently a retired chaplain, lay on hands, pray over him, and then break out this sucker. Now, I must admit I've never been a particular fan of this "blessing."

Given the circumstances, however, I am unable to keep a straight face. It occurs to me that, where Tony's going, the road rising up to meet him would be a very bad thing, and probably indicative of an explosion. If we're going to be doing this on a regular basis--which, granted, we are not--we need to rewrite it to something more appropriate, perhaps involving the only explosions being ones we generate, reasonble ROE, and ah hell, let's throw in something about the blood of our enemies. Just for fun.

One more song and the service broke up. I told Tony good luck--he was sitting right behind us--and then stepped the hell out of the way.

I hope he stays safe.