Coon hound

So, this evening, I'm walking Miss Albi down Pine Street on our evening walk, and just when we're about to turn into this little alley that leads to the sports fields next to Ackerman Middle School, I hear a woman's voice saying *something*, at the same time Albi is pulling like crazy on the leash. And I'm thinking "is that voice talking to me" and "there must be a cat nearby."

We turn the corner, and there is this HUGE cat on top of the wooden fence to the right. And Albi is pulling HARD. And that woman's voice is saying something else, but I cannot understand the words, or if this is directed at me.

And then I realize that really big cat is actually a REALLY big raccoon, running as quickly as it can atop the fence. And I say something really dignified, like, "Holy shit! That's a raccoon!" And that woman's voice finally says something I can understand: "Yes, I know! I wanted warn you!" She was in the backyard bordered by the fence that said raccoon was now walking on - I could vaguely see her through the slats of the fence.

The raccoon jumped off the fence, into the next yard, and Albi pulled me as though she was a two-year-old, trying to get to whatever it was that smelled soooo gooooood to her.

I wish "coon" only meant "raccoon" or "coon-hound." I hate that it was appropriated by racists.

Well, at least it wasn't a bear...

Late May update

I've been silent for weeks, I know... my days are packed with balancing my part-time job with my job-search and various home-management joys. And then there's my book which I have ignored for months... I'd say that I need more time, but the reality is, I need some inspiration in my life. Looking for a job is soul-depleting.

We're going to be on vacation Friday, June 10 through Sunday, June 23. We're going to and from Yellowstone by motorcycle. I'm not going to be reachable via email - it's a *real* vacation! I'll text from my phone about our progress here on my blog. And I'm hoping that, like our trip last year, I'll get a mental jolt from that.

Until then, some updates:

* * *
I have no idea what my Mexican neighbor brought me last week to eat but it smelled HEAVENLY!!! We gobbled it down greedily... I'll have to drive that family home from the grocery store more often!!! (only the Mexicans like me here... I guess they know a fellow Oregon outsider).

* * *
If I had a dollar for every time Wally Smithhart made me laugh, I'd be a millionaire. I'll miss you so much, Uncle Wally. You made me laugh after my father's funeral. You made me laugh before and after my grandfather's funeral. You always made me happy to come home to Henderson.

* * *
Next time you're in Canby, Oregon, stop the Canby Shoe Repair & Saddlery and get some leather goods repaired, but speak up, because the gun-toting owner is a bit hard-of-hearing. And no sudden moves!

* * *
Watching The Searchers for the first time in my life, I was freaked out to find Ken Curtis is in it. He was unrecognizable except for the accent - something about that made me look him up on imdb. Why is it important? Because "Festus" was the first celebrity I ever saw in my life (in 1972, at the Shrine Circus in Evansville, Indiana - and I intend to some day name a dog "Festus"). I brought this up on Facebook and a conversation interrupted re: celebrities at the Shrine Circus. It was a first brush with fame for most of my friends, apparently.

* * *
The Pentagon's top-secret feline special-operations program, revealed. So hilarious.

Seriously, speaking of animals: when a city dies, it's not just the economy that hurts: animal shelters like the one in Detroit have to put to death 90% of the that come in. Please, please spay and neuter your pets, and please, if you don't have a pet, consider adopting?

* * *
No, I did not join the Kabul Knights Motorcycle Club in 2007 when I was in Kabul, I promise.

But speaking of motorcycles: a few weeks ago, while out riding my motorcycle, I came within INCHES of being hit by a driver on her CELL PHONE. And when I honked, she looked vaguely out of her window and kept right on talking, and smoking. Folks, if you drive and talk on your cell phone, just unfriend me RIGHT NOW. Don't ever speak to me again. Because I have no time for you.

* * *
Not that I don't love taking photos... but it's so much more memorable to be IN the scene, which is why I don't take as many as others: "Technology has allowed us to be makers of pictures, not merely consumers. Commentator Alva Noe says we now approach life with the detached eye of producers, rather than the engagement of participants. We run the risk of missing out on the experiences we so anxiously wish to document."

* * *
"What makes you a total weirdo in high school is most likely the ticket to your future success." So why am I not a trillionaire?

* * *
There is only one reality show I like: American Chopper: Senior vs. Junior. I'm fascinated by the family dynamics. And my heart goes out to Junior - I so understand what he's going through, and I so admire the grace with which he handles it all. As for Stefan, he likes the tools...

* * *
My Afghan friend, Fariba, is now in Australia, to study for two years to obtain a second Master's degree. She will occasionally post about her experience at the Afghan Women's Writing Project. She really, really misses her family - so if you read one of her blogs, please write a comment. She is very energized by those. My short-term dream is that she gets her degree and then gets a job with an international agency, even the United Nations - outside of Afghanistan. And my long-term dream is that Afghanistan becomes stable enough and safe enough that she wants to return instead of working and living abroad.

* * *
I am OUT OF MY MIND with anticipation for the next Sherlock series starring Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. Filming has begun!

* * *
Boxer and Philippines congressman Manny Pacquiano opposes condom use. Put me in a boxing ring with him for five minutes and, trust me, I will change his mind AND take away his boxing belt.

* * *
Did you miss the Rapture? Me too. But here's lots of great post-Rapture photos. Also, James Randi did a great job of reviewing 44 of the previous rapture predictions.

But here's something slightly more plausible, and way much more fun: a guide to preparing for an alien attack from National Geographic. It's fun, and you don't have to be a kid to love it.

And that remind me: while I haven't been updating my personal blog much, I have been updating Your Atheist Muse semi-regularly. Enjoy.

University Sports Teams Deceive & Undermine Gender Equity

Title IX, passed in 1972, banned sex discrimination in any federally financed education program. Over the next 40 years, the law spawned a cultural transformation: the number of women competing in college sports has soared by more than 500 percent — to 186,000 a year from fewer than 30,000 in 1972.

But as women have grown to 57 percent of American colleges’ enrollment, athletic programs have increasingly struggled to field a proportional number of female athletes. And instead of pouring money into new women’s teams or trimming the rosters of prized football teams, many colleges are turning to a sleight of hand known as roster management. Many are padding women’s team rosters with underqualified, even unwitting, athletes. They are even counting male practice players as women!

This New York Times article details this deception by colleges and universities in the USA.

It makes me so angry!

Tribute to RJ

On March 28, just after midnight on that Monday, my maternal grandfather, R.J. Denton, died. He was 96.

For his grandkids and great-grandkids, he was "Gran", short for "Grand-dad" - the latter of which would have been what we called him had we not already had another relative called "Grand-Dad" on my father's side (his own maternal grandfather).

Growing up, I was very close to my paternal grandparents, but not so close to my maternal grandparents, Gran and Mama Cym. I felt lost in a sea of grandchildren on that side of the family. Gran and Mama Cym did take me fishing once at Kentucky lake - just me and them - and I had a great time. But mostly, it was me and five to eight other grandkids and lots of other family, together for Sunday dinners, Christmas Eve or a summer cookout with Gran at the grill making the most delicious burgers ever and sometimes making homemade ice cream as well. I felt just part of the crowd.

That started to change a bit when I went away to university, and returned in the summer of 1985 to work in a hotel dining room on Highway 41 in my home town for the breakfast and lunch shifts: I would sneak into the adjacent bar - I was underage -- to hang out with Gran for a few minutes while he drank his glass of red wine before his weekly Lion's Club meeting. I loved it when I would hear those words from a waitress or hotel employee: "Your grandfather is in the lounge." I discovered that Gran was a rare adult family member who would be totally honest with me: anything I asked, he would tell me, no exceptions. In a family that doesn't share much, Gran would share absolutely anything with me - all I had to do was ask. That honesty meant the world to me.

Between my junior and senior year at university, I needed an internship at a newspaper for the summer. In all my life, I have never found anything more competitive than finding a journalism internship. I sent out dozens of pitch letters and clips. Only one newspaper responded: in Springfield, Illinois. Gran drove me up for my interview. We had a fun, low-key day together. When I didn't get the internship, I was devastated: I knew that a career at a newspaper wasn't going to happen for me, and it was time to look for something else. A few days later, I got a letter from Gran. Mama Cym said it was the first letter he'd written in probably 25 years. I don't remember what it said -- just that it meant the absolute world to me that Gran had felt so bad for me and wanted to cheer me up.

A few years later, while living in California. I decided to fly home to Kentucky for a visit, and upon arrival, learned that, that very night, I would be going to the Henderson County Fair to see my sister in the Miss Henderson County Fair pageant. I was mortified. I was as much a feminist then as I am now, maybe more: I abhor beauty contests, except for drag queens. I went to support my sister, but under silent protest. I was sitting next to Gran in the bleachers, watching a text book small town totally demeaning beauty pageant, complete with an opening statement that took a dig at feminists. At some point, Gran started nudging me. I was trying not to cringe at the events on stage, but I guess I wasn't hiding it from Gran at all. He would nudge me and roll his eyes at particularly cringe-worthy moments, or pretend to be saying something perky, per the painful host and the contestants (except for my sister, ofcourse).

Gran had his voice box removed when I was a little girl, and he communicated by burping his words through his tracheotomy. Yet he was surprisingly easy to understand. During intermission, he was asking me how I liked California, what I did out there, etc. - something no one ever asked me when I was home. And I suddenly felt the need to shock him. So I said, "I'm very active with a Pro-Choice group there. We're working to ensure abortion remains legal and accessible for any woman who wants such." His eyes narrowed, and he began poking me with his finger, and with each poke, he said a word: "That's... your... body... not... the... government's'!" And that was the moment I not only found out that my grandfather and I shared almost exactly the same political views, but also, that my grandfather was freakin' hilarious. We talked and laughed and carried on for the rest of the night - so much that Mama Cym threatened to make us leave.

After that, I bought Gran the paper back version of Al Franken's Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot. Mama Cym said he read it cover to cover and laughed and laughed -- the first book he'd read in many years. I sent him silly postcards mocking this or that politician. I'd bring him red wine from wherever I was living, whenever I went back to Kentucky for a visit, and Mama Cym would fuss about what a bad influence I was as she found glasses for us to have a drink together. About 10 years ago, I had a "Yellow Dog Democrat" mug sent to his house, and he acknowledged it every time I came home.

I was in my 20s, and Gran had become one of my dearest friends. He made me feel special every time I came back to Henderson. Gran made me feel like I belonged - something I've struggled with all my life. I loved the welcome he always gave me. I loved how he would say, "Your brothers are so conservative. But you're just like me!"

As an adult, I learned a lot about Gran, sometimes from himself and sometimes from my brother, who heard many a story from him that began with, "Now, I'm not proud of this...." My mother told me a couple as well. Hence why I would frequently say, "I love him, and I'm glad he's my grandfather, but I sure wouldn't want to be married to him!" Descriptions of my grandmother as a "saint" are not exaggerated. When they celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary, I sent an essay as a tribute - one that didn't talk about romance nearly as much as tolerance.

I wasn't just like Gran. He could say some awful things about particular groups of people. He could be incredibly intolerant. At such times, I would yell, "That's why people think Kentuckians are a bunch of stupid red necks!!" and he would laugh and laugh. I said that once and a person nearby chided me, saying at the time, "He's 86 years old. He's not going to change and you shouldn't make him." "Bullshit!" I replied, "He's an old fart, not a child!" That sent him into hysterics, slapping his leg and clapping his hands. Imagine my shock when I was talking to Mama Cym after the Presidential election and she said Gran was demanding to talk to me. So she put him on the phone so he could proudly tell me, "I voted for the Black!" That was Gran being racially sensitive. He heard me laugh, but actually, I cried when I got off the phone, realizing just how much I loved him.

I bragged about Gran and Mama Cym frequently: they volunteered for the Special Olympics before most people knew what it was. They were always the oldest cancer survivors participating in the Relay for Life in Henderson. Gran coached Little League for many years, and was instrumental in the movement that created a number of baseball parks built in Henderson. Gran was a former Henderson City Commissioner, a two-term Henderson County Magistrate, a life member of the Masons, a life member of Henderson City Lions Club, and a life member of the Moose Lodge. And he and Mama Cym could dance like you wouldn't believe. I found out at his funeral that he also played a massively important role in getting the public to fund the first school built in Henderson in more than 30 years, back in the 1950s. When a local election came around, local candidates came calling to Gran - the support of RJ and Cym remained THAT important.

A few years ago, my grandparents were flooded out of their home of more than 50 years. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise: they moved to a senior retirement apartment complex and got a new lease on life. It because easier for all their kids, grandkids and great-grandkids to visit them and care for them. They got that one last opportunity to be as social as they loved to be.

When I was about to move to Germany in 2001, Gran said, "You should write a book." Instead, I started a travel blog. I credit Gran with the incentive to do so.

Gran's health worsened greatly over the last three years, and it took a tremendous amount of effort to get him out. The last two times I spent with him were in 2008, when I brought my husband to Henderson specifically to meet my grandparents, and in 2009, when I took my three living grandparents to Hunan's, my hometown's beloved Chinese restaurant, where Gran was treated like a king, where other patrons came to the table to pay their respects and the staff completely fawned over him.

Gran and Mama Cym were members of different churches - he was a devout Methodist, and she a devout Baptist (yes, a dancing Baptist). They merrily went off to different churches most of their lives each and every Sunday, sometimes going to each other's church for a special event. In their more than 75 years together, I never knew there were any doctrinal conflicts between them - so you can imagine my surprise, and everyone's laughter, when, at Gran's funeral, his preacher said that Gran called him to his bedside about two weeks before his death, asking for "ammunition" against Mama Cym's efforts to get him baptized "properly", through immersion, before he died.

We joked that it took three preachers to take care of Gran's soul: his church's preacher, Mama Cym's church's preacher, and the Lion's Club minister. Gran's funeral was full of so much laughter. People got up to tell stories: my brother Barry, my aunt Charla (his youngest), a local retired politician who worked with Gran in city government, a current politician who considered him a political hero, and on and on. Outside of the services, my brothers also told stories about Gran that kept us laughing.

It's so hard to think of him gone, because I'm 45, and Gran's always been there. I was sad to learn from his minister that Gran didn't know how much of a positive influence he'd had on his family and his community - but I don't think it was because of lack of people telling him but, rather, his humbleness. The legacy of RJ Denton looms large in Henderson County, Kentucky, whether you know it or not. I just wish he'd known that before he died.

Sometimes, I hear myself say something and think, There's Gran. I was very much RJ Denton's grand-daughter, and I'm very, very proud of that.

Thanks for making me feel like I belonged, Gran.

In atlanta waiting 4 flight 2 pdx

Quick update for Spring

I haven't done an update in a while, and I apologize. I've been quite busy, which is a good thing: I'm doing another short-term contract, this time with TechSoup. I'm blogging about what over on my professional blog. It will last through May. Keeps me busy in the mornings, with plenty of time in the afternoons for long-term job hunting. How's that going? Sigh...

I've been getting regularly inquiries into my CV consulting biz however, which has brought in enough money to buy all of the Buffy: The Vampire Slayer Season 8 comics (who says I don't have my financial priorities in order?!?).

The Japan disaster has dramatically increased my Google Ads revenue, because of this page, so I'll be donating everything above my goal for March and April - which will total only about $25, but still -- to an organization working in Japan on relief efforts. I had to put a hold on all my donations to organizations, with the exception of Bpeace; that hold stays put until I have a full time gig, or a short-term gig flush with cash.

In some recent evening downtime, I uploaded more photos from past trips, namely Ireland 2001 (when I met some German dude I later married) and my first trip to Egypt, in 2002.

We've ridden twice this year, far, far less than we had by this time last year. We haven't ridden even 200 miles in 2011. Here's our latest day trip.

We've been so bored we got up early on a Saturday and drove to Mt. Angel to watch a building be burned down. No, Stefan is STILL not a volunteer fireman in the USA - that's probably the biggest reason we are looking to MOVE.

Enjoy my NCAA brackets. A whole lotta red there....

We're headed to Mexico on April 2. I'll be there until April 10, and Stefan will be there until almost until the end of the month (for work). Can't wait to see Reb, who I haven't seen since my wedding!

WANT.

Looking for that perfect gift? My colleague Gunda continues to work with an Afghan businessman producing gorgeous leather bags and other products. You get a beautiful, unique purse, backpack or other bag, AND you help a business in Afghanistan (and more employment means less violence!).

Here's why I love dogs and elephants more than people.

How stupid are we Americans? Pretty freakin stupid (I got four of the questions on the test wrong - I'm not brilliant, but I'm certainly not stupid).

Portland Metro RV Show - a motorcyclist's perspective

Why would two motorcycle travelers who love tent camping go to the Portland Metro RV Show at the Expo Center? Because it was too rainy to ride bikes and because Stefan is tired of hearing me say, when we are camping, "Do you think those people would let me look in their RV/caravan if I asked real nicely?"

We don't want an RV. We don't want a caravan. At least not any time soon. I've just been really curious about what's inside them. I really wanted to see inside these trailers-of-luxury. I wanted to see in the huge ones. I wanted to see in the tiny ones. I wanted to see the flat screen TVs and ovens and washing machines and dryers and bathtubs and faux fire places. I wanted to see inside small caravans that supposedly sleep 16. TV shows and web sites give you a hint of what's inside, but you can't get a sense of space unless you are actually there.

We spent four hours at the show. And what did we learn? Mostly, that we still don't want a caravan or an RV any time soon. But in addition to that:

• There is as much diversity among RV/caravan users as there are among motorcycle riders - maybe more. The luxury RVs had music playing - something along the lines of the "Girl from Ipanema." The luxury caravans designed to provide you every opulence and provide a place for your motorcycles or ATVs in the back were playing "Back in Black."


• There is an RV/caravan for every economic class in the USA. No, really, EVERY economic class. Used, I'm sure some of the things we saw would go for less than $1000, and you could live in one (though you'd have to go outside to change your mind). Most expensive one we saw? More than $300,000.


• The word luxury is not overused when it comes to certain caravans. But not only are there caravans for old and very rich retired people, there are dream caravans for people who want to schlep around their motorcycles or ATVs in luxury, with a back room that has plenty of space for a group gathering when the bikes are parked outside, as well as a fridge and easy chair - that's just in the BACK room (don't even get me started on the rest of the place with it's bar, dining table, huge bedroom and TWO bathrooms). I believe this was the Fuzion Model 405 - 2011 Model Year... which costs about what we want in a HOUSE.
  


• For those who can't afford that crazy kind of toy-hauler, Coleman makes a folding camper that comes on a trailer with room for TWO motorcycles! No photo available online, that I can find - apparently, it's quite new.
  


• Air Streams are oh-so-beautiful, and now that I have, at last, seen inside one... they have lost all mystique for me. I have no idea why they are worth all that money. One trailer we saw was four times more than a comparable non-Air Stream. Yes, the Air Stream was gorgeous inside. I'm sure it wins oh-so-many design awards. But when I'm camping, do I really freakin' care about award-winning aesthetics?


• Trailers that affix to the back of pickup trucks have come a LONG way in 30 years. And, really, provide just about everything you need if you are going to forsake a tent. Even small ones can come with a bathroom and shower. On a rainy and/or cold night, I could stay comfy in one for a week.
  


• I might have fallen out of love with the Air Stream when I saw the price tag, but I'm now totally in love with the Aliner. The Aliner Sport, to be specific. I thought I'd prefer the Tear Drop-style camper, but after seeing such, forget that - the Aliner Sport is it, the one caravan I would consider giving up the tent for when car camping. And we could pull it behind the Honda Fit! It's sooooooo roomy inside! And the guy took it down and put it up for us - less than five minutes. Incredible.
  

For now, and for at least a few years to come, we'll stick with motorcycle camping. And I hope those RV campers keep offering us coffee in the mornings.