"Do you think it was fair, what they got? They did something stupid, but I don’t know. I’m not blaming the girl, but if you’re a 16-year-old and you’re drunk like that, your parents should teach you: don’t take drinks from other people. She’s 16, why was she that drunk where she doesn’t remember? It could have been much worse. She’s lucky. Obviously I don’t know, maybe she wasn’t a virgin, but she shouldn’t have put herself in that position…"
— Serena Williams, on the Steubenville rape victim.
Um, Serena? Whenever you say “I’m not blaming the girl, but…” you’re blaming the girl.
I love this shit. It’s one of my favorite things ever, right up there with punk rock and foot rubs. I haven’t made it in like a month so I’m excited, so I excited I came and told you, the internet.
My recipe, which varies, is one and a third cups dried cannellini beans, about a half a cup chopped shallot, three smashed garlic cloves. All this is slowly cooked under a lid in a quart or however much of veggie broth (the beans need to stay covered, so I may add a little water throughout). I use Rapunzel dried veggie broth. It’s good shit, Maynard.
Once the beans get close to being done, I taste and maybe add a little salt if needed. I take the lid off and let some of the liquid evapoate while on low/medium heat. I then add a little acidity, lemon juice, tarragon vinegar, whatever, plus some EVOO for a little fat. Then puree in a blender. You can pretty much put whatever spices and seasonings you like into it. Herbes de Provence is really good.
Anyway, can’t wait.
I need something to eat it on so will have to bake a loaf of bread.
Life’s good.
basedheisenberg:
early-onset-of-night:
bluestaterepublican:
I guess I just won’t ever understand why I don’t have to show my ID to vote.
I have to show my ID to buy alcohol. My parents had to show my birth certificate to register me in sports as a child. I showed my ID to take the SAT. I show my ID to verify credit card purchases.
Haha. It’s funny how many Republicans don’t even understand what the Arizona law actually did and why it was struck down so readily, with even a right-wing ideologue like Scalia voting to end it.
First of all, those things which you have to show your ID for? Privileges, not rights.
The Arizona law specifically included a requirement to prove citizenship. Since naturalized citizens would have to present their naturalization documents, it means they would not be able to register on line or by mail, unlike natural born citizens. Since federal law prohibits photocopying of naturalization documents, this requirement means that naturalized citizens would have to register in person. Therefore, the law creates an obstacle especially created for naturalized citizens.
In other words, it was voter suppression and nothing more.
Why is it ok to ask for an ID to be able to register to vote, but not to actually vote?
The conclusion that one is okay and one is not, is illogical. I’m not saying you should have to provide a birth certificate everytime the police ask, that’s shit, but there’s no reason why showing an ID to vote should be receiving as much shit as it is, asking to prove you’re actually you isn’t voter suppression.
Again, this law was not about showing ID. Jeez, people. Asking to prove you’re you isn’t voter suppression, but asking one group to prove they’re them EXTRA is voter suppression. You are not allowed to target a specific group of people and make them jump through extra hoops just to vote. That’s what’s shit and that’s why this voter suppression tactic failed. What if we made gun-owners do extra paperwork to vote. Just gun-owners. Yeah, I bet the right wing would go along with that. Heh.
bluestaterepublican:
I guess I just won’t ever understand why I don’t have to show my ID to vote.
I have to show my ID to buy alcohol. My parents had to show my birth certificate to register me in sports as a child. I showed my ID to take the SAT. I show my ID to verify credit card purchases.
Haha. It’s funny how many Republicans don’t even understand what the Arizona law actually did and why it was struck down so readily, with even a right-wing ideologue like Scalia voting to end it.
First of all, those things which you have to show your ID for? Privileges, not rights.
The Arizona law specifically included a requirement to prove citizenship. Since naturalized citizens would have to present their naturalization documents, it means they would not be able to register on line or by mail, unlike natural born citizens. Since federal law prohibits photocopying of naturalization documents, this requirement means that naturalized citizens would have to register in person. Therefore, the law creates an obstacle especially created for naturalized citizens.
In other words, it was voter suppression and nothing more.
She raised me, basically alone. There was help from Grandma and Aunt Elayne. Mostly, it was Mom.
I was a terrible, problematic child, in trouble with the law for the first time at age 12. My teen years were worse. How I avoided any serious time behind bars is beyond me.
When I got older and calmed down and had a son of my own, my father, who was completely absent the whole time began to piss me off. I didn’t think twice about him before. He was just some guy, some guy who owed my Mom thousands of dollars in child support.
I didn’t think much about it really.
When I became a Father myself, I thought “How could you. What a dick.”
Becoming a Father made me notice how I didn’t have one.
So I had a son and was there every step of the way. The relationship dissolved and I got custody. At first, though, when things were going to hell and I thought I was going to be relegated to Weekend Dad status, I was going to do it. She talked of moving to Arizona and I was ready to pack my bags.
I have talked to dads whose kids move away with their primary custody mothers and they shrug their shoulders and say mealy-mouthed shit like “Work”.
I would’ve given up a $100,000 a year job to live closer to my boy. In a heartbeat.
But meth came to the rescue and I got custody and ended up raising him from age 1.5 until now.
He is 20 and just called me yesterday for advice on car insurance. I love that he still needs me :)
When I was in the middle of raising my boy, when he was like 6 or 8, it hit me that I also had a Father in my Mother. It was my Mother who taught me to shave my face. Badly, it turns out, but she did it. It was to my Mother that I went with my first and most confusing wet dream.
“What is this Mom!?!?”
So, humorously, I started sending her Father’s Day cards and giving her a call.
She passed this last August and boy do I miss her today.
‘Scuse me while I go and buy a case of beer…
Maybe in a dream
Do we forgive our Fathers for leaving us too often or forever
when we were little?
Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage
or making us nervous
because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.
Do we forgive our Fathers for marrying or not marrying our Mothers?
For divorcing or not divorcing our Mothers?
And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning
for shutting doors
for speaking through walls
or never speaking
or never being silent?
Do we forgive our Fathers in our age or in theirs
or their deaths
saying it to them or not saying it?
If we forgive our Fathers what is left?
—Dick Lourie
“A Boy Named Sue”
My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn’t leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don’t blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me “Sue.”
Well, he must o’ thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a’ lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I’d get red
And some guy’d laugh and I’d bust his head,
I tell ya, life ain’t easy for a boy named “Sue.”
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fists got hard and my wits got keen,
I’d roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made a vow to the moon and stars
That I’d search the honky-tonks and bars
And kill that man who gave me that awful name.
Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I’d stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon on a street of mud,
There at a table, dealing stud,
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me “Sue.”
Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
From a worn-out picture that my mother’d had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old,
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: “My name is ‘Sue!’ How do you do!
Now you’re gonna die!!”
Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down, but to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a’ gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.
I tell ya, I’ve fought tougher men
But I really can’t remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin’ at me and I saw him smile.
And he said: “Son, this world is rough
And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you’d have to get tough or die
And it’s the name that helped to make you strong.”
He said: “Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I’m the son-of-a-bitch that named you “Sue.’”
I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I came away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I’m gonna name him
Bill or George! Anything damn thing but Sue! I still hate that name!
— Shel Silverstein and Johnny Cash
