Sweet Little Gothic House 'O Horror

When I was a child, I wanted gold, I wanted velvet, I wanted history, damnit. I wanted Pomp and his pony-pal Circumstance, too. On Sunday mornings, I would sit inside our church, a church that managed to be both plain and ugly, stare at the turquoise walls and blonde wood pews and wish I was Jewish. I longed for a bearded Cantor dressed in a heavily-embroidered yarmulke and prayer shawl who would chant in foreign tongues. Instead I got an earnest Minister dressed in a white, short-sleeved shirt and brown sans-a-belt slacks. If it wasn't too hot he might be wearing his very shiny, all-polyester, Lamb of God robe. But as I stared at the stained glass window of The Fractured Jesus Doing Something With Children? done in the faux-Picasso style so beloved by stained glass designers of the sixties, I prayed, "Dear Lord, please, pretty please, make me Catholic."

It wasn't much better when I got home. I grew up in the suburbs of Southern California when the Modern space age look of the fifties had given way to the Modern bland look of the sixties. The only thing that set our tract home apart from all the others was the paint job-- Acapulco Gold with Navaho Gold trim. After reading Wuthering Heights for the tenth time, I would lie back on my bed and dream of a home with secret passageways, spooky wine cellars, wainscoted libraries, and attics stuffed with the cast-off belongings of a dozen generations. I pined for creaking staircases, Baronial armor and ancestral curses. The only horror in our house was the Green 'N Gold Daisy contact paper my mother had glued to the kitchen cabinet doors. But I knew one day, one day...

I'm all grown up now and I don't live in a haunted castle, I must confess; I live in a modest bungalow. But it does have a few odd chasracteristics. The arched doorways are a nice touch. For sound effects, you can't beat the groaning plumbing in the back bathroom. And it does have a secret passageway. Unfortunately, the only one who can use the secret passageway is Mick the Cat.

It all started with the Great Squirrel Infestation of 2001. We had had squirrels in the main attic before and it was easy to control them. We just pulled down the attic steps and sent Mick up to wage war. But the great squirrel infestation of 2001 was a little different. This time they had somehow managed to get into the attic space above the laundry room. This room had been added on and the two attics were not connected, or so we thought. The only way we could figure out how to get to the squirrels was to cut a hole in the ceiling of the laundry room. So Dave cut a hole. And then he cut three more for good measure. We showed Mick the holes and left him to do his job.

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth that day. Fur flew and so did insulation fiber. In the end, the squirrels decided it was just easier to move out. But even after he had vanquished the foe, Mick would disappear up into the ceiling. He discovered a hitherto unknown connection between the two attics so he no longer needed to rely on us for entrance into his dusty domain. These days he sometimes forgets how to get out, however, and ends up crying, waiting for his humans to come pull the steps down.

Before the last squirrel left, we saw him peer out from one of the holes in the ceiling, chatter angrily and shake his tiny fist at us. I believe he was blessing us with an ancestral curse.

Morals, Morals, Who's Got The Morals?

After I found out that I voted on the wrong side of the "morals" issue, I decided I better find some morals fast. I looked under the sofa cushions, in the laundry basket, and under the bed, but all I found were the same old morals I've always had. So I dusted them off and took a closer look to see if they were worth saving.

Love your neighbor as yourself, even if their skin color, cultural background, or sexual preference is different from your own. Even if they painted their house an unfortunate shade of fuchsia and drive a yellow Humvee with a big "W" sticker on the back. However it is ok to withhold the love in the case of incessantly barking poodles.

Lend a hand to those less fortunate to yourself. Donating blood, making sandwiches for the homeless, and Head Start programs for inner city children are good examples of this. A bad example of this is trying to convert those who weren't fortunate enough to be born Christian.
Confidential to Fanny: I said sandwiches for the homeless. Don't pretend to be homeless. Don't pretend to be starving, either. You had your bowl of dog food for today.

Worrying about the lumber in your own eye before you worry about the sawdust in someone else's eye. Which means, you cannot complain about homosexual unions destroying the sanctity of marriage if you have ever committed adultery, bigamy, polygamy, gotten divorced, or chuckled over Britney Spears' 2 minute marriage. It also means you cannot worry about somebody else's drug use if you are addicted to caffeine, alcohol, nicotine, Coco Puffs, Paxil, Valium, or any other mood-altering drug.
Confidential to Newt Gingrich: Divorcing your wife while she is dying of cancer in order to marry your younger mistress means you don't get to try impeach The President because he lied about having sex in the oval office.

Everyone gets control over their own body as long as it doesn't hurt anybody else. This means you can get drunk as long as you are inside your own home and are not physically in charge of any minors. Also holds true for using drugs. You can run around nude, clucking like a chicken for all I care. This also means you can tattoo, pierce, and dye your hair zany colors-- just don't expect to be hired for every job you apply to.
Confidential to the Attorney General of The United States: Please leave the people of Oregon alone. They decided after careful thought to pass a law allowing those who have six months or less to live to commit suicide. This is a humane law, and should be considered by other states as well.

Live your life with simple, common, human decency. Open doors for people with their arms full, be they man or woman. Stop your car to allow pedestrians to cross the road if they have the right of way. Pull over to let ambulances and fire trucks go by. No talking or cell phones in the movie theater. Send a card to your mom on Mother's Day. Don't cheat when you are playing board games with your kids. Get your own box and stop asking if you can share your wife's very tasty Tabasco flavored Cheese-Its because you ate all your Chicken in a Biscuit Crackers yesterday.
Confidential to people who didn't vote for Bush: OK, take a deep breath and let your anger go. He is the President, and should be treated with as much respect as you can muster. No spitting, no throwing eggs, no assassination attempts. You can, however, boo as much as you want.

After shining them up and thinking it over, I think these morals will do just fine for another thirty or forty years.

Wishful Thinking

Every day at meal time Fanny, the bulldog, thinks if she eats fast enough and then looks at me hungrily I will give her another dishful of dog food. The fact that this has never happened, that history has proved it won't happen, isn't enough to change her "gut instinct."

I am totally sympathetic. I have a few cherished beliefs of my own. Such as if I walk the dog daily, eat no cookies, drink no soda, own lots of exercise equipment, and buy my clothes one size too small, I will miraculously lose weight. This hasn't happened and I really need to look at the actual evidence instead of using wishful thinking.

Therefore I completely understand why The Republican Party holds on to so many of their cherished beliefs long after they have been proven to be wrong. For example:

Abstinence-only sex ed: By not talking about birth control, fewer teenagers will have sex.

War on Drugs: By putting drug users in prison, by spending millions defoliating large areas of land in South America, by seizing the possessions of anyone even suspected of trafficking in drugs, fewer people will use drugs.

Trickle-down economics: By cutting the taxes of the wealthiest, the poor will benefit in some way.

Loosening Gun Control: By putting a gun in everyone's pocket (and pocketbook) crime will go down.

But the most fundamental belief of the Republican party is the idea of laissez faire. This is on my mind today because last night I watched a Frontline news report titled "Is Wal-Mart Good For America? And the answer after viewing the program would have to be, "No."

For years it has been reported that when Wal-Mart comes to town, local businesses fail and often entire downtowns become ghost towns. This is how capitalism works. Recently, however, Wal-Mart has added a global twist; they now import vast quantities of goods from China and American producers just cannot compete with the Chinese. So instead of affecting towns one by one, Wal-Mart is now putting entire factories out of business. One interview with a spokeswoman from the port of Long Beach, California was chilling. She said that last year $36 million worth of goods came into the port from China and only $3 million went out back to China. What comes in? Electronics, machinery, clothing, shoes. What goes out? Cotton, scrap metal, hides, waste paper. Merchandise in, raw materials out...not good news for America.

Wal-Mart says, "We are good for America because Americans can buy the things they want cheaper." Sure, Americans can buy a cheaper television at Wal-Mart but if you lost your job at the television factory, the only thing you can afford to buy is food.

Laissez-Faire goes beyond Wal-Mart practices. To get a handle on the Republican ideal of self-regulating industry, just look at Grover Norquist and his powerful group, Americans For Tax Reform. Their agenda is to do away with all "socialist" type programs such as the FDA, the EPA, and OSHA. So why shouldn't we allow corporations to regulate themselves? The answer: Tainted meat, increased pollution, more work-related accidents and deaths. I'm sure the people who lost their pensions and savings when Enron collapsed would have a few choice words to say about hands-off government.

When it comes to Fanny, I'm definately hands-on. I've only allowed Fanny to practice self-discipline with her food once-- by accident. We accidently left a 50 lb bag of dog chow sitting in the laundry room while we ran a quick errand. When we came back it was to a bloated dog unable to greet us at the door. She spent the entire weekend lying around, groaning, and polluting the air.

Want Ad

Mick, the cat, got quite excited about the following want ad:

Wanted: Good-looking Christian heterosexual male 45 to 70 years old, with full head of hair. Must be in excellent health with squeaky-clean background and at least 6 feet tall. Must be independently wealthy with powerful friends. Must be born in the USA, with Southern or mid-Western upbringing preferred. Previous experience in governing a must.

Joggers OK, but wind surfers need not apply.

After musing over the fact that this sounded like a Personal Ad rather than an ad for employment, I had to explain to Mick that while he is good-looking and male (although being neutered might rule out "heterosexual") he is in no way 6 feet tall, independently wealthy or 45 to 70 years old. He is, as far as I know, not Christian but is involved in an ancient Egyptian Cat-Worshipping Cult. (Their agenda is: pro-cat life, pro-dog death penalty, and teaching hieroglyphics in school.) As for the "squeaky clean background".... well let us just say that I have documented proof that before Otis, the Basset Hound, passed away, Mick was frequently seen attempting to nurse on Otis' stomach.

But Mick filtered all that negativity out and pounced on the fact that he was definitely born in the United States, in North Carolina, he has a full head of hair, and as an A Plus cat he is in excellent health. And isn't it common wisdom that anyone can grow up to be President of the United States? If you judge him by cat standards, Mick is easily over six feet tall and by 2008 he will be 45 to 70 cat years old. He sees himself as prime presidential candidate material.

Besides, he has a secret weapon. Mick has been avidly following the career of George W. Bush. Before Mr. Bush was elected Governor of Texas his only work experience was in bankrupting 3 companies. Mr. Bush's rise in wealth and popularity came from co-owning The Texas Rangers. In 1989, He invested $605,000 for a part share in the Rangers. Then with the use of Eminent Domain laws and a sales tax levied by the city of Arlington, he and his partners built a new stadium on the backs of Arlington citizens. Ten years after they bought the team, Mr. Bush and his partners sold the Texas Rangers to Thomas Hicks for $250 million, with George's share being $14.9 million.

So Mick has a plan.

Mick currently manages and operates The Koi Pond in the front yard. He offers fishing and sun bathing privileges to the local cat population. In the winter when the pond ices over, Mick sells tickets to the wildly popular "Mice on Ice" showing daily and twice on weekends. Mick figures if he can get the city to buy up all our neighbors' land and build him a bigger pond, his sales and popularity will only increase.

Mick For President 2008....now if he can only figure out how to look natural holding a hunting rifle.

It's Not Fat...It's Tuffets of Hair!

Our cat, Mick, has what we lovingly refer to as "tuffets of hair." As an A Plus cat, he cannot possibly have a fat stomach. So that dangly bit about his middle that nearly hangs to the ground is called his tuffet. The reason why Mick has tuffets of hair is because when the pork barrel is being passed around, Mick is right there to claim a share.

When I get up in the morning and have my cafe au lait, Mick is right there asking for his au lait-- hold the cafe. When Fanny, the bulldog, gets a little something in her dish, Mick bellys up to the bar to see if there is something there that might tempt his palate. And when we eat cheese and crackers in bed at midnight, Mick doesn't want to eat anything, but he does demand the right to rub his head on the cheese.

Fortunately I have a handy little tool I like to refer to as "The Presidential Veto" otherwise our credit card bills might go from slightly below staggering to staggering- red alert status. It is very simple to use, although it doesn't make me popular. When Mick lunges for the turkey off my salad plate, or when Fanny tries to guilt us into saving the last piece of bacon for her, or when Dave makes a move on my Tabasco-flavored Cheese-Its, I just say, "No."

At Christmas time when they all show up with their wish lists and Fanny wants a duck pond, a DKNY dog collar, and a side of beef; and Mick asks for a case of Fancy Feast Gourmet Cat Food, a pair of gerbils, and a cashmere cat bed in Safari Gold; and Dave's list includes night vision goggles, a Tom Waits limited edition action adventure doll, and a personal training session with Lance Armstrong, I just say, "No." I say, "Sorry guys but we are spending more than we earn and besides the muffler is about to fall off the car. Go back and rethink those lists."

That is why I am a little surprised that President Bush hasn't tried using his Presidential Veto yet. I don't want to be overly critical, but after four years you would think he could have figured out how it works. Take last month, for example. When congress presented him with their $143 billion Corporate Tax Cut Bill, he could have said, "No." He could have said, "Do we really need a special tax cut for makers of bows and arrows? Do we really need tax exemptions for NASCAR track owners? Sorry guys we are spending more than we earn and besides the muffler is about to fall off Iraq. Go back and rethink those cuts."

At our house, none of us are starving, we are all still getting plenty of pork. But by trimming a bit of the fat, we save ourselves from going too far in debt and having the nightmare of Vinny "The Enforcer" showing up on our door swinging a baseball bat, saying "Hey, how ya doin? China called, dey want deir money paid back right NOW!"

The Golden Age of Sex Ed

Y ou never know you are living through a Golden Age until it is over.
When I was attending Name-of-dead-obscure-white-guy Junior High School, I had no clue that this was as good as it would get. After all, our Health Ed teacher looked looked like he had been dropped kicked into the 70's from twenty years before-- he was a pasty-faced nerd in a white shirt and black bow tie, for goodness sakes. And when we happened to meet him in the halls, he couldn't look us in the face. But he taught us everything we needed to know.

We learned that if that ooky white stuff from a guy's thingy got anywhere near a girl's wha-hoo, she could get pregnant--even if they were just petting, even if it was the first time!-- and she might give birth to a ten pound bag of flour, or something like that. But we could prevent this from happening. The girls could take pills, and the boys could wear a rubber.

Not only that, but we learned that rubbers were good for other reasons. Birth control pills couldn't stop a person from getting those horrible STDs, some of which could last forever, but a rubber could. In some high schools, they actually handed out free condoms in the hope that a few unplanned pregnancies might be prevented, a few kids saved from a lifetime of herpes.

Sadly, in many states the kids taking Sex Ed today don't get this information anymore, even though we now have an STD that doesn't just last last forever, it kills you and cuts your "forever" too short. Instead what the present White House administration is pushing, is "abstinence-only" sex-ed. This year President Bush is asking for $270 million to fund abstinence-only programs such as Youth For Christ. It is easy to see this doesn't work, just look at the President's own state, Texas.

In the Great State of Texas it is against the law for public schools to teach about the effectiveness of contraceptives . And wouldn't that make for a great "Cops" episode!

Scene: Pasty-faced Sex Ed teacher holding up a rubber-clad banana in front of the classroom.
Two husky, black-clad police officers burst through the door and land in approved shooting stance with weapons trained on the teacher.
Officer 1: Stop! Throw down that condom!

Since they aren't teaching about contraceptives in the schools, it is up to the parents and the churches. One minister in Lubbock, who likes to compare sex partners to dirty toothbrushes ("You wouldn't put this in your mouth-- you don't know where it has been,") preaches to his young flock about the dangers of using condoms. Condoms-- and this may come as a surprise to public health officials-- are full of holes because they are made of latex. Latex is woven, so there are tiny spaces in between strands. The shaken youth sign virginity pledges and receive promise rings from their parents.

But the sex drive in young men is mighty; mightier than the fear of contracting AIDs or making a baby, mightier than the fear of the wrath of God or parents. Which means the "Virginity pledge" is easily broken. But those who fall off the band wagon don't bother with condoms, why should they? They have been assured that condoms don't work. Does it surprise you to learn that the Great State of Texas has one of the highest rate of teenage pregnancies and STDs of all fifty states?

I am willing to bet that more young girls have been saved from unwanted pregnancies and more young boys have been saved from syphilis by using condoms than have ever been saved by signing "Virginity Pledges." And really, do we want to gamble with the health and future of our children?