They've lost their ever-lovin' minds

So, my beloved called me at work today to vent his spleen about politics. This warms my heart, as I love being that for him -- Just someone to shake your head with. They’ve lost their ever-lovin’ minds, baby. It’s just you and me.

What had his goat was this brouhaha over Bill Richardson on the Logo panel. I didn’t hear it, but apparently Richardson said something about something being a choice and then spent the rest of the panel trying to explain that he didn’t mean that homosexuality is chosen. And now, it appears that the entire gay community has written him off. This reaction is infuriating, because, given that not one Republican even accepted the invitation to a Logo panel, this should be one of those “You had me at ‘Hello’” moments, where the mere act of attending the panel at all shows you where he stands.

Not to mention that Bill Richardson’s actions speak louder than his words, because he is the only one of any of the candidates who has ever had to do any meaningful wrangling for gay rights (not counting what role Clinton had in Bill’s disastrous “Don’t ask; don’t tell” debacle). As governor, he actually fought for civil unions. In New Mexico. Sheesh. But anyway, I don’t really want to blog about politics.

The reason I bring it up is this. It makes me sad for couples who seriously disagree about politics. I don’t mean like a good knock-down drag-out every once in a while -- “How can you be such a Bolshevik?”/ “How can you be such a defender of the machine?” That’s totally fun. I mean, like disagree about deep-seeded moral commitments or even about whether politics is something to talk about at the dinner table. How do they do it?

We’re not even such big pols, but I get a lot out of living in a house where snarky comments like, “Gosh, I get such a good feeling from supporting someone as ideologically pure as Kucinich!” Or “Could Obama maybe get some foreign policy experience before he declares war on Pakistan?” are invitations to discussion. I know in a lot of households there would be this uncomfortable, “There you go again.”

Back-To-School Shopping

So $130 today to buy the school supplies for Girl and Jones. Is that a lot? That’s just supplies – the stuff on the list plus some stuff from the wish list. I no doubt could have saved a bundle if I’d gone to Wal-mart, but I won’t, because it makes me sad. Plus, I’m only brand-loyal about a very few things, but many of them are school supplies.

I am lucky that they still love their old backpacks, which I decorated last year with the insignia from their made-up super heroes – Zappy Guy and Gadget Girl. And I only bought a very few clothes, as they have to wear uniforms, which is magnificent. Their grandma is taking them for new shoes. So, they’re set.

We are presently in the midst of a domestic purge catalyzed by Jones destroying each and every one of the models he not two days ago brought back from Legoland and his father painstakingly assembled. So, really, I should by all rights have made more of an effort to scrounge up the old supplies, many of which were untouched from last year. But that would have involved a full-on archeological dig. Plus I have such fond memories of my own back-to-school shopping, which was a full day of sibling-free one-on-one with Mom, including Department! Store! Lunch! So, essentially the children get High School Musical pencils because I used to get clam strips.

The list at Girl’s old school in Maryland was very do-what-feels-good. This one is far more dictatorial. Portfolios can be whatever color you choose but NO DESIGNS PLEASE. Binders will be 3” (I had to convince myself they didn’t mean 3-ring binder I had never seen a 3” binder before. It’s like a little briefcase.) I cheated a little, as I assume all moms do, because I don’t want my child to be the only chump with a pink eraser when she could have the one shaped like a panda she got from Balboa Park. I’m less concerned with Jones, who is a big doodler anyway.

Milestone: Being a fifth grader, Girl graduates to protractor, compass, and calculator this year. Her calculator is shaped like an adorable pink cell phone, which is either the most inspired or most pernicious thing I’ve ever seen. Our generation of Barbie famously complained that “Math is hard.” Perhaps if she’d had a cute pink calculator?....

Trash Antics, we hardly knew ye

I went to Ed's house at our usual time and they weren't there. I called The Dude and he didn't answer. I realized I don't even have a phone number for Ed. I e-mailed both of those guys asking what up. Now it's three days later and I get an e-mail from The Dude saying, as follows, and I quote, "the band is no more. good luck." What is that?