Ahh, August. It's hot and humid and sticky. And all my blog buddies have been on hiatus. If not for the recent drama of For Better or For Worse or (gasp) Funky Winkerbean, I'd be bored out of my head. Nesting, but bored. So I've been praying; it's a good way to pass the time, and almost as good as petting a cat for lowering one's blood pressure.

To paraphrase Mister Rogers, here are the people on my prayer list:

George W. Bush: I pray that he wakes the fuck up and especially that he drops the hypocritical “I'm a Christian” bullshit, because kids, you know what? He ain't.

Adrienne: Bob's daughter, because she's going to Iraq, all thanks to the above.

Juliana: Heading back home after an abysmal summer internship in India.

Katie's Dad: Because his dementia was recently worsened by a drug, which he's now off, so he's doing better than he was, but he's still not on top of his world.

Avram: Because he's preparing to move, and moving sucks, and because I'm hoping that a bunch of the kids from the youth group I used to lead show up at his doorstep to help him pack all his very cool stuff. So that's a double prayer. And also because he just sent me a ukalele, which holds a great deal of meaning to me, and I'm still trying to work out how to blog about that.

The Drivler: Because it's fun to pray for heathens!

Everyone involved in my recent victorious unemployment claim: Because justice was served, and once again we can afford both to be clothed and to eat (and at the same time!). And because it has justified me, and it always feels good to be justified, especially if there's a weekly check that goes along with the justification.

Anonymous: For posting a nice comment about my “Scape Goat Song” blog, which was written while in the throes of the above.

And, of course, Monstro: Because he's lived with a pregnant woman for nearly eight months now and has still nearly managed to quit smoking!

So, if you're bored this August too, and have a half a minute, think a good thought for one of the above, wouldja?

Thanks.

OK, so it appears that Christopher Walken is not running for president. But, having spent two hours today talking with people about who the hell *should* run for president in 2008 (and having our best answer be “John McCain,” which isn't much of an answer at all, and drawing a complete BLANK on the Democrat side), I think the time has come for us to rise up and demand that Walken toss his hat into the ring.

So please, cruise over to the Walken 2008 comments page and show your support. It won't happen without your help.

To: Friends, Family, and my fellow Americans
Subject: Get America Back On Track!

It's not too early to be thinking about the future of this country and who's going to lead it. Election after election we're given the “choice” between two unappealing candidates and have no choice but to vote for the one we dislike less. But now, that's about to change.

Stepping up to the forefront of politics is a new type of leader, motivated by his love for his country, not special interest groups. His distinct image and captivating voice you already know, and now it's your chance to make him the leader of the people, for the people, by the people. That's right… Christopher Walken is running for President.

Now, at this early stage of the campaign, is when the grass-roots voters like us can really influence the candidates we'll see in the elections. So take a few minutes to visit the Walken 2008 Home Page at http://www.walken2008.com, read about the man and his ideas, and send them a message of your support.

This is how the system should work, and now's your chance to have your voice. Don't let it slip away!

Sincerely,
Lynn

… who just can't get enough of Homestar Runner, this link is for you!

Spent the weekend in Ohio, at the wedding of Dean, one of my two remaining friends from my high school. My other remaining friend was the best man, whose wife is also pregnant and due a month and a day after I am. I was the reader, and my rendition of the “Apache Wedding Poem” moved Dean's stepsister to tears.

Damn, I'm good.

I got my hair done before the ceremony (in hopes of distracting the guests from my ever-blossoming belly. And I got to meet a mess of Dean's aunts and cousins, so I feel like I spent the weekend at my own family reunion after a memory-decimating head injury. And the lesbian vampire joke I've been saving for this very occasion, which I told to Dean's stepfather at the rehearsal dinner, had made the rounds to all the family by the reception, and everyone groaned, which is what they should have done because it's the dirtiest joke I think I've ever known.

But the best part of the whole weekend (at least, the in-public part of the weekend) was when one groomsman said to another, in reference to me, “I don't care what anybody thinks. I think she's sexy as hell.” And then the other groomsman agreed!

Swoon. Thank you, Gap Maternity!

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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