I think these are hysterical. Every time I open the dishwasher, one or both of the Gang jumps in. I’ve had the camera in the kitchen all week, hoping to catch them. Only Mingo cooperated, sad to say.
Archive for Deborah Lipp
I choose to hold my head up
I chose to be Pagan. I volunteered. But this latest persecution of alternative religious expression got me thinking that I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose to be a victim of an oppressive theocracy.
My great-grandparents came to this country to escape pogroms. They came here to be free. And, while some Jews adopted gentile surnames, we did not. I was raised to be proud of who I am, and raised to celebrate my difference, to celebrate the religious freedom that makes America both diverse and free. Like a lot of Jews, I am a liberal patriot, because I know how precious it is to be free, and how easily that freedom can be snatched away.
I credit my mother’s pride in her Judaism with my ability to be proud of my Paganism. I am proud of her. To the extent that I hold my head up, and say not here, not to us, never again, I am proud of myself. But we have to keep fighting.
We have to fight the attempts to establish a theocracy. Fight religious monuments in government buildings. Fight the notion of a “Christian nation.” Fight bigotry against Muslims. Fight with our keyboards, our wallets, our voices, and the stands we take. If we don’t fight for it, I guarantee they’ll take it away from us.
Persecution for a PARODY of religion
Through the Wild Hunt blog, I learned of this horrifying story of a child snatched from his mother by a court determined to punish her for being a member of the Church of the Subgenius.
This is punishment and persecution, without even the pretense of protecting the boy. “Evidence” against the mom, Rachel Bevilacqua, includes her participating in events where her son was not present. (Some of those photos are of Starwood 25, an event I attended.)
[The judge] strongly disapproved of the photos of Rachel Bevilacqua in a bondage dress and papier mache goat’s head. The judge repeatedly asked, “Why a goat? What’s so significant about a goat’s head?” When Rachel replied, “I just thought the word ‘goat’ was funny,” Judge Punch lost his temper completely, and began to shout abuse at Rachel, calling her a “pervert,” “mentally ill,” “lying,” and a participant in “sex orgies.” The judge ordered that Rachel is to have absolutely no contact with her son, not even in writing, because he felt the pictures of X-Day performance art were evidence enough to suspect “severe mental illness”. Rachel has had no contact with Kohl since that day, February 3, 2006.
As of yesterday, Rachel was granted supervised visition with Kohl. The Church of the Subgenius is raising money for the family’s legal costs.
I am so mad I could spit. It makes my stomach hurt. To lose her child. Her child! Because of religion. In the 21st Century. In New York. I am torn between rage at the injustice, and agony on behalf of the mother and child, and did I mention rage?
Why are some people so clueless?
Particularly, clueless about Teh Gay. I’ve been meaning to blog about this for a while, but misty at Shakespeare’s Sister alerted me to this completely insane story.
I’ll give you the short version: Nine women are suing Clay Aiken’s record label for leading them to believe he was straight.
They allege that employees of RCA, Sony/BMG, and Aiken himself “engaged in collusion to prevent public disclosures they believed might be harmful to their product”.
The angry ladies go on to state, “This is tantamount to a manufacturer concealing information about a defective product. Therefore these actions were both unfair and deceptive to consumers.”
A spokeswoman for the group says, “As consumers, we feel ripped off. It is obvious now that the private Clay is very different from the manufactured packaged public Clay that was marketed to us.”
Okay, there’s just lots and lots that’s dumb about this, and frankly, my brain cells are popping like bubble wrap just trying to think it through.
Bumping the Bond Discussion
This conversation about Daniel Craig has been building up a lively comments section. Take a peek.
Wow
A lot of people on the left, myself included, have been just furious with the New York Times for its shameful behavior regarding Judith Miller. But if this isn’t some sort of redemption, I don’t know what is.
Possibly the best paragraph I will read this week
From Ebert‘s review of Running Scared:
Speaking of movies that go over the top, “Running Scared” goes so far over the top, it circumnavigates the top and doubles back on itself; it’s the Mobius Strip of over-the-topness. I am in awe. It throws in everything but the kitchen sink. Then it throws in the kitchen sink, too, and the combo washer-dryer in the laundry room, while the hero and his wife are having sex on top of it.
Read the whole thing. It rocks.
Monday Movie Review: Good Night, and Good Luck.
Good Night, and Good Luck. (2005) 10/10
Television journalist Edward R. Murrow (David Straithairn) and producer Fred Friendly (George Clooney) go after Senator Joseph McCarthy.
There are lots and lots of movies “based on a true story.” For the past two years,three of the five Academy Award Best Picture nominees have been fact-based. These movies invariably embellish the truth. They give us back stories that don’t exist, or that are different from the real story in significant ways. Always, a dry story is warmed up, a political story is made somehow personal. Always, until Good Night, and Good Luck.
The story of Murrow’s battle against McCarthyism is stripped bare. We never meet Murrow’s wife, or hear him explain the inner demon that drives him. We never see our main characters at home, or having expository conversations. Only a couple played by Robert Downey Jr. and Patricia Clarkson are given the least little bit of a personal life. Instead, we see the newsroom, the conversations, the editing, the interviews. Murrow’s speeches are virtually all derived from transcripts of what he actually said. To cap off this incredible veracity, McCarthy and some of the McCarthy hearings are real archival footage, not recreations.
Does this sound boring? It isn’t. George Clooney’s deft direction makes it compelling, edge of your seat stuff. Nor is it without opinon. I’ve heard complaints that Good Night, and Good Luck. is a hagiography, but Murrow and Friendly’s characters are not portrayed at all, only their actions. The movie has an opinion, a strong one, but it lets the events themselves tell the story. In fact, the lack of exposition is remarkable; no one explains HUAC (or even tells you what it stands for), or explains who McCarthy is or what he’s been up to. The audience just has to keep up.
What we’re left with is a story remarkably necessary for today; dramatic, thrilling, and inspiring. The direction is smart, and the acting is top-notch. The look of the piece; black and white, with lots of close-ups that study faces with intensity, is striking. It creates a period feel deftly, without mockery. The cast, including Frank Langella, Jeff Daniels, and Ray Wise, has a great naturalism; no one looks like a movie star (except Clooney). Everyone seems to just melt into their characters, so that the juxtaposition of archival footage and acting is seamless.
I have to make special note of the remarkable use of music. Jazz singer Dianne Reeves plays a studio singer. The deft placement of her songs comments on the action. She’s terrific, using Clooney’s aunt‘s arrangements, and it’s almost like a musical the way that the songs speak to and about the story.
I can’t recommend GN&GL highly enough. As a mother, I’m so glad to have taken my son to see it. This is an educational movie in exactly the right way; neither condescending nor dry, it is to history lessons as cayenne pepper is to a dash of salt.
House, M.D.
Why is the character of Gregory House so popular? He’s acerbic, insulting, crude, and self-absorbed. By every conventional scale, he’s unlikable. Yet the show is enormously popular, and has won Emmy awards for writing and performance.
The extras on the DVD for season 1 include some speculation, that rests in the notion that House is popular because he speaks his mind, and doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and we all wish we could be like that.
Nah. Homeless people living on street corners don’t appear to care and many speak their minds quite freely indeed. We don’t all envy them.
Here’s the deal. House is the best damn doctor ever. So good that he can get away with rotten behavior, bad manners, constant insubordination, and even ethics violations. Hell, even breaking and entering, if it’s for the good of the patient.
It’s the so-damn-good part that is so enormously appealing. The guy is so good at what he does that he’s given a pass. And that’s what we all long for. The fantasy is, I’m the best at what I do, therefore you have to put up with me. The fantasy is, I don’t have to suppress who I am, I don’t have to kiss ass and swallow shit, I don’t have to obey, because my wonderfulness is enough. It’s a compelling fantasy; it’s the same one that fueled the show M*A*S*H, where Hawkeye Pierce was both invaluable and insubordinate. It’s the fantasy that fueled the dot com boom, where brash young techies could wear sneakers and no socks to work, as long as they got the job done.
At the bottom of the whizkid fantasy is a more universal wish. We all want to be loved, appreciated, and admired for exactly who we are. We all suspect that, if the facade we wear were stripped away, we would no longer be loved. In life, we fear, we are one bit of misplaced honesty away from rejection at every moment. House’s goodness outweighs his inner evil; something proven each week as he miraculously saves yet another life. Since we all have that inner evil, we long to be reassured that in us, too, our goodness outweighs it.
AND it’s a damn good show.
