Precipitation Update, Part 2

Okay, it rained a little last night. See you in church! Just kidding. But seriously, I'm glad it rained and also very glad that Governor Perdue Chicken out the prayer thing in the context of praying for god's forgiveness for not taking care of the earth. No new conservation measures were announced, which I'm sure god would have dug, but whatever.

Precipitation Update

Well, it's still not raining here. It is very humid though, so maybe they just did not pray quite hard enough.

Lord Have Mercy

Today, Georgia idiot I mean governor Sonny Perdue took advantage of his position as leader of the entire state to grab Georgia’s ongoing drought by the horns and wrestle it to the ground. How, you ask? Through the magic of prayer! You have probably heard about this as it’s exactly the kind of embarrassing stereotype-perpetuating news about the South that gets national media attention. To make matters worse, the sun is currently shining as brightly and strongly as it has done for several weeks now. We need rain so badly that I was willing to suspend my horror/embarrassment/cynicism and hope that Sonny’s multi-faith prayer convention would work – I even optimistically left a bucket on my roof to catch any drops that the Baby Jesus might deign to squeeze out. The rabbis who were invited probably ruined the whole thing by going on the local NPR affiliate this morning to talk about how Jewish folk believe that good stewardship of the earth is a significant part of their faith and that you can’t really ask God to make it rain when you’ve been consistently fucking up the environment with grossly unchecked development for at least as long as I have been in Georgia (since 1980), but hey, they’d show up anyway. I imagine what they really wanted to say was that they would plotz if this bullshit actually worked.

Meanwhile, Senator and professional jackass Johnny Isakson recently proposed another brilliant solution to the drought: suspend the Endangered Species Act in Georgia, Florida, and Alabama. A little background: the three smartest and most sophistimacated states in the union basically share a water supply. Moonshine, sweet tea, and sausage gravy, too, but the levels of all of those are just fine, thanks! The supply consists of some specific bodies of water, such as manmade Lake Lanier, about 40 minutes north of Atlanta. Lake Lanier is managed by the Army Corps of Engineers, who are responsible for doling out water to us and our marginally stupider and more backwards neighbors to the west and south. Although each state uses the shared water supply for a variety of purposes, the general consensus is that it’s used mainly by Georgia for drinking water, by Alabammy for industry, and by Florida for…drum roll…endangered species habitat protection. This is because one of the most significant sources of shared water is the Apalachicola River basin, which is located in North Florida and is one of the most important remaining relatively undisturbed wetland habitats in the United States, and home to three officially threatened species and many more that are expected to become threatened or even endangered if water levels are not protected. Senator Isaakson interprets this as putting - to quote The Muppets Take Manhattan – “pigs and chickens and things” before human beings (and Republican senators). So, the point is that Johnny would rather tell the last purple bankclimber mussel or Gulf sturgeon not to let the door hit him on the way out than work to curb the needless overdevelopment of property in Georgia by loosening the vice grip of property developers on local governments, or insist that watering of golf courses be suspended, or implement a plan to temporarily raise taxes in order to subsidize owners of business such as car washes so that they can be shuttered without the risk of going out of business until water levels are back in the black, or eradicate the inefficient septic tanks which Atlanta has more of than any other city in all of North America.

Back to the subject of prayer. The other day at work, a colleague was having a particularly bad day. Various things where going wrong on both the home and business fronts, and most of us knew about it and had commiserated. Now, we currently have a particularly stupid intern-type person working part time in our office. This woman is attending what I like to call Ronald McDonald Law School, a local degree factory which caters to morons willing to pay through the nose for a law degree which will basically ensure their future hiring at nowhere but the most ambulance-chaser-y, yellow pages-advertised of law firms. One of our more odious and self-important legal assistants recently departed our firm to attend this fine institution and has - to my considerable chagrin - been hired repeatedly since then in a part-time intern-y role, bringing with her many fellow self-important and thoroughly deluded fools who she calls classmates. The aforementioned idiot is one of these. Okay, so this idot rolls in and commences with catching up on the latest workplace drama. Shortly thereafter, I see her whisking the aforementioned highly aggrieved co-worker into the single-occupancy executive washroom that is situated directly acros from my work area. A bizarre ruccus proceeded to eminate from said washroom. At first I thought it was the idiot ranting in a self-absorbed manner about some recent drama in her own life, as is usually her practice (although usually done in a public area for all of us to hear), but I soon became aware of such phrases as "guide this child through the wilderness" and "help her to see the light in this time of struggle" and, of course, the big money word - "jesus." It seriously sounded like Jim Bakker was in the executive washroom and I seriously expected tongues to be spoken at any moment. I went and notified my most heretical co-worker and we listened outside the door with our mouths hanging open in abject horror like the satanists that we are.

In closing, lord help THIS poor child through this wilderness in which those around her seem to have gone completely fucking mad and become even more insufferably religious than they already were. Ay-men.

What the Hell is That?

This past Saturday, the entire Russ clan went to commune with various fleabitten farm animals at the Smith Plantation's Fall Farm Day. This momentous occasion occurs once a year, when Roswell's premiere antebellum tourist attraction, The Archibald Smith Plantation Home, flings open the doors to its old-timey toolsheds and meticulously replicated slave quarters and invites Roswellians of all ages to spend some much-needed quality time with goats, chickens, sheep, mules and llamas. Well, the llamas may have been alpacas or vicunas - I really couldn't tell you the difference. They also have old-timey activities, like panning gold, and old-timey demonstrations, like a 1,000 year old blacksmith making lawn decorations.

I will avoid the obvious question of why a family ranging in age from 32-82, with nary a small child in sight, would make a special trip to an event otherwise patronized almost entirely by people under 3 feet in height and their chaperones. I will avoid pointing out that not a single parent had Purelle or wet wipes or whatever with them, which would be unheard of at the Propsect Park Zoo's annual farm day, Brooklyn's equivalent event. I will avoid going into detail about how I'm no germ freak, but my heart is squarely with paranoid Brooklyn parents on this issue. To paraphrase Bob Geldof, that place was tick with mixamatosis and anthrax, not to mention fleas, ticks and god knows what else (oh, the Bob Geldof thing is this: Russ Sr and Mrs. Russ Sr. were at a party in Bermuda once upon a time, and Bob Geldof was there, and some fellow reveller suggested he get in the hot tub, and he said, "Are you kidding me? That things tick with AIDS.").

No, I will not be going into any further detail on any of the above because I have a far, far greater vignette from our visit to the Smith Plantation. Let's just say my llama vs. vicuna vs. alpaca confusion was not the only zoological mystery of the day. My story involves this fellow:

I saw this thing from far away and thought it was a Maltese crossed with a chicken and then killed and made into the type of bedroom slipper sold at Frederick's of Hollywood. Shockingly, it wasn't. I was also reminded of the old SNL sketch where Steve Martin and Bill Murray are bumpkin tourists and all you see is them scrutinizing something from the something's perspective and they keep saying "What the hell is that?" over and over again. At some point one of them says "Kids, get your lips off that thing." It well could have been the above-pictured creature (or "critter", as we saw in these parts). Who knows. However, no one in the Russ clan is dumb enough to not figure out that this thing was some kind of fancy chicken. It was chicken-sized, chicken-shaped, and pecked like a chicken.

Not so for the redneck who appraoched my mother and asked her - wait for it - "What the hell is that?" My mother answered that she thought it was some kind of chicken. The redneck paused, sucked his teeth dismissively, and said "No ma'am, I reckon that there is a baby ostich."

I know I make a lot of typos but please note that he really did say ostich.

For the record, it's called a silkie bantam, it is indeed a fancy chicken, and for anyone who is interested, there is an alarming amount of litertaure out there by and for fancy chicken fanciers.

He Speaks So Well!!!

I encounter racism (well, I guess "witness" would be a better word than "encounter" - I "encounter" sexism and the occasional dollop of anti-semitism) much less than one might think I would, living in Atlanta. It's definitely there, but hardly more than in NYC, and definitely WAAAAAY less than in England. Most of the stuff that makes me squirm down here is directed at the Latino population, aka "the Mexicans."

There have, however, been one or two doozies, and naturally they occured where I (sadly) spend most of my time, the workplace. A few months ago, the receptionist buzed my desk to tell me a courier was there for me. I went up to the front desk, baffled as I was not expecting a courier, to find a tall, attractive black guy in his early 40s, wearing what was clearly business attire, complete with a motherfucking bluetooth wireless "hi, I'm on Star Trek and when I take this thing off I look like I had a skin graft because of the mark it leaves" earpiece-thingy. Um, yeah, he was a client. The receptionist knew she fucked up and at least had the decency and common sense to turn all kinds of beetroot color and get flustered and try to explain how she thought he was a courier because he had a file - hello, it's a law firm, show me a person who comes in here without some kind of file, fool.

So that was relatively mortifying. I also bore witness to an elevator conversation between an unknown older white dude and a business-clad younger black dude (you mean there is more than one!). They were chit chatting, small talk (strangers speak to each other in public here), and suddenly the white dude asks the black dude what he's doing in the building, does he work here, perhaps in maintenance? Yeah, jackass, he's taking out the trash in his Dockers and tassle loafers. That briefcase? That's where he puts the trash. Duh!! Everyone knows "The Mexicans" take out the trash!!

Fast forward to today. I witnessed the signing of a prenuptial agreement between a young black couple. They were both very attractive, so after we finished I went to rib my (black) co-worker who had declined to serve as the second witness, telling him how he missed out because the girl was cute. So then the attorney who did the prenup comes by and butts in and informs us that the guy is a doctor, a surgeon even, and he's so well spoken! At this point, I returned to my desk to put my head in my hands. I waited until the coast was clear and went back and asked my co-worker if he knew the guy was black the second the attorney described him as "well-spoken." Said co-worker proceeded to bend over double in hysterical, knowing laughter. Appalled glee and high fives were exchanged, in addition to extensive quoting of Chris Rock. I love Chris Rock. Following is the quote we referenced:

"Whenever Colin Powell is on the news, white people give him the same compliments: 'How do you feel about Colin Powell?', 'He speaks so well! He's so well spoken. I mean he really speaks so well!' Like that's a compliment, sh*t. 'He speaks so well' is not a compliment, okay? 'He speaks so well' is some sh*t you say about retarded people that can talk. What do you mean he speaks so well? He's a fuc*ing educated man! How the fu*k you expect him to sound, you dirty motherfuc*er? 'He speaks so well.' What are you talking about? What voice were you expecting to come out of his mouth? 'Imma drop me a bomb today', 'I be Pwez o dent!'.""

Bottom line, this is funny but scary. This dude had NO CLUE what a faux pas he made when he said what he said. And this is an educated Jew from New York. I feel like telling him that what he said is akin to saying "That Mr. Cohen! So nice! And so free with his money!"

Campaign Watch '08: The View from Down Here

I'm only going to comment on how Georgia is handling the '08 election when something out of the ordinary catches my eye - in other words, when there seems to be some break in the hegemony. Only problem is, I'm not seeing a hegemony here. The lack of a decent Republican candidate is felt especially down here, where it doesn't take much more than the image of an elephant in an Uncle Sam hat and a passing reference to "The Silent Scream" to ignite voters. I was expecting my reliable bumper sticker polls to have established a couple of favorites down here by now, but I actually cannot think of a single Republican bumper sticker I have seen thus far. People here seem more excited about W than any of the candidates. Yeah, it's THAT conservative here. Poeple take very seriously the idea of supporting your leader - if he's in charge, he MUST be good. They are also quite possibly the only people on earth still very excited at the prospect of having a beer with the Pres, I guarantee it. Loyalty to Bush (aka "patriotism") seems to be trumping any commitment to a specific candidate.

With one notable exception: Ron Paul. Ron is known for his small but vocal (and growing) cheering section, which seems to be out in full force in Atlanta. It's bizarre. I have seen probably ten bumper stickers, roughly ten people canvasing cars, and a poster for a benefit show at a rock club. This isn't much, but it's huge compared to the apparent apathy towards the rest of the republican candidates.

As far as Democrats go, again, it's mostly anti-Bush stickers or message-specific stickers as opposed to actual candidate support stickers. I guess I have seen the most stickers and t-shirts for Obama, but it's not overwhelming. The Ron Paul thing is really the only interesting thing I have noticed thus far. Do with this information what you will. I personally am hoping that Ron's growing popularity will mean I can stop explaining who he is to Bunches. For some reason he seems incapable of retaining this information. Perhaps he is onto something. Most of will probably have forgotten by December 2008 anyway.

Bad Georgia: Beware of Baggy Pants and Bra Straps

Once again, the Great State of Georgia is excelling in making itself look stoo-pid and racist and classist. Yes, again! Recently we have had another string of sneaky attempts at black voter disenfranchisement, with Secretary of State Karen Handel (as in “Can you Handel the fact that your Secretary of State is a flaming jackass?”) embarking on a mass mailing campaign to helpfully notify people of the new state requirements for voter ID cards – you can use one of four state-issued forms of identification or get a free (that makes it all okay!!) new type of ID specifically for voting. Only problem is, Georgia’s voter ID law was struck down by the courts last year and the appeal is still pending, which any good Secretary of State can tell you means we HAVE NO VOTER ID LAW. So all these people - the rural and urban poor who already have low voter turnout due to lack of transportation, childcare, and voter education - are getting mail telling them that there is yet another step they have to take to vote, and it isn’t even true. There is a reason why Georgia is trying to restrict access to voting with what would be the nation’s strictest voting laws, and that reason has everything to do with the traditional (Democratic) voting habits of poor and/or black Georgians.

Meanwhile, in the We Hate Spics (But Love Taco Bell!) Department (now Georgia’s largest branch of government), various counties are currently working to pass laws banning “boarding houses”, aka houses with multiple unrelated adult residents, aka the houses of Latinos. Supposedly this has nothing at all, heavens no, to do with race or the rabid brown immigrant hatred that seethes from the pores of most red-blooded Georgians.

Then, today, news of a truly brilliant new entry into this litany of idiocy: Atlanta councilman C.T. Martin, a Bill Cosby-esque mess of a self-hating black man, has introduced a ban of baggy pants. Thank god! Why, just the other day I was accosted by several pairs of baggy pants and was lucky to escape with my wallet. And don’t get m started on that overcrowded house down the street – I swear I have seen at least 14 different pairs of clearly unrelated baggy pants coming and going, and several of the baggy pants park their cars RIGHT ON THE LAWN!!!!

Fortunately for the baggy pants, they will not be spending the night alone in jail when martin gets his mitts on them. They will be kept company by equally offensive exposed thongs, boxer shorts, and bra straps. Okay, let’s break this down:

1. Visible Thongs: The only people who should be arresting a girl (or guy; this is the gay Mecca of the South, you know) whose thong is showing are the fashion police. I mean, really, whale tails are so 2002!!!

2. Visible Boxer Shorts: Hmm, Councilman Martin better get his butt down to every majority white high school with relatively wealthy students at final exam time, because everyone knows that well-to-do preppy girls wear college sweatshirts (the grey kind with the always-SEC college letters appliquéd in plaid) and BOXER SHORTS during finals week. It’s a look that says “I studied so hard, I could barely find a Scrunchi in the same plaid as the letters ‘SMU’ on my sweatshirt, let alone wear PANTS!!! Geez!”

3. Visible Bra Straps: I may have to stop typing this at any second as the fuzz are about to do a raid on my office. And every other office in my building and in all of Georgia. And anywhere else where bra-wearing women congregate. Shit, if you have worn a bra with straps, you have flashed a bra strap. It’s what they call a tautology, Councilman. Here, try this bra on with this tank top and I will show you.

4. Baggy Pants: Oh, Baggy Pants. How long is it now that you have been de rigueur for black people and Kevin Federline? What’s that, going on 20 years, you say? Clearly this baggy pants thing is just a fly-by-night fad, like hip hop and naming your kids after luxury cars, that can easily be stamped out by an appropriately outraged black politician. Well, sorry Councilman, but if Bill Cosby couldn’t get his peeps to change, neither can you. Just be thankful that the rolling up one leg look went by-the-by. But in a world where fro pics are still jauntily shoved into fros and the airbrush nail business is still booming, baggy pants are here to stay.

Some choice quotes from Councilman Martin:

"Little children see it and want to adopt it, thinking it's the in thing," Martin said Wednesday. "I don't want young people thinking that half-dressing is the way to go. I want them to think about their future."

Sorry, buddy, but baggy pants are the “in thing” for many, many people. And “half-dressing”? Shit, that’s as old as rolling your eyes when your parents are talking, as far as young people go. And I don’t hear too many complaints about one-quarter-dressed cheerleaders.

Baggy pants are going nowhere, fool, face it. And get yourself some Cornel West or Henry Louis Gates or bell hooks and brush up on your black cultural politics, yo.