TigerBeatdown started a new series on literature this week – conveniently coinciding with my sudden immersion in the Book Review Blogoshphere. (Did you know there is this MASSIVE BOOX EXPO every year? Where they give away free books by the pound?! Someone explain to me why the fuck I did not get to experience either this book orgy or WisCon? sobosobosb.)

Reading the Rejectionist got me thinking about literary snobbery and my book-addict geek root (Root? What is a root? But I’m a Cheerleader will gladly explain the concept to you at the 5:35 mark.)

Alright Miss Mary, let me think back to my earliest book-related memories. Hmmm…

I remember a teacher suggesting I read a Chapter Book of all godawful things. Little House on the Prairie (why do people always suggest starting with that one? Dumbasses, Little House in the Big Woods is first) to be precise. I was appalled by such a suggestion. I wanted to read more Clifford. Just like my friends. I’M JUST LIKE MY FRIENDS OKAY?! This occurred in kindergarten or first grade. My desire to blend won out over any stupid hippie teacher suggestion that I advance at a faster pace than my peers. Clearly not the school’s fault. (And yes, I later devoured the Little House books – as well as their various sequels and spinoffs. Hmm….and now I see a marked similarity to GarlandGrey’s comments about male authors appropriating and profiting off the genius of women.)

DRAGON!

Looking back on it, Sigmadog is definitely The Root. After he and Sigmalass got married, he would read to me before bed. A chapter a night. We started with The Hobbit before moving on to Narnia. Sometime around The Silver Chair I discovered that reading aloud takes FOREVER (to this day I cannot stand the plodding pace of audiobooks).

Coincidentally around the same time, Sigmadog and Sigmalass laid down a no-TV-until-6:30 rule (but how will I function without the constant stream of televised entertainment?). I finished the rest of the series in a matter of days and needed more. MORE DAMNIT MORE!

(Sigmadog is also the individual responsible for introducing me to the DragonRiders of Pern on my 10th-or-11th birthday. So many dragons, so little time.) Yup, I think we can all agree that Draconismoi has found her root.

From this point forward I couldn’t get my hands on books fast enough. Eventually I was given permission to ride my bike to and from the library so I could get my fill without needing a ride – and thus being forced to adhere to a goddamn TIMETABLE when choosing my weekly reading materials. (MO-THER I cannot possibly be expected to a get a week’s worth of books in a mere hour!)

At first all this reading was blessedly uninhibited. Then. THEN some goddamn interfering teacher or random busybody adult GOT UP IN MY BUSINESS. They had things to say to my mother about my reading:

1. She is reading too fast and too much. Obviously she isn’t really reading. Just skimming. Or pretending. Or perhaps actually reading the words without retaining their meaning. You must slow her down. Force her brain to work at a speed and level that we, random faceless strangers, are comfortable with.
2. Now that we are dictating the speed at which your child is allowed to process the written word, we must intervene regarding the type and quality of the written words she is processing. It’s all trash! Garbage! If she is going to read, make her READ.

In response to the first critique, I was required to write book reports. For my MOM. HOMEWORK when I wasn’t even in school! HAS THE WORLD GONE MAD? I know the requirement eventually tapered off – though I am unclear as to why. I do, however, recall bitterly writing out one of those goddamned reports, and upon completion, noting that I had written it for the wrong book. I was reading the latest in an ongoing series, but had somehow written the report for a previous offering. Part of me was horrified…..had I just done an extra goddamned report?! (I will forever remember that sick feeling of dread) Luckily for me, mom didn’t notice. She hadn’t read the book in question. Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!

The latter comment, regarding my reading preferences, turned out to be my introduction into the wide world of literary snobbery, genre ghettos and goddamned refusal of oh-so-many educated people to acknowledge the merit of works due to shelving or date of publication.

For some reason, I needed to be reading classics. A new rule was put in place. For every book I picked, I had to pick a book off some fucking list. Pride and Prejudice (“Why thank you Mr. Darcy for condescending to express romantic interest in me despite my status as Trashy McTrashsterstein.” Am I supposed to be surprised she didn’t fall on her back for him?) Jane Eyre (Jesus Christ lady he is your boss AND old enough to be your fucking father. Not to mention he LOCKED HIS WIFE up for years! What the hell does that say about his ability to work through marital disputes?) . Wuthering Heights (This was my first-ever DNF. So fucking boring.)

For some reason, the words of these women were supposed to be better to those of the women I was willingly devouring. Those books – devoid of any kind of feminism little Draconismoi could relate too -were intellectually superior to anything I could want to read. (As an adult I can appreciate the feminist achievements of the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen in their historical contexts. In elementary school, however, I was bored out of my fucking mind.)

Note: If I ever discover the progenitors of either trend, I will inflict unimaginable suffering upon them for VERY NEARLY DESTROYING my passion for books. Good thing I was resilient. Or that my mother noticed they were full of shit. Or some combination thereof.

Hardcore Socio-Political Analysis

To this day I do not comprehend genre snobbery. Some of the most scathing critiques of societal conventions can be found in science fiction. How are the trials of the Bennet sisters more stimulating than those of Offred and her fellow handmaidens? Marion Zimmer Bradley wrote a plethora of fabulous novels that covered the danger of religious zealotry, secret affairs and illegitimate offspring. Why pretend The Scarlet Letter holds a patent on these subjects. It sure as hell doesn’t portray them better than any other writer ever could. Of Mice and Men did not teach me anything more about transcending race and differences – about the the bonds of humanity – than More Than Human.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve read  many so-called literary masterpieces (Romeo and Juliet = tripe; The Canturbury Tales = genius). I just refuse to see them as superior to those works consigned to genre ghettos. Nor do I believe I was intellectually stunted by overexposure to such works. Hell, if it weren’t for Ann Rinaldi I wouldn’t have learned about the whitewashing of my history textbooks until college.

In essence, take your literary snobbery and shove it. I wrote my goddamned thesis on the sociopolitical implications of science fiction. I devour urban fantasy by the shelf. I apply the pointed (and poignant) commentaries on human rights that I glean from these fascinating stories to my work as an attorney and activist.

Last time I rambled a bit about certain book series that I just can’t stand – and the one rare shining example in which an author managed to totally redeem themselves after an awful first book.

Let’s be honest though – a crappy first book in a neverending series is not the worst offense an author can make. Rather it is the lesser of two evils – warning you away from that rotten corpse evermore. No, the best way to invoke hate is to take a good series and fuck it all up because you ran out of ideas. Hey, author people! There is NOTHING WRONG with ENDING a series while it is still good.* Hell, you’ve been wildly successful to make it to 10 books – why not start something new?!

The progenitor of this trend (in my mind at least) is Laurell K Hamilton with the Anita Blake series. I was a pretty strict science fiction or fantasy connoisseur in high school. Anita was my introduction to urban fantasy (at the time it was shelved as horror – because of the vampires – but is really a standard UF series. One set in an alternate version of modern-day earth where some form of magic or supernatural creatures exist as a part of mainstream society).

Thankfully, the series had been around for awhile when I finally discovered it, so I burned through those books. My best friend at the time (Megan, wow, haven’t heard from her since she got married) alternated buying the books with me as we argued over which we preferred. (She thought The Laughing Corpse was better than Circus of the Damned. No accounting for taste.) Hell, we even got my mom in on the series.

Then came the end. The 10th book. Now don’t get me wrong, there was sex or sexual tension in every single book up to that point. The love triangle was an ongoing part of the series – and the only time it bothered me was when Anita was exceptionally stupid about the whole thing. But the 10th book. Jesus fucking christ, it should have been shelved as erotica (or the now-burgeoning paranormal romance subgenre). Sex sex sex sex sex. Um, excuse me, Ms. Hamilton….but um, doesn’t Anita have a job? Something about raising zombies and hunting down mass murdering vampires with a dash of crime solving thrown in? Remember book 9? It had this amazing plot. The best of the damn series…..so could we get back to that please?

Apparently not. From that point on, every single Anita book was about sex, more sex and as many supernaturally-themed orgies as possible.

Anyone else exhausted?

I believe the current goal of the inexplicably on-going series is to get all of these people into bed with Anita at once.

This is prime example of a self-destructing series. It just imploded in on itself – and I will never touch another work by Hamilton again. Ever. If I wanted porn I would get my hands on some porn. What I wanted here was some fun times with vampires and lycanthropes and magic uses all running around killing people and fucking with American politics. All things found in the first half of the series.

Which brings us to the latest in a long line of authors who just don’t know when to quit. Charlaine Harris, author of the Sookie Stackhouse books (basis of True Blood). I stumbled upon Sookie at a used book store not too long after abandoning the sinking ship that was Anita. Due to this method of procurement, I read the series out of order until the last two books. That didn’t matter though – what we had here was fun series with vampires and lycanthropes and magic uses all running around killing and fucking with the daily lives of people in the South. Ms. Harris built a far more complete world that Hamilton even managed – as was proven by various short story/novella contributions to UF anthologies that did not focus on the lives of the main characters.

Alas, this has not saved her. First came book 9 (a truly awful installment in a once fine series), and then, the recently released Last Chance, book 10. Admittedly not as horrific as its predecessor, but still pretty damn bad.

Note: Sookie has derailed off a different track than Anita. When Anita ran out of things to do, she just started  a train of nonstop orgies. Sookie is not going that route (no matter how much the producers of True Blood may wish it to happen). She is, however, boring. Boring and predictable. Harris is bored writing her – and we’re bored reading her. Oh-noes-the-vampire-boyfriend’s-vampire-parent-doesn’t-like-me. How many times have we done that storyline? Oh-noes-my-family-is-crazy-and-doesn’t-appreciate-me. Yes, I remember. Oh-noes-my-ex-doesn’t-like-my-current-boyfriend-but-still-wants-to-sleep-with-me. WE GET IT SOOKIE IS IRRESISTIBLE (actually, I don’t get it. Whining must be a big turn on in the South).

The point is – the series is done. Harris could salvage it by going with a new main character – one she isn’t so damn bored with – but I won’t be holding my breath to find out. Goodbye Sookie, due to constant repetition, I am certain I can already summarize the plot of the next book, and thus your existence is no longer of interest to me.

I feel as though I am unfairly trashing the UF genre as the sole progenitor of this transgression – but be assured, they are not alone. Once upon a time, Draconismoi read mystery/thrillers too. Once upon a time Draconismoi was a fan of Iris Johansen‘s Eve Duncan…..until the repetition soured me to her works. I know the U.S. is #1 in terms of serial killers, but really, does every single one of them need to develop an obsession with the same damn woman? Does said obsession always need to be used as a wedge between her and ex-special-forces guy? Also: if you are a goddamn genius psychopath, wouldn’t you have the sense not to piss off the Navy SEAL/assassin/FBI/ninja master guy by repeatedly tormenting his girlfriend and kid? There have got to be easier targets.

See? It is not a genre specific failing. Authors get stuck. It is understandable after so many books focusing on one person. MOVE THE FUCK ON ALREADY. Don’t just rehash your same plots from previous books – it is irritating when your characters just repeat the same events again and again without learning anything. And when you get tired of the series you are writing, START A NEW ONE. Maybe even in a different genre. Then perhaps you can salvage your career before alienating all yours fans to such an extreme they wouldn’t even consider touching a new offering in the event you work up the never to come up with one.

*This sentiment applies equally to television series and film franchises. Hint, hint, Heroes.

Did I ever mention that I read a lot? Probably not, because TV shows and movies tend to be so much more enraging on the feminist front, and law school really did sap my energies in terms of relaxation-style reading. But the point is: I read. A lot. I have since I was a kid – yes I was that kid. The kid whose friends said “my parents would pay me to read as much as you do,” while I bemoaned a grounding that included confiscations of my BOOKS! MY BOOKS! OH THE HUMANITY!

Ahem. Well, as I mentioned, law school toned down the reading. Note: 2 part time jobs + full time legal education =/= brain power necessary to turn pages.

But guess what? Now I am an unemployed lawyer! Which means that lack of exposure to a constant stream of written word makes me edgy. Enter the cycle of my life:

1. Boost of confidence and energy!
2. Research dozens of jobs, debate pros and cons of each, apply for the best.
3. Read book to celebrate.
4. Receive rejection letters.
5. Spiral into mopey reject emo depression (dear sweet god AM I REGRESSING TO FIFTEEN?!), apply for the crappy jobs I didn’t want in the first place.
6. Read entire collection of books to distract self from aforementioned self-loathing.
7. Boost of Confidence and Energy!

Rinse and repeat.

Good thing I am living in the land of Powells. Oh sweet beautiful Powells.

What was the purpose of this post again? Oh, right. The transgressions of UF series authors.

Since I have been reading so extensively lately, I am all caught up on the works of some long-time favorite authors (e.g. Kelley Armstrong), developed some new obsessions (e.g. Ilona Andrews), and completely written off the works of others (e.g. Charlaine Harris).

Once upon a time (way back during my stint as an undergrad), Draconismoi wandered into Heaven and brought home a souvenir. That souvenir was the first book in a new series – Magic Bites. And I fucking hated it. I despised the book immensely, got rid of said offending item (yes, mom, I do sometimes get rid of books) and swore off the author.

All of the pieces for Draconismoi-devotion were there. They had a kick-ass snarky heroine. Awesome UF world-building without reliance on cliches (Draconismoi will not stand for the use of the Soul Mate or extra-super-awesome-inexplicableness of the main character that serves merely to make them inexplicably-super-aweomse). But I despised it. I recall the book being a trial to finish – because it had so much potential and then bombed for me. Don’t get me wrong. I loved the main character and the world she lived in…..but her adventure? The bad guy? Her romantic trials? Her friendish person? DEAR GOD WHY WON”T THEY ALL DIE RRRRRRRRRRAHHHHHHHH!!! As it’s been several years since reading said book I can’t envision my disgust in detail. But it was there. I wouldn’t so much as touch anything bearing a similarity to that cover.

Years later, I get an ebook copy of On the Edge. First book in a new series. Is awesome. First step upon finishing said book? Go track down every other thing author has written…..WHAT THE FUCK it’s the author of THAT BOOK!? Hatehatehate.

Yes, that was my reaction. Normally I would have moved on – never to give Ilona another chance. But I have this free time (seriously still not used to it, I keep saving random articles and citations to use in that eventual paper I just know is going to come up). I am well aware of the horrendous awfulness of the first book….but then libraries are doing ebooks now, so I can skim the latest offering and see if Kate snapped and killed everyone (now that I think about it, this may be my problem with the first book – her so-called friend, boyfriend and obvious long term love interest all needed to suffer. Why did they not suffer for being such douchebags?) without ever leaving the comfort of this chair.

Hint: Kate does not kill everyone. But Magic Strikes was good. Really good. Fabulously good. So good I even read Magic Burns (second book in series) and the short story Magic Mourns. Then I started reading the authors’ blog, squealed with joy that they were moving to the Land of Powells (aka Heaven), and generally obsessed over getting one of the various free copies floating around of the 4th book pending it’s release.

All was fine and good until I finally paid attention to the cover art. And the hate came back. My recent forays into the Magicpocaplyse were all via ebook – I hadn’t paid attention to the covers of any previous offering. But dear god they are all in the same style as THAT book that I LOATHED. GAH! Now I want a coverless copy of Magic Bleeds! One that doesn’t burn my eyes with such horror (note: for UF, the covers are objectively not that bad – they just remind me of the pervious hate I unjustly heaped upon the series).

This got me thinking. I am a voracious reader of Urban Fantasy, Fantasy, Horror and Science Fiction. I probably own hundreds of mass market paperbacks that are hidden in my old room at m parents’ house, not to mention the dozens I’ve already managed to accumulate here in the Land of Powells. But I am unforgiving. When I am burned by an author (i.e. they release I book I dislike), I will not touch anything by them. Ever.

SERIOUSLY AMAZON LISTEN TO ME.* You will never get me to touch anything by Kim Harrison. Never. Again. Hell it was YOUR fault I bothered with that Dead Witch Walking crap to begin with. Rachel Caine? Can’t stand your Morganville Vampires with their whiny teen genius anymore than the Weather Wardens and their Bestest Warden Ever. And don’t even get me started on the overhyped Harry Dresden (though I hear I might actually enjoy his latest book. Mwahahah).

And yet, I managed to forgive Ilona. I’ve blocked out the entire first book in my mind (kinda like editing out those last few minutes of Doctor Who’s season 4 finale). As far as I am concerned book 2 is book 1, and all is right with the world.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not contemplating revisiting the worlds of the aforementioned transgressors – but I am thrilled I gave Ilona another chance (maybe it was just first-book-syndrome. Or it could have been. If that book actually existed in my world**).  It’s not going to happen again. You don’t strike gold twice. I am unforgiving of authorial transgressions.

Next time I will explain an even worse authorial transgression: that of the awesome on-going series that TURNS INTO UTTER SHIT. I am looking at you Anita Blake. You started this. Sookie Stackhouse is just finishing it.

* I do not buy things from Amazon. Because they are misogynist, Orwellian, homophobic assholes.But they do have quite a wonderful recommendations algorithm which I utilize via the WishList. I swear I can feel the rage of their programs whenever I update it with the loved/hate/nowiownit buttons without ever spending $$ on their site. Eat shit you bastards! Draconismoi never forgets!

**Nevermind. The court rejects First Book Syndrome as a valid defense for the existence of THAT book on the basis that Kelley Armstrong’s Bitten (a first book) is one of the Best Books Of All Time (definitely the Best Werewolf Book). I read that thing so many times the library had to go out and buy additional copies. Hell, I believe it is up there with Good Omens, It, and Sunshine as books I literally read to pieces. Now I buy trade paperbacks.

There are conflicting reports on the reality of this trailer. Some say it’s a real Mexploitation flick that, in one of life’s little ironies, manages to coincide with one of our latest examples of extremely racist asshattery.  Others insist it is merely a  star-studded Cinco de Mayo rebuttal to Arizona (a la Prop: the Musical).

Either way: Brilliant.

On a marginally-related tangent, I have noticed a significant drop in jobs for Arizona-based immigration attorneys and their ilk these last few weeks. I guess the new regime has no place for lawyers with their pesky notions of due process and human rights.

Monday, April 26th is an important day for skeptics and feminists everywhere.

Why?

Oh well, perhaps you heard about a certain assface publicly blaming ladies for natural disasters? Slutty ladies, to be precise.*

The prayer leader, Hojatoleslam Kazim Sadeghi, says women and girls who “don’t dress appropriately” spread “promiscuity in society.”

“When promiscuity spreads, earthquakes increase,” he says in a video posted Monday on YouTube, apparently of him leading Friday prayers in Tehran, Iran, last week.

Pretty much every feminist blogger on the internet took exception to this deliberate misconception of the functioning of tectonic shifting. But one took it a step further, instituting Boobquake.

Sedighi claims that not dressing modestly causes earthquakes. If so, we should be able to test this claim scientifically. You all remember the homeopathy overdose?

Time for a Boobquake.

On Monday, April 26th, I will wear the most cleavage-showing shirt I own. Yes, the one usually reserved for a night on the town. I encourage other female skeptics to join me and embrace the supposed supernatural power of their breasts. Or short shorts, if that’s your preferred form of immodesty. With the power of our scandalous bodies combined, we should surely produce an earthquake.

Boobquake has since gotten quite a lot of press, as thousands upon thousands of women joined up with this movement. For science.

It is supposed to be quite sunny in the Pacific Northwest on Monday, so I urge all 4 of my loyal readers to dress as trashy as you feel comfortable with so we can see if the combined powers of our cleavage, belly buttons and legs can bring the Big One.

BlagHag has promised to collect earthquake data in response to Boobquake. I’m sure we can depend upon her to share the results regarding the mightiness of mammary glands.

*It is worth noting that Islamic religious fuckheads do not have a monopoly on placing bullshit offensive blame for natural disasters. Remember Pat Robertson claiming Haiti’s earthquake was the result of a deal with the devil?

Ah, the Obamessiah, once again providing hope for the happy queer-friendly liberal utopian future.

He’s getting some good press (among the blogosphere) for his latest executive order that allows queer families visitation in hospitals. Here’s the money shot:

Yet every day, all across America, patients are denied the kindnesses and caring of a loved one at their sides — whether in a sudden medical emergency or a prolonged hospital stay. Often, a widow or widower with no children is denied the support and comfort of a good friend. Members of religious orders are sometimes unable to choose someone other than an immediate family member to visit them and make medical decisions on their behalf. Also uniquely affected are gay and lesbian Americans who are often barred from the bedsides of the partners with whom they may have spent decades of their lives — unable to be there for the person they love, and unable to act as a legal surrogate if their partner is incapacitated.

Well that sounds lovely, doesn’t it? And, as the roommate pointed out to me,  it will allow all dying people the ability to have their loved ones with them when they are ill – regardless of family connection. It won’t just help the queers – but all those people whose family is made up of friends rather than relations. This is a good thing.

So why is Draconismoi so snarky on this beautiful day? Because this Presidential Memorandum doesn’t do jack shit. The blurb getting all the press, the poetic statement about queer families and childless widows? It is not part of the actual order.

Is anyone else getting the strangest sense of deja-vu? I feel like I am right back in the middle of the election campaign, trying desperately to explain to all my liberal and progressive acquaintances why I am not on the Obamessiah bandwagon. Nothing is actually being said or done. It is all style and no substance.  WHY IS NO ONE PAYING ATTENTION?!

Let’s take a look at the entire text in play – with particular focus on those parts requiring action. Though “requiring” may be too strong a word, as the memo actually requests action be taken. How strong a request from the President is remains to be seen.

Initiate appropriate rulemaking, pursuant to your authority under 42 U.S.C. 1395x and other relevant provisions of law, to ensure that hospitals that participate in Medicare or Medicaid respect the rights of patients to designate visitors.

Okay, this seems good. Federal funding always comes with strings. These strings are logical – patients pick who can visit them. Thank you Mr. President for standing up for patient’s rights.

Nevermind that hospitals already allow patients to choose who can visit them. This is just enforcing the provision. Reminding hospital administrators and staff that they can’t just ban people from the visitation willy-nilly. If the patient wants their best friend to drop during designated visiting hours, then you damn well better let them in. No matter how queer, black, disabled, trans, foreign, female or religious said visitor happens to be.

You should also provide that participating hospitals may not deny visitation privileges on the basis of race, color, national origin, religion, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability.

I admit it, that bit there. That is something. Sort of. Federal law does not currently prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity. Obviously if the patient is conscious and capable of requesting visitors, or was sometime previously conscious and requested said visitor, hospitals never had grounds to deny admittance regardless of any perceived queerness. What they could do was deny visitation for medical reasons. For example, a transphobic surgeon could oppose any potential contamination with The Trans™.  So, assuming the Department of Health and Human Services, per Obama’s request, chooses to draft regulations, Homophobic hospital staffers would have to proffer an actual (real or imagined) medical or administrative basis for denying visitation by queers.

Sounds awfully easy to work around doesn’t it? That’s because it is. Especially considering the closing line of the memo in question.

This memorandum is not intended to, and does not, create any right or benefit, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity by any party against the United States, its departments, agencies, or entities, its officers, employees, or agents, or any other person.

It is shockingly easy to completely disregard any rule, regulation or suggestion that expressly prohibits any consequences for said disregard. Obama has not created any rights or benefits here. The goddamn memo specifically states it. When you feel a hospital has prevented you from visiting a loved one due to sexual orientation or gender identity, unless you live a a queer-friendly state, with it’s own anti-discrimination law, your recourse is to…..write an angry letter? Complain to the staff?

But wait! This isn’t just about visiting people who are having babies or getting their appendixes out. This is about end-of-life care, such as you would see in the ICU or a prolonged hospital stay. Obviously patients who are coherent and awake aren’t going to have the same trouble with visitation as those lacking the capacity to express themselves. This memo is about them. It’s about the ability to provide care, love and support at the end. To be allowed to make those tough decisions concerning life support and organ donation. There is much injustice here! Right now people need to arrange powers of attorney or health care proxies (cha-ching says the lawyer) with their non-related loved ones before getting sick. And then they need to basically have those documents with them all the bloody time to prevent potentially life-threatening delays!

What are Obama’s thoughts regarding these situations?

It should be made clear that designated visitors, including individuals designated by legally valid advance directives (such as durable powers of attorney and health care proxies), should enjoy visitation privileges that are no more restrictive than those that immediate family members enjoy.

So, in order to be treated like an immediate family member, you have to be a designated visitor. Which means the patient either needs the capacity to express an interest in seeing you (see points above re: duh) or should have previously documented such an interest  - such as power of attorney or health care proxy (see points above re: the way things currently are).

But wait! There’s more.

Ensure that all hospitals participating in Medicare or Medicaid are in full compliance with regulations, codified at 42 CFR 482.13 and 42 CFR 489.102(a), promulgated to guarantee that all patients’ advance directives, such as durable powers of attorney and health care proxies, are respected, and that patients’ representatives otherwise have the right to make informed decisions regarding patients’ care.

Way to go Mr. President, asking hospitals to really stretch themselves by adhering to guidelines set out in binding legal documents created expressly for the type of situation at hand. Talk about change. And hope.

So tell me Blogosphere, why the hell are people rejoicing?! Nothing has been granted or changed. In fact, I’d argue this little bit of good press is more likely to hurt than help. Now there is some idea floating around that Obama said queer partners are guaranteed visitation and decision making authority – no matter if your state acknowledges the relationship. Obama said childless adults don’t have to worry – because their best friend will be put in charge of everything without a hitch.

But that is NOT true! If you live in a state that doesn’t acknowledge your relationship as legally binding – you need documentation of your wishes beforehand. You need that power of attorney and health care proxy. I don’t care what you think Obama did for the queer community this week. He didn’t do it. And by praising his name you are only setting yourself up for heartbreak down the line, when you find out that it was all style and no substance, when you haven’t set up those legal safeguards, when you have no more time.

The status quo remains – I’ll not be singing anyone’s praises.

™ Mick’s not-so-supportive Dad.

**Allow me to reiterate: No, I never expected Obama to be anything more than another politician in D.C. Yes, I am thrilled he was elected. My issues with Obama stem largely from the good credit he gets for NOTHING. I want him to be a powerful progressive President who will do everything in his power to further true equality. But until I seem some concrete proof  - I’m not giving him progressive cred just for being himself.

I’m not asking for nation-wide same-sex marriage, government-funded abortions no matter the situation, or a 50% tax on the upper class (though that would be awesome) because I am not a fucking idiot. But give me something to work with. How about a Health Care system that doesn’t throw women under the bus? Immigration reform? ENDA? Perhaps you could stop letting the extremists dictate your Supreme Court nominees?

The other day, while graced with an unusual Pacific Northwest sunburst, I loitered outside the store admiring all the flowers (deluding myself that I could totally get a few plants and keep them alive), while listening to my ipod.

Suddenly, a random women taps my shoulder in that irritating I’ve-been-trying-to-get-your-attenton way that strangers feel obligated to do so I can actually remark upon whatever inanity it is so damn important I hear.

Physically-Instrusive-Stranger: Hi! I was hoping you could help me. See, my car won’t start and I need a quick ride home…..(trails off hopefully).

She-Who-Walks-Everywhere: Sorry, I can’t help you. (Turns Away)*

Weirdly-Chatty-Woman: Oh that’s okay, believe me I know how strange it is, me begging like some bum….(notes my disinterest)…. Well. Um. Did I mention that I love your hair?! My daughter is half-black too and she has hair just like yours.  It’s gorgeous and goes all over the place (gestures with hands just in case I didn’t realize that curly hair, does, in fact, stand out further from the head than her straight hair).  She hated it when she way young, but now that she is older (read: I stopped stupidly making her act like she has European hair) she just lets it go free and completely loves it….

She-Who-Has-Loathed-These-Little-Hair-Chats-Since-Childhood: Yes, curly hair is great, except when complete strangers are always stroking it (walks inside to avoid the crazy).

At first I was mostly irritated by that whole touching me thing. I utterly loathe it when complete strangers touch me for not goddamned reason. THIS IS NOT A PETTING ZOO!** Later, I started to wonder about the random segue into her mixed-race child’s hair. What the fuck was with that?

A Reasonable (blonder) Facsimile of My Hair

And then inspiration strikes! I was supposed to relate to her because her family is like my family. Oh, she has a daughter with hair like mine! I must have a mother  just like her. One who goes around touching perfect strangers and didn’t know how to take care of her daughter’s hair! Obviously I need to give her a ride now. Because by the transitive properties of mixed-race daughterly hair, she is my mother.

What a wonderfully failed attempt at building community. I guess I should be thankful she didn’t ask if I personally knew her (theoretical) daughter due to our obvious membership of the Naturally Curly Hair Society (Pacific Northwest Division).

*Yes, I am aware I could have explained my inability to help by noting that I don’t have a car and walk everywhere because I can’t even afford the bus right now. But that wasn’t really relevant and I DESPISE being touched by strangers.

**Best part of Torts was learning that all those damn hair pettings I’ve endured since time immemorial are, in fact, legal batteries. Lawsuit anyone? Though I am not sure how much $$ I could possibly get in damages for something like that. Maybe claim NIED that has left me incapable of reacting like a socialized individual to physical contact. The aggregate affect of such violation of my bodily integrity has rendered me permanently maladjusted. Ooo…I like the sound of that.

***Hair picture courtesy of Marvelous Mixed Race Hair – I would have taken a picture of my own hair, but I still haven’t gotten the hang of the damn iCam.

Nothing much. I know, I know, I should be blogging about Health Care Reform (since when the fuck do our politicians work the evenings? On the WEEKEND!), the real unemployment number (19%), the clusterfuck that is the economy, food disasters, student loan hell, war, earthquakes, and politician sex scandals (I actually don’t give a shit about any sex that occurs between consenting adults, so let’s move on)…….

But I’m not. I keep meaning to – and then never get farther than a half-assed draft.

Instead I spend my time looking at all the pretty shiny things the internet provides to distract me with. Oh so many shiny things……

Did you know that Information Is Beautiful? Despite previous disinterest, I suddenly want to know more about tides….if only so I have an excuse to put this on my wall. And now bouncing bubbles can confirm that there is no goddamned reason to put fucking acai berries in every goddamn drink on the planet!  You’ll note the post references snake oil. Which I imagine tastes better than those fucking acai.

Have you been made aware of the Scale of the Universe? Nothing like learning about worms that could kick your ass to make you feel insignificant.

Also: Maps Are Strange. Yet bizarrely informative. Sometimes just pretty.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not spending all my time looking at pretty pictures that spark sudden intense research crazes on fringe subjects (such as quantum physics or the early American anarchist movement).

I also read webcomics.

In sum: yes, I have been a neglectful blogmistress. I keep intending to change my ways, but I did my best blogging while using procrastination as a method of dealing with deadline stress. All this free time is killing my inspiration. I’ll work on it. I will. I will Iwilliwill.

Due to my never-ending stint of unemployment, I’ve redeveloped an interest in my Tarot deck. Drunk/stoned people make the best clients. They give you food-based tips (mmm) and never complain about my….interpretation….of their cards.

I’ve had my current tarot deck for quite a number of years. Sigmadog bought it for me back when I first started dabbling in paganism and the occult. He chose The Renaissance Deck because it has the most artistic integrity of any deck he surveyed.

Though the cards are quite lovely, they are…..well….Renaissance. And I am not a Renaissance art kind of woman. I’m more postmodern-surrealist. So I began reviewing every single Tarot deck ever created, looking for a deck that ‘spoke’ to me.

After many hours of research (hey, I’m unemployed, what else am I going to do with my time?), I finally found a deck for draconismoi. The Artist’s Inner Vision deck. It was created as a collaboration between 26 different artists, giving it a more diversified feel than the traditional single-artist themed decks. I had to have it. Once again, Sigmadog indulged my dabbling in the occult for my birthday. Whoo!

My roommate has the Rider deck (aka the ‘definitive deck’ as it is based on the art found in the oldest deck in existence). With three decks in the house, I naturally decided to lay everything out and track the evolution of card design. Alas, I do not have a digital camera, so I attempted all of this using the built in iCam. It was a dismal failure.

But I figure hey, why not show you? Some of the pictures came out okay. And the vlogging is hilarious, if only for my inability to focus either the camera or my monologue.

My original intent was to do a video of the Major Arcana, and then one of each suite of Minor Arcana. I did not get that far.

Major Arcana: Take 3

This take was interrupted by Ali-Cat. By invoking Kyle’s name I reminded her that I was not-Kyle, and ergo, had no right to be making noise and such in the kitchen.

Minor Arcana: Take 4

This was my final take. Not because I got bored, but because all my roommates came home and needed the kitchen for food and such. Go figure.

What did we learn from this little adventure?

1. Tarot Decks have gotten progressively more awesome over time.
2. I am in possession of the most awesome Tarot deck ever.
3. It is unfortunate that the designer of the death card did not consider Horror Film conventions.
4. Draconismoi should never ever attempt vlogging. Ever.

UPDATE: I did…..something….when I embedded the videos. That something shows only a bizarre random section, rather than the whole video. Which sorta defeats the entire purpose of posting the damn things! To show all three decks laid out simultaneously.

In other words: if you want to watch, click the link below each embedded clip. Then you can see the whole disaster as intended.