Livingston, I Presume

Roll over! Fetch! Play dead!

I was, as Dieter used to say, as happy as a little girl yesterday when I discovered that a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago had been named the BlogHer of the Week. The post was on healthcare and our elected representatives and how the two don't work well together unless you're actually an elected representative yourself. I even got to use the word vagina (twice!).

I stand by what I wrote and in my focus on primarily Republican opponents of the public option, even as I am sick with shame about how my party--the only party I've ever called home in my entire political life--has rolled over at every step of the healthcare reform process. The Stupak amendment was really just the last, worst step. Kate Harding on Salon:

"...This is not our party. We've known that for too long, and yet the Democrats have known too well that they could bank on our money and our votes as long as the GOP remained even more not our party. But something's changed. 64 Democrats voted to block women's access to legal medical services. That may not be quite as repulsive as some Republican shenanigans, but the difference is only one of degree. If the point of women voting for "moderate" Democrats is to avoid a majority that's actively hostile to women, then those who voted for the Stupak-Pitts amendment just proved that there's no point at all. And progressive women have finally had enough. We are ready to go there. Are Democrats ready to try getting elected without us?"

Yup.

I don't know where that leaves me. I've been holding my nose throughout this entire healthcare reform process--the process largely put together by the senior senator from MY OWN STATE--and I'm starting to think that the other side has won. Because what's emerged improves things, marginally and perhaps, but when I think about what needs to be in the bills under consideration and isn't, well, I just lose hope. 

People are dying. Not because of imaginary government death panels but because of real-life insurance company profit-mongering. People are suffering. People are going bankrupt. And an appalling percentage of our elected officials think that's just fine, so long as we don't in any possible way allow anything even vaguely resembling socialism--or compassion--to creep into our system. Oh, and so long as they get to say that they TOTALLY PWNED our president. Too bad we can't pay for a new healthcare system with a tax on hot air and broken promises.

Election day

It just doesn't match last year's epic battle, but today's elections are still important in some places. Here in Livingston, a triumvirate of astroturf-y right-wing candidates are seeking city commission seats, making a trip to the polls a necessity. In Washington and Maine, voters have the privilege of voting on other people's civil rights, which really defies belief. I can only hope that our friends on the extremes of each coast vote the right way. I can only imagine what it would be like to be waiting for a vote to decide if the primary relationship in my life was worthy of societal recognition.

In Maine, one of the best examples of actual changing mores came from World War II veteran Phillip Spooner who spoke movingly of his gay son and the importance of equality:

If you haven't watched this yet, I defy you to do so and not tear up. Let's face it, folks, if an 86-year-old man is defending gay marriage, we are not exactly talking about a cutting-edge issue anymore. It's not radical, the idea of people being able to love and form lifelong bonds with whomever they choose. It's simple fairness and equality. Let's hope the voters of Maine and Washington stand up for that.

In other election news, the whole day is being billed as a giant referendum on the Obama presidency, as if we will be able to tell definitively after today whether he's totally failed or maybe has a chance to not fail until a couple of years from now. When this line from an NPR report woke me up this morning, it was all I could do not to scream: "Congressional Republicans voted almost unanimously against the stimulus package, and they're quick to pounce each time new job losses are reported."

Quick to pounce? Quick to pounce? Boy, I'm glad somebody is enjoying the American workers' darkest hour. You know, I hated the Bush presidency with a fiery passion, but I never let that spill over into wishing for people to lose their jobs or get killed in wars just to prove a political point. And they say the "liberal elites" are anti-American? Please. All of the Glenn Becks and Rush Limbaughs out there are making no secret of wanting Obama to fail, and how exactly does that benefit the country?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an election to vote in. I'm going to take my son to the polls so that he can see some small-town democracy in action.

Halloween (NaBloPoMo Post 1)

Although I've been tempted before, I've never actually taken the National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) challenge. This year, that all changes:

So that means I'll be doing my level best to get in here every day in November, even when I'd rather be watching cheesy TV, to spout off about all thing Livingstonian. This morning I can direct you to Lynn Weaver's unparalleled LIvingston 365 site, where the talented Ms. W. has been taking and posting a different photo of Livingston every day this year. For Halloween, she captured the unbelievable Halloween costume of Chad Petrulis, owner of Chadz coffee house downtown. For all of you out there who think you had an elaborate or creative costume, well, you might have, but you didn't beat Chad.

My costume? Well, I continued my streak by going as a slightly harried, 30-something mother of two. It's scary because it's so realistic.

Honestly, I admire the people who go all-out for Halloween, but I'm just not into it--for myself. (I love dressing my kids up and decorating the house!) Maybe it's because costuming my body is not the easiest thing, or because I resent the tenor of some costumes but I think much of it has to do with my fuddy-duddy feeling that Halloween is for kids.

I'm the grown-up grousing because there is a gaggle of 16-year-old barely costumed boys on my porch shaking me down for candy. I'll smile like crazy and act scared for the tiny vampires and Buzz Lightyears and even the slightly older kids, but once they hit 13 or 14, they're cut off (in my head--I mean, I always give them the damn candy). Older than that and they're likely to be tempted to grab my son's jack o'lantern and smash it on the sidewalk or throw eggs at our cars or do other not-funny-at-all "tricks." I'm not quite sure when I became the crazy old lady yelling at "those damn kids!" but there you go. It's all part of my very convincing costume.

Happy Halloween and happier November, everyone! Here's a bonus shot of my kids, who went as a ninja and a devil. Appropriate somehow:

Bye bye, fry

Let us bow our heads, Internets.

We come here today to mourn the passing of The Stockman's handcut french fry. In a world of industrialized frozen potato products, The Stockman's heaping plate of homemade, skin-on fries was a revelation. These were not Belgian frites, mind. They were not pretty and even and they could not have been eaten from a tiny paper cup with mayonnaise on the side. They were not double fried and extra crispy. But as American fries go, they just didn't get any better. Crisp but substantial and toothsome, tasting of potatoes--sounds obvious, but have you tasted a fast-food fry lately? It's like no actual potatoes were harmed in the development of those fries--The Stockman's fries were the perfect accompaniment to their excellent burgers. It was like Old Montana on a Plate. And the residual Scot in me loved that a single order was plenty and then some to share among a family of three.

The family and I went to The Stockman on Tuesday night. It was one of our first meals downtown since the end of tourist season. Just like in Prague, tourist town centers are often best avoided during the peak months. Imagine our distress to discover that while we had been barbecuing our own burgers and sweating in the basement, the restaurant's chief fry maker had decided that he couldn't keep up the pace anymore. He'd been preparing some 100 pounds of potatoes every single day to cope with the demand, and he was done.

The fries they're serving now are just like any other fry in any other restaurant in America. Bah.

The owners had put a notice on the menu to warn people, but really, I think they should have taken out an ad in the paper. Maybe, in fact, an obituary. And they definitely should have given us enough notice to come in and get a last fix. We could have taken up a collection to send The Potato Guy to the spa in the hopes of rejuvenation and future potato wrangling. But no. They're just gone, and we're left to pick up the precut, frozen pieces.

Look at me!

Here I am, not blogging about the heat. Because really, what is there to say? I'm not going to waste your time moaning that if it doesn't cool down soon I might have to dig a basement below our current basement. Or go and live in the wonderfully air-conditioned alcove where Sky Federal Credit Union has its ATM. (Do you think they'd mind? Seriously.) Or move to Alaska.

Nah, I'm not going to say any of that, because then I'd be blogging about the heat, and how boring is that?

TV Karts...just say NO F***IN' way!

I mentioned recently that we don't have access to the iPhone in Montana. In Livingston, we've been denied On Demand cable even though seemingly everywhere else in the whole United States gets it. But I’ve come to accept that we’re a small market, and small markets don’t get to be early-adopters with a lot of new technology. Sometimes I curse it, and other times—as happened when I started reading about new, “kid-friendly” shopping carts with televisions inside—I am thrilled to death to be out of the loop.

TV Karts™ —designed by a New Zealand firm—are described on the manufacturer’s site thusly:

Everyone knows parents of pre-school children have limited time and energy, let alone face what many have come to regard as a necessary evil—grocery shopping. Here is where Cabco comes to the rescue with TV Kart™, which helps parents and caregivers to have a relaxed shopping experience while their children enjoy the magic and fun of 'driving' their TV Kart™ and watching their favorite TV programs—without leaving their parents' side.

Even ignoring the truly awkward construction in that first sentence, there are already more things wrong with this idea than I care to count. And I haven’t even told you the most irritating part. The TV Kart™? It costs a dollar each time you want to use it. That means, in addition to dropping a hundred bucks at the checkout counter with the stuff in the basket, you also get to pay for the basket! But hey, it comes with free Child Zombification Unit, so maybe it’s worth it!

And about that TV… I’m not going to rail against parents who let their kids watch TV, since I am one. Granted, we're strict about it, but Connery is no stranger to “Johnny and the Sprites” and the “Backyardigans”. He likes to watch the occasional half hour, and I like to keep up on such luxurious forms of hygiene as showering. I don’t think it hurts him, but I also don’t delude myself that he’s “learning” anything beyond how to sit still for more than five minutes at a time. Besides, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends no screen time at all for kids under two, and these carts are being marketed straight to that demographic.

Is there nowhere we can now escape television? It’s not that I relish going to the grocery store with a bored preschooler—it can be very stressful, in fact—but I wouldn’t want to have him zoned out and unwilling to interact with other kids, with adults, and most of all with me. How else is he going to learn about the proper way to behave in public, not to mention how to read labels to make good food choices, avoid slickly marketed junk food and make sure I don’t forget his favorite jam?

I can hear people out there sniffing that if I don’t like them, I shouldn’t use them. True enough. But have you ever tried to explain logically to a child in the grocery store that he just can’t get into that perfectly beautiful cart with its steering wheel, truck-like appearance and magical blue screen? Even without the lure of the tube, my son has to be convinced that grocery shopping is indeed possible without the assistance of one of those “kiddy” carts shaped like cars that are available locally.

According to A Little Pregnant, the shopping baskets are being test-marketed in discount retailers in major cities across the nation. It’s just another reason I’m not always sad that Old Montany is not yet one of those “major cities.” I’ll trade the iPhone for that.

Thrilling iPhone update!

I still don't have one. What's more, I can't get one, since we don't get fancy-schmancy Cingular/the new At&T/the Old AT&T/AT&T reception here in old Montany.

I'm fine with it (like I've got $500 to spend on a cell phone!) but Chip's weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth are starting to frighten the children.

More beauty and light

While I'm posting about nice things and generally trying to match my mood to the beautiful day underway outside--a day which, I might add, could very well see the completion of our driveway, ripped out more than a month ago to change the storm drain--I should take a minute to recommend another Livingston site, Arts Montana. The brainchild of Lynn Weaver, Arts Montana is a fantastic resource for anyone interested in culture of all kind in Livingston. But I'll let Lynn tell you about it:

Artsmontana.com is a discriminating and unified resource about the arts in Livingston, Montana. Artsmontana.com highlights the work of the many independent, professional artists who live and work in Livingston, and for whom art is a primary activity and, in some cases, a livelihood. It is also a source for arts reviews, interviews, articles, events, and featured images. The focus is on visual arts, but other arts will be covered, too.

The site does not make money on the backs of local artists, either. Lynn does not charge artists to be linked on the site, and she doesn't make any commission. In other words, she's doing this for all the right reasons. I'm adding it to my links list and imagine I'll be visiting regularly.

Crash

I had the best car accident yesterday!

It illustrated very neatly why small-town life--and maybe particularly smalltown Montana life--is kind of addictive (though not nearly as addictive as Montana Meth, HBO is quick to remind us). It was a classic intersection collision--the other driver thought it was a four-way stop and proceeded into the intersection; I couldn't stop quickly enough to avoid him, since it was not a four-way stop--and thanks to the low speeds involved, damage was pretty minimal and no one was hurt. There was no hostility; we introduced ourselves and laughed about the circumstances and called the police to file a report. The dispatcher called me "honey," and the astoundingly courteous officer showed up quickly. It was all over in 15 minutes, and while I will have to go through the irritation of having the car in the body shop, the car is fine to drive until then.

The whole incident was just so civil and non-confrontational that it kind of blew my mind. I remember getting into an accident in Michigan before Chip and I were married. The other driver again was at fault, but I don't remember ever even talking with that person. Even though Michigan is a no-fault state, everyone was terrified of saying something that could get them sued. There was no rueful joking involved.

We do pay certain costs for choosing to live in Montana. Salaries are low. Housing prices--at least where we are and in other "boot" areas of the state--are high. The nearest Indian restaurant from here is a 200-mile drive, not exactly an evening's trip. But the benefits most of the time far outweigh those costs. One time in Prague I slipped going down the steps into the subway. I fell straight down on my tailbone, and while I never had it medically confirmed since there's nothing you can do if you break your ass, I'm pretty sure I did actually break my tailbone. It was one of those falls that hurts so much it makes you want to throw up. While I was trying to gather myself from the fall, my fellow subway riders were glaring at me and making irritated noises at having to walk around my pain. Not once did someone stop to help or even to ask if I was OK. I like to think that would never happen in a place like this. From everything I've experienced so far, I think it's a safe bet.

Pampers PLUS!

Editor's note: This is not a post about poop. Squeamish people can keep right on reading. Really!

All you parents out there, I bet you think you know the tolerances of diapers. I bet you think you know them so well that you could express them in a quasi-mathematical format:

If x=blueberries and y=bran muffins and the function is (b) breakfast, then function (l) lunch cannot include z=prunes (which of course are not prunes at all but dried plums! they're not your father's prunes!).

But do you really know what diapers can do? What their outer limits are? Allow me to tell you the story of how we came to understand the value of the diaper--sans poo--lo, this very weekend.

First a little background...My husband is many things: sensitive, handsome, funny. He is also a good driver. I would wager to say that he could be called a great driver, actually. He is one of the only Americans I have ever known who enjoyed driving in Prague--not in any way a car city, unless you're suicidal--and his quick reflexes have gotten us out of many a carjam, including one notable incident on I-90 in Connecticut during which we could have both been killed due to a distracted driver pulling into us at 75 miles an hour. (He is also the only American I know to have been pulled over by a traffic cop in Crete. Up until we were pulled over, I was not aware that there were any traffic cops in Crete, because there didn't appear to be any laws to enforce, save "Go faster!" and "Get out of my way!")

Anyway, we were driving yesterday on our old friend Highway 89, going to meet Nana and Grandpa in White Sulphur Springs for lunch and swimming. The weather was fine and the road was dry, and we were--as always--early. Like 45 minutes early. Most of you probably haven't spent time in White Sulphur Springs, so you'll have to take my word for the fact that staring down 45 extra minutes there would have been a hardship. So I convinced Chip to slow down to 55--a respectable, if slow, speed for a two-lane highway--and take the last few miles at a scenic drive pace. Even at that rate, we were almost immediately up the ass of a 4x4 pulling a trailer, so Chip pulled into the other lane to pass. I chastised him for passing early--since we were still a few car lengths behind the passing zone--but before I could even finish my sentence, the 4x4 was making a totally unsignaled turn, right into our lane. Stunt Car Driver Husband swung into action, swerving into the ditch, avoiding the 4x4, and--crucially--executing a quick maneuver to avoid the reflector pole straight ahead of us. The pole glanced off the side mirror on the passenger side, and we came to a stop.

No airbags deployed since Chip managed to avoid the impact, and everybody was fine. (Not entirely true. The karma of the dickhead in the 4x4 should be ruined for a good long time, since he didn't even stop to find out if we were OK.) The only casualty from the whole, VW-commercial-like experience was the cracked case on the side mirror. Even the automatic movement of the mirror hadn't been damaged! Here's how the mirror looked following the accident:

Once we met up with my folks, my dad assured us that we had probably done no lasting damage and predicted that the case could be salvaged with some super glue. Being a retired shop teacher and entirely too clever for his own good generally, he could have been expected to say that even if we had run smack into the pole, but in this case we recognized that even mechanically deficient people like us could probably handle super glue. (Just don't touch the eyes!)

We had the traditional adequate lunch at EAT and a very nice swim at the hot springs. It passed all too quickly and then it was time to head home again. All seemed fine until we started to reach normal highway speeds again. Then the case started flapping madly in the breeze, and we could tell that we were soon going to move from super-glue repair to dealership violation. We stopped the car to rummage around for string, a bungee cord, duct tape...but to no avail. Then I spied a diaper. "Isn't Connery's butt just about the same size as our side mirror?" I said with a glint in my eye.

In a word, yes. Diapers. They're not just for shit anymore! Oh, and you can forget all those expensive brands. This generic, Albertsons-brand diaper held it all together, with no embarrassing leaks. Well, right up until the point when we had to pass someone on the left and reveal our little secret.