soap box derby!

Happy Thursday my little cupcakes.
So there has been an important link making the rounds on the internet. (beware it is pretty damn intense and graphic) It is about a deeply scary/nasty hate crime -ah forget hate crime, we are talking a horrifyingly nasty murder of a man thought to be gay. He was tortured and killed. It wasn't in Iran or Saudi Arabia where they do that kind of thing as some kind of "sport". It was in Indiana.
The people who killed this man are using the defense "he was gay".
Ohnotheydi'n't
And until recently there hasn't been much press about this crime.

Some things I am not overtly political/loudmouth about because what might be my flavor of tea isn't someone else's and and so on. (which is fine and dandy if we are talking about stuff like economic policy, public transport development and zoning laws) But when it comes to groups of folk being marginalized, it bothers me. A lot. Especially when it causes other people to think it is alright to harm them or deny them basic human rights and if they live in the United States -denying gay people (or anyone else for that matter) the pursuit of happiness.
Homosexuality isn't a disease. It isn't a mental affliction. It isn't evil. It isn't immoral. And it isn't a reason to justify killing a human.

Hey by the way, it is Gay Pride. Let's support our gay/lesbian/trans friends, siblings, children, relations, and co-workers. It takes a fair amount of courage to be yourself when there are people out there who don't want you to love or live just like the rest of the world.

the upside

I have cleaned the bbq up a bit as it is Summer and fun to cook things over fire. The butcher I go to sells their chicken breasts joined. (unlike most grocery stores which sell them cup into two piece sections) I bought some recently and I put on a dry rub (I sort of threw together about five or six different herbs and spices) and have been letting it sit most of the day. I am grilling that and roasting some bell pepper. I am thinking of slicing up the tomato and dressing it with a bit of pesto sauce.

A book I ordered arrived. I wonder if the mailman thought I was a little too excited that he was delivering a package. I tend to treat delivery people like they are Santa Claus. (minus climbing on their lap and telling them what a good girl I have been)

Have I mentioned I have two bug bites on my neck? Well I do. It makes me rather irritable.

When I am not attending to Master Alexander, doing dishes/laundry and feeding people I am thinking about holidays and also possibly having a party or something. But for now it is casual thinking.

familial correspondance

I emailed my Mother today:
My half-sister emailed me and said that Mr. Gibson* and wife are moving to
Indiana in August.
Yes.
My thoughts exactly.
So he won't even be in the same time zone.


She replied:
indifuckingana???

....
My Mother emails me with a book recommendation:
by the way, another book to read(yes, another!)
in a similar vein to "first person rural" et al--
Country Matters, by michael korda(yes, of that korda family--same guy who
wrote "queenie", which as you no doubt know, was loosely based on the
life of....oh shit, who was it? luise rainer? i think so. somebody like
that).
anyway.
very funny, wealthy english people living in manhattan(he's editor in
chief for simon and schuster)decide to move to the country, upstate new
york. not condescending, funny, similar territory to noel perrin, but not
so far north. you would like it.


I reply:
Dear Mother,
You are the worst sort of enabler. If you had known Dylan Thomas he
would have died even younger than he did.
Now excuse me while I go and put the book on my wish list at powells.com

Your loving daughter,
G.S. Jenner**


Yep. This is how we roll in my family.

*For those who might be newer to reading my LJ, Mr. Gibson is my estranged Father. We usually refer to him as The Late Mr. Gibson. His wife is referred to as "The Skank". Names are important.

**That particular signature "your loving so and so, Initial, Initial, Surname" is how people in my family sign letters to one another. My Great Grandfather used to write letters to his own children that way and it has sort of gone on through the generations. In fact somewhere I have a letter from my Grandpa that he sent to me when I was at summer camp (I was probably nine or ten) and he signed it, "Your loving Grandfather, T.M. Rowen". It is kind of an in-joke now. But a beloved one.