Last night on the bus my driver and fellow passengers erupted into a spontaneous round of discourse on the state budget, prompted a coming 30% fare-increase that the state transit agency says is necessary to bridge a gap that will be caused by proposed cuts to the state budget.

Today, as I watch our governor delivery his very first annual budget address to the state legislature, I can barely hear what he has to say; the memory of the voices of those passengers, nearly all riding home from work or school, risen in protest and/or dismay at what is to come.

"Christie is shooting the working-class citizenin the foot," said one woman.

Another, seated two rows away, called out, "I'm going to have to work overtime just to pay for bus fare!"

"At least y'all have jobs already," muttered a nursing student as she toyed with her school ID.

"Umm hmm," agreed another young woman in medical scrubs.

"You gotta vote next time," the bus driver admonished us all.

They were still talking, some scribbling down information about a transit public hearing the driver exhorted us all to attend, when we reached my stop and I got off the bus.

They got married in the morning.

This morning marked the first day in which same-sex couples could be legally wed in the District of Columbia. Not surprisingly, this sparked (even more) commentary about the national same-sex marriage debate.

Also not surprisingly, I found myself wondering, again, why there was there any debate in the first place.

During the larger part of my education, I was taught that in the United States, a marriage performed in one state would be legally-binding in the other forty-nine.

Some things, it seems, were not meant stay the same. After 1996, the Defense of Marriage Act gave state law-makers the right to pass legislation to officially refuse recognition of marriages between two people of the same gender. My second-grade social studies text, my seventh-grade civics book and all six (What can I say? I was a nerd.) of my high school history teachers became wrong in an instant.

At time, I had only one question about how and why the law passed: If this country has a constitutionally-decreed separation of church and state, why have our law-makers endorsed a decision that is clearly based on religious beliefs?

These days, I have a whole hell of a lot more questions that haven't been answered, but, like a dog with a bone, I keep chewing on that first one. And I want to know why everyone else who supports the constitution isn't asking the same thing?

"This is the price and the promise of citizenship"

Twenty-six minutes ago, America welcomed her first Black head of state and head of government. Barack Hussein Obama became the 44th President of the United States, before he even had a chance to take the oath of office.

I'll admit, I wasn't terribly inspired by his inaugural address. There wasn't much that stood out in my mind. There was no Jack Kenneddy moment, that people will take forward into history, but he did say one thing that resonated with me, "This is the price and the promise of citizenship."

How many of us remember to look at it in that way?

Citizenship in this country carries responsibility along with the benefits. We'd all do well to keep that in mind.

"If I was racist, I would have looked at it through racist eyes," she said

Diane Fedele, president of the Chaffey Community Republican Women, Federated is either a liar or among the stupidest women in the United States of America.

By now, many folks will have heard of the mailer she sent out to her group, introducing "Obama Bucks".

The false 10-dollar note (well, food stamp) shows Barack Obama's head on the body of a donkey (the symbol of the Democratic Party). Surrounding the image are depictions of fried chicken, ribs, Kool-Aid (c) and watermelon -- foods which, here in the U.S., have long been considered stereotypically Black.



In an LA Times article, Fedele was quoted saying, "It was poor judgment on my part. It was strictly an attempt to point out the outrageousness of Obama's statement that he doesn't look like all those other presidents on the dollar bills." (Because he’s not a dead and White? The last time I checked, the faces on U.S. banknotes all belonged to dead White men.)

One of her group members, Kristina Sandoval, came up with the patently untrue or embarrassingly naive, "Everyone eats those foods, it's not a racial thing."

Fidele's ridiculous defense ("If I was racist, I would have looked at it through racist eyes. I am not racist, which is why it probably didn't register") didn't ring any truer.

The thing is, they will probably get by relatively unscathed.Their actions probably won't hurt their reputations much. They will continue to play the wide-eyed innocents and find people to stand up for them, sort of:

State Sen. Bob Dutton (R-Rancho Cucamonga) represents the area, and his wife, a Latina, is a member of the club.

"I thought it was unacceptable and a failed attempt at humor," Dutton said. "My wife isn't taking it personally because she knows the people involved. I called Diane and talked to her and told her it was inappropriate. She is a sweet lady without a mean bone in her body. But we all have to be more sensitive."

Even when the opinions of folks quoted isn't necesarily relevant to the situation. (Because, sorry, Se. Dutton, most Latinas aren't also Black.)

It saddens me that these women will probably face not prosecution and, likely, very little persecution, or even censure in their community.

"What racism?" people will ask.

But those of us who have been personally harassed with these images before don't need convincing that these women are so culturally illiterate that they only inadvertantly chose three of the most oft-used stereotypes of African-American cuisine.

I have no idea how to describe this creepy post

    I had the strangest semi-erotic dream last night.

      In the beginning, I was at a party in some gorgeous apartment that I've never seen in the real world, but wouldn't mind living in myself if it actually existed. I was surrounded by dream-friends and having a great time, but in reality, I didn't recognize a single person I was hanging with. At some point, though, I found myself talking to a short, tubby man, who balding on top, but extremely hirsute everywhere else. He was a complete stranger to dream-Tara.

      And she was captivated.

       I mean, I'm pretty sure my physical self, as well as my Dreamland counterpart, was wiping the drool off my chin as I slept. That's how strong the attraction was.

       This was one of those dreams where everything feels extremely real. The kind where the lines seperating reality and the imaginary are almost non-existant. Dream-Tara desired that man like no else she'd ever lusted after, and half of the real me wanted him, too.

      But a small part of me remained aloof. A tiny bit of real-Tara chanted from some invisible corner, that it was all just a dream. Unfortunately, her voice faded more and more as desire, warm and golden, sweet as honey replaced the blood in dream-me's veins.

      As often happens in dreams, time whipped around without any reasonable transition. One moment, I was flashing back to an earlier moment at the party, seeing at of The Guy's eyes. He'd seen me across a crowded room (thank you, South Pacific), and instantly knew he had to meet me. He'd grabbed one of dream-friends on the shoulder and pointed. The friend understood instanty.

       Then, just as suddenly, we were in my apartment (it looked just like my real apartment), in my bedroom, tearing off each other's clothes amid fevered kisses and caresses.

       My breath came in desperate gasps. His flesh (and the hair covering most of it) was damped with sweat.

      We fell back onto my bed, and real-Tara issued a last ditch effort to wake me up. Eww! she thought, grimacing at the idea of his sweaty, hairy body touching our gorgeous sheets. But in the same instant, the pelt like body hair thinned tremendously, and his sweat began to evaporate in the light breeze wafting in through the open window. Real-meblacked out, and I was completely dream-Tara, lost in the heady touch of his hands and lips covering my body.

       So wrapped up were we, in learning the other's body with kisses and touches, were still half clothed when he flipped over so that I was lying under him. Lying atop him, horizontal to the floor, his diminutive stature didn't matter and his pudgy body simply offered more for me to explore.

      His skin was now pink and cook, nearly all of the body hair had dissappeared. I rolled off of him to help him out of his pants. Slowly, reverantly, stroking his round belly as he lifted his hips to ease the black trousers over his ample bum.

       He hadn't been wearing underpants, and to real-Tara's faint but readily apparent distress, the magical depliation had spread beyond his arms, chest and back. Again, though, the me of the real world was banished in the heat of lips meeting lips.

      He somehow managed to remove the rest of my clothing -- I think I'd been wearing a black halter dress and sheer black stockings with black satin garters -- without ending his latest kiss.

      Completely naked to his eyes for the first time, I basked in their glow when he pushed up with strong arms, and held me just above him.

      I ran a finger slowly down his cheek, a slow smile creeping across my face. I couldn't stop if from growing to a full-out grin. Leaning down for another kiss, I stopped just short of his lips.

      "What's your name?" I whispered.

      And then my dog burst through the bedroom door and leapt onto the bed. She licked my neck and that back of my head until I dragged myself away from my strange almost-lover.

      The Guy sat up, grinning, while I wrestled my dog off the bed, and then sat on the floor, the cold seeping into my bum, and soothed her.

      "Didn't recognize my voice?" he asked, suddenly sounding like one of the announcers from my morning radio. "I'm (Bleep) (Bleep)." He wasfrom the radio show that wakes me up every morning. "I thought you knew. I thought that's why you brought me home."

      By this time, my dog was settled, accepting the stranger in my bed was no threat to me. (Bleep) (Bleep) opened his arms and beckoned, inviting my dog to join. "as long as she stays at the foot of the bed, though!" Which wouldn't cost interfere with the activities of a man as tiny as him.

      I climbed back into the bed, but my heart wasn't in it. I was in bed with a short, fat, stranger who was losing his hair. He was the opposite, in every way, of the American idea of beauty. In spite of all that, I still wanted him. But he was a stranger, and the idea of what I had done disgusted me, and I couldn't bear to sully him with my filthy hands.

      He was really polite about leaving. By then, the sun was just beginning to come up, and my bedroom window faces East. Usually, sunrise is one of my favorite times of the day, but this morning I was wrapped in sadness. He'd taken the morning off work to be with me, and I was sending him home. I felt worse than ever.

      When he was gone, I trudged to my bathroom and turned on the shower. I called to my dog, who had slipped away during my miserable musings. I wanted to thank her for bringing me back to my senses.

      She didn't answer.

      I ran around the apartment, searching everywhere for her. Checking some rooms -- the living room, my office -- two and three times.

      She wasn't there.

       I flew out of my apartment, not even stopping to throw on a robe to cover my nakeness.

      I must have been screaming, because, soon, my neighbors were pouring out of their apartments, and peaking over the stair rail to see what was the matter.

      "I can't find... ," I cried, even more upset by the fact that I couldn't remember muy dog's name. " I can't find... " I tried again, this time much more quietly.

      I sank down on the stairs. "She's gone," I whispered, dropping my head into my hands.

      A neighbor came and covered me with a blanket, sliding an arm around my shoulder and squeezing me as she sat beside me.

      I looked over at her.

      "Champ? Champ? Champ! Champ is gone! She's gone!" I would have crumpled into my neighbors arms at that, but just then, a short, sharp bark rang out, and a clattering of nails against tile sounded on the adjacent staircase. Seconds later, Champ appeared in the lobby, at the bottom of my own stairs.

      Through my joy and relief, it occured to me that I don't even have a dog, let alone a bitch named Champ.

      And then I woke up.

Back in the saddle

        Tonight, I decided to stop changing over my winter wardrobe for spring and summer, and to get out of the house, instead. I ended up having a pretty wonderful time.

        The denizens of a local art gallery, Red Saw, have been sponsoring a free B-movie Night at a local pub every Sunday for the past month or so, but I haven't made it to any of the showings. Tonight, since the SPO was in Philly for a Mets/Phillies game, I decided to give it a try.

        This Sunday, the selections were Warriors and Laserblast, two deliciously under-budget, over(and under)-acted movies from the late 70's.

        They had us laughing out loud and screaming at the screen. I loved it!

        But, best of all, I got to see friends and acquaintances from my old neighborhood that I hadn't seen in ages. Kisses and hugs came at me from every direction. I hadn't talked to some of these folks for years.

        It might sound a bit conceited, but I really liked being the woman everyone was happy to see. I loved hearing the cries of "Tara! Where have you been?" and "I missed you!" coming from so many. Sometimes, I've found myself feeling lonely since I've moved, but mostly, I've valued the time on my own, to move my life forward and try to plan for my future. I assumed, now that I was out of sight, folks wouldn't really think much about me, though I cherished (and still cherish) the fond memories I made with them.

        So, it came as a (very) pleasurable surprise to be greeted with such warmth. And I came to a realization: I don't have to be a hermit in order to "get my house in order". There's plenty of time in the day for me, and for the people who have helped shape my life, as well.

        More importantly, I remembered that I didn't give these people up just because I needed to grow up and move on with my life -- I left them behind because after breaking up with the Arichitect, I decided to make things easier on everyone by sparing them his open grief. Nearly four years later, I still tend to be a bit nervous when treading on what I can't help but think of as his turf. But everyone who knew me then, and even a few who didn't, welcomed me with open arms tonight.

        It's good to be back.

Now I KNOW he's oblivious

Today, after Mr. Thoughlessness told me that I'd grown up "in a fucking cult", I realized that he must be oblivious to the feelings of others and to what constitutes appropriate remarks to colleagues. To keep my sanity, I shall just have to redouble my efforts not to engage in personal conversations with him. "Cause I meant it when I said I usually like and respect this man. If only he knew when to keep his thoughts to himself...