Kate Fleming and Charlene Strong deserved better. (We all do.)

I get a lot of my news from my wife, who keeps up with current events far better than I. She's the one who told me about how the partner (widow, really) of the Seattle woman who was drowned by floodwaters in her own basement testified before state lawmakers on behalf of domestic partner recognition. Charlene Strong is the widow. Kathryn Fleming is the woman who died. I kept forgetting the names, but I feel like they should be noted.
Here's the story: http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/301274_domestic26.html
Basically, while the victim was dying at Harborview, her partner was kept from her until the dying woman's family gave the OK by phone. What if they were against the relationship? What if so many things?

"As the minutes ticked by, I kept wondering, 'What if she dies without me holding her hand? What if she dies without knowing that I told her I loved her?' "

Honestly, I can't even bring myself to read the whole story. That quote stopped me in my tracks.

There's no law against Cheryl being my news service, at least not yet. All humor aside, it's just too upsetting to think that even though Cheryl and I have a civil union that's recognized in Vermont, and a marriage that is recognized in Canada, that doesn't necessarily mean anything where we live. I mean, let's say we carried our certificates around with us, instead of framing them and putting them on our wall … would they do any good?
We can be kept from each other, and while I believe we'd prevail in court, a judge can't give back a loved one's final moments.
How can anyone be against this basic right?

Our boys display their Thomas stuff ....

I'm just not as into sports anymore ...

I've aways been something of a sports fan, though the depth of my engagement in athletics has shifted, based on what's going on in my life.

When I was a kid, I got into the Mariners and Seahawks to a degree because they were new to Seattle. And then in '79, the Sonics won the title, briefly engaging my interest in the team and curly-top center Jack Sikma. I collected literally thousands of baseball cards, in part because my obsessive tendencies needed an outlet, and sports joined the cycle that also included Star Wars/Star Trek, Oz, etc.

I was never a fan of, you know, actually watching the games with an eye towards understanding them in depth. I mean, the obsessive part learned a lot of details, but I actually don't enjoy just sitting and watching a baseball game. Football is more interesting to me, maybe because the style of play has more drama than the chess-match stylings of America's Pastime. I like basketball in person, but not on TV. It's just harder to tell what the heck is going on. Football, on the other hand, is much more enjoyable on TV (for me). The cameras can get in close and illuminate the action in ways that I find entertaining.

Anyhoo, a year ago, I was in charge of the Seattle P-I sports department. And the Seahawks were in the middle of a playoff run. I subscribed to ESPN the magazine and listened to Jim Rome on the radio. And I enjoyed it. But I've since moved on to a different job and focus, and I find myself much less interested in all things (or even select things) sporty. I steal read the excellent blog deadspin.com, which is entertainingly written and mostly focuses on sports through a pop cultural filter (my favorite kind).

I still listen to sports on the radio, though often it's by default (like if there's nothing good on NPR). I know everyone needs an interest. Everyone has a reserve of attention that they pour into the buckets of their choosing. Mine is certainly not always poured into Proust, or politics, or shit that makes me seem smart. But sports increasingly seems just so empty ....

I was watching the playoffs briefly this afternoon and thinking of the "storylines:" Brady vs. Manning, hunk vs. geek, Super Bowl Champ vs. Guy People Think Can't Win the Big One. Very, very rich guy vs. very, very rich guy. I think I prefer scripted drama now, with a healthy soupcon of, ya know, real life and all its messes.

Dreamgirls makes me think of Florence Ballard

Just saw Dreamgirls tonight, and yes, I know it's Jennifer Hudson's movie. And it's a neat bit of foreshadowing that Simon Cowell thought Hudson too fat and, let's get real here folks, too black to make it to the top in American Idol (she finished in the top seven while others with less vocal talent carried on).

I'm glad that Effie got her happy ending in Dreamgirls, the Supremes-esque story of a girl group and the varying trajectories of those it touched. I'm glad that Jennifer Hudson's getting her happy ending. But let's not forget Florence Ballard. She had soul and a voice so strong that she supposedly had to stand more than 15 feet away from the mike while the other Supremes sang up close. But Ballard wasn't as pretty or as packageable as Diana Ross. So she got shunted aside, didn't take it well, and found herself booted from the group and on a tough road that included too much alcohol, welfare and eventually death from coronary thrombosis.

She was just 32.

At least Florence Ballard lives on in some ways. I found this online, along with an always helpful Wikipedia article:

http://www.florenceballardfanclub.com/

The Florence Ballard Fan Club was founded in 1986 by Alan White as a living memorial to Florence Ballard. The purpose of the fan club is to keep Florence Ballard's legacy alive in a positive light.

And then there's this, from "Call Her Miss Ross," the less-than-flattering bio by pro dirt digger J. Randy Taraborelli:

http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1077/is_n4_v45/ai_8325383

"You know, you told me you wouldn't try to stand in Diane's way if she wanted to go out on her own," Berry told Florence one afternoon at the airport in Vancouver, Canada, in 1966. (Though "Diana" is the name on Diana Ross' birth certificate, most of her friends and associates from the early days called her--and still do call her [perhaps not to her face]--"Diane", which is what her parents intended that she be named.)
"Yeah, that's what I said," Florence once remembered having told him. "If she wants to be on her own, then that's okay with me. But I ain't leaving the group."
"She wants out," Berry said, ignoring her last statement. "But you're making it tough on her. She told me you're making her feel guilty about it."
Years later, Florence recalled, "That's when I started getting pi---d off. I said, 'Look, Berry, she's grown. If she wants to walk all over people to get to the top, then that's her business. I'm not gonna make her feel no better by agreeing with it.'
"'You're a millionaire,' he told me. 'You can leave the group any time.' But I told him I ain't leaving."
With that, Berry and Florence became locked in the same quarrels about her excessive drinking and weight gain, all of which ended with Florence--tears in her eyes and her voice shaking--threatening Berry once more. "You'll be sorry you messed with me, Berry Gordy," she screamed loud enough for everyone in the terminal to hear. "I know a lot about you, more than you think. And don't you forget it."
Actually, Mary Wilson was "the quiet one," not Florence Ballard. Mary, content to be a Supreme at whatever cost, watched and waited to see what would happen next. But Florence shouted and made threats, claiming to have embarrassing information on Berry Gordy's business practices. She quickly became a threat to Gordy's peace of mind, to the continued success of the group and, maybe even more importantly, to Diana's future career.
On stage, as off, Flo was irrepressible--and audiences loved her for it. During the act, when Diana said, "Thin is in," Flo sassed back, "But honey, fat is where it's at." When Diana sang, "Gold won't bring you happiness," during their rendition of "You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You," Flo would interrupt with, "Give me that gold and I'll do my own shoppin'." Flo was a crowd pleaser and Diana and Berry couldn't very well ignore that.
But Ballard's smart-aleck remarks on stage hid a lot of pain. Increasingly pushed into the background, she felt cheated. The more successful The Supremes became and the more attention Diana received, the more alienated and bitter Flo seemed. She put on weight and began to show up drunk for performances. She deluded herself into thinking that because she formed the group and chose its name, she was indispensable.
She was wrong. Florence was unceremoniously dumped and quickly replaced. Soon, she found herself without money, without a career, and, worse, without hope.

Hope abounds in Dreamgirls, which is wonderful. And Beyonce does Diana Ross a favor, portraying Deena Jones as an innocent who is led away from loyalty but leaves her friend behind with regret and comes through for her in the end. The most tarnished character is that of the Barry Gordy-esque entrepreneur (Jamie Foxx) who gets the girls their break, then breaks their hearts and spirits.

And Eddie Murphy deserves an Oscar. (So does Jennifer Hudson -- and not some "best supporting" crap. It's her movie.)

A Disney feast, and a confession about my real age

The fun folks at Boing Boing (www.boingboing.com) seem to have a Disney jones. Which is fine with me: I'm kind of a Disney freak myself: Not so much the mouse, or even the animation, etc., but more the experiences.

In fact, it looks like we're going to Disneyland this year, to celebrate my 40th birthday. Yes, I'm 40 this year, though I've fudged the year with people for the past five years or so. For a while, I even had Cheryl convinced I'm a year younger than I really am. But the truth is out, and I'm only a little reticent about it. I guess if there's a trip to Disneyland involved ....

So here are some of the Boing Boing goodies:
1. A link to a video about the history of Tomorrowland (which seems like an oxymoron). It is focused on Walt Disney World, which I've only been to once, but it's chock full of wonderful "future visions," which include significant doses of commercialism (the RCA Space Mountain??? Yes, it was), patriotism and supercool retro design. LOVE that stuff.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-7520893542761833477

2. Unofficial Disney posters. Cheryl and I have a few of these -- official versions purchased at Disneyland and lovingly transported home. One way I can tell I'm getting old, by the way, is that I get excited by purchasing things like posters and not toys at D-land. Anyway, these unofficial posters are beautiful, and apparently got their creator a job making the real thing for the Diz.
http://gregmaletic.wordpress.com/2002/10/18/faux-disney-attraction-posters/



3. And finally, the frickin' motherlode! Found this on a link from a google video about the matterhorn. It's got backstage photos, attraction photos, "Disneyland deaths" (which you can sort by date or attraction), magazine articles, etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum. Oh and videos. The site interface is fugly, but the actual content is cool ….
http://www.dldhistory.com/

Trinity is missing!

My favorite action figure .... the last survivor of the great action figure purge of 2002 .... is, or was, Trinity. But she has gone missing, somehow lost when I moved to a new desk.

Having a window seat helps me deal with the pain, of course. (As well as the pain of losing the colleague who moved on to greener pastures -- a different store within the Big Internet Retailer universe). But I may need to get another Trinity. Unless I can find a Starbuck. Or maybe I can sub a Xena. But that's so 1997.

OK, I just checked eBay, and when I bought my Trinity (probably 6 or 7 years ago), there was only one kind. Now Todd MacFarlane (creator of Spawn and maniacal action figure maker who embraces verissimilitude to the extreme) has entered the Matrix realm and there's a ton to choose from. Sheesh.

Look at this one .....

She's falling off a building and shooting and God knows what. I like it better when she jumps in the air, time slows down and she kicks her foes in the head. But that's just me. :)

There are many, many more options. I think I'm going to go with the classic. I just need to find one with a gummed up box or something so I can get a deal -- less than $5, I'm hoping. This time around, I'm not sweating the whole "MIB" (mint in box) thing. I want her to come out and play. You know, in a grown-up, non-kinky way.

(Oh, and I will not ever buy myself a Trinity coat. Unless I weigh, like 100 pounds less than I do now and look hot in tight vinyl pants. Then, maybe ..... )

Why? 'Cause this is how I roll ...

So I picked up a little bit of "youthful lingo" from some of my Amazon colleagues, and now say things like "That's how I roll." Or "That's not how I roll."

And now that the boys have entered their "why" phase (asking why why why why why ad infinitum), I tried to use it as a conversation stopper, as in:

Boy: "Mama, why are you doing that?"

Mama: "Because that's how I roll."

Other Boy, intrigued: "I want to see you roll. Roll now, Mama. Show me."

At least he didn't ask "why."