They’re still doing it.

Looks like they had quite a shindig going on in London for Democrats Abroad where I could have cast a ballot. Didn’t make it because my dad and brother were visiting, but the news coverage made me kinda sad I missed out.

But I’m so grateful for the opportunity to cast my ballot online in the DA Global Primary. Come November, I’ll vote in my home state. Hillary won there last night without my vote and this fall she’ll win in Tennessee with my vote.

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My brother backs Obama. Tsk, tsk. But he also voted for Nader in 2000, so I think we know how politically wise he is.

Obama could still win and as a good Dem, I’ll vote for him, but I tell you I hope he cuts out the backsniping bullshit pronto. That’s not helping anyone.

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I’ve noticed the Hillary Clinton coverage is all spun negative. They’re still doing it. In one sentence it’s all “Hillary wins more delegates…” in the next it’s all “Hillary is struggling, Hillary is losing her advantage…” blah, blah, blah.

Hello, people – she’s winning. WTF?

The Tennessee Guerilla Women have a good low down on the misogyny and last night’s coverage.

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But you know the weird press coverage is not just about misogyny. John Edwards couldn’t have got 30 seconds if he were the man biting a dog. And poor old Mitt Romney had been winning until the media anointed that crazy McCain. And Huckabee? Well, he’s getting good coverage, cause he’s winning in the snake handling states. (Yeah, I know…. I’m bad.)

the lottery dream

VolBro has a recurring dream where he wins 41 or 43 million on the lottery. He’s very specific about the amount. And he told me that if the lottery jackpot ever reaches 41 or 43 million, I should buy a ticket because it’s kinda preordained. He’s very specific about the amount. He says the type of currency doesn’t matter.

I just can’t remember if it was 43 or 41 million – or was it 45? No. Definitely 41 or 43.

Tonight’s estimated jackpot is 41 million – pounds. I think that’s roughly a squillion dollars with the current exchange rate. I’ve been thinking about calling him and asking him what numbers to pick.

Would I be morally obligated to share the winnings with him if he told me some numbers to pick on this preordained lottery win? Or could I, you know, just buy him a beer?

They shoot kitties, don’t they?

VolMom bought her most favored son-in-law a BB gun for Christmas. She tried to make me promise not to tell my brother about this gift, but she’d already bought the thing. There would have been times growing up that VolMom could have made VolBro the happiest boy in the world if only she’d given him a BB gun. Or maybe he would have put his eye out. But my mom was so anti-gun than I’m pretty sure he never even asked for one.

Anyway, the gun was a gift to me too if I could say “Hey, my brother, mom bought my husband a BB gun for Christmas. Something she still wouldn’t buy you.”

This BB gun is some sort of “safe” version, though – hardly what a boy most desires. For one thing, the safety won’t stay off unless you’re actively pressing on it. For another, it’s battery operated with a constant force of BB expulsion – that means you can’t pump it up higher and higher and higher resulting in a more painful shooting experience. And it uses plastic pellets, not those little metal eye poppers.

But it still hurts to be hit by this BB gun. I know this because that’s what the Vol-in-Law told me when I shot him.

It sounds like a domestic, I know, but it wasn’t. It was a carefully controlled experiment. Kind of like science.

First I put on the ViL’s down jacket and had him shoot me in the back. I couldn’t really feel the impact, though I kinda felt the fabric move. That was a bit disappointing, given what we had in mind. Then the ViL put on the jacket. Similar experience. Then I tried to convince him to let me shoot him in the chest with only a shirt between him and the plastic pellet. He said no. He did let me shoot him in the butt. Over the pocket, he felt it, but it wasn’t painful. Above the pocket he said it stung.

Good.

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We want to use the BB gun to shoot cats. We don’t really want to wound them, but we do want to scare the begeezus out of ’em. There are a couple of neighbourhood toms that come into our house, eat our expensive anti-allergy cat food, terrorise and wound our kitties costing us money on vet bills and piss on our stuff. Not acceptable. We’ve tried locking them out, we’ve tried squirt guns, yelling and arm-waving.

Now it’s time to bring out the small guns.

So far, the Vol-in-Law has managed to wing one of the cats. The result is that the cat does make itself scarce – as in over the garden fence – when he sees us, where before he arrogantly retreated a mere few feet.

That’s a start.

Happy Birthday, Vol Bro

Tomorrow is my brother’s birthday. Tomorrow he will be old enough to know better. This year is a birthday on the cusp – 29. I remember thinking I better get some shit done before I turned 30. I didn’t. I plodded along (though it hasn’t been a bad plod). He might be on the track to get some stuff done this year. Knoxville better watch out.

Last year, I advertised him on this site. He could be quite a catch. He’s still single (as far as I know – he’s a bit of dark horse). Knoxville better watch out.

Anyway, Happy early Birthday VolBro. I’m away and busy tomorrow and might not get the chance to post.

Culture, culture, culture

My brother and I went to Italy a few years ago. It was after my grandfather died and having lived with him (and my mom) after my parents split up, I think we felt extra close to him. But we weren’t his children, either and it was difficult to express and for others to fully empathise with how we were feeling. So we went off, on our own, to Italy – as one does. And in the process we discovered that we could travel well together, a happy thing.

We had a great time – all that culture and pasta was very therapeutic. And I think we both liked Florence. But the problem with Florence is that it’s just too amazing, too full of fabulous things to see. I love museums, I love art, but even my eyes were starting to curl. Oh look – I’ve seen that painting in many an art history text, (yawn) look it’s another Great Master. Oh yes, this square is perfect in proportion – yes, I do have an odd feeling of peace. Ho hum. I think that’s because Michelangelo designed this place, too.

We were outside the Museum of the Duomo (Cathedral), leaning against concrete traffic bollards and sucking on Marloboros – and I was trying to convince my brother to go in to this one last museum. He was reluctant. A British tourist stopped just next to us to light his cigarette – and I asked him – as one can do in the brotherhood of smokers “Hey, what’s in there? Is it worth going in?”

“Well, there’s some Michelangelo, Donatello and Raphael. Yeah, it’s worth it,” he said with a shrug – probably thinking “philistine Americans”, but sounding a little culture weary himself.

“Hey, VolBro, it’s got three of the four Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles, it’s gotta be worth seeing,” I said.

So in we went. And I can’t say I saw things with exactly fresh eyes. But the thing about great, truly great works of art, is that even when you’ve ceased to be amazed by merely the wonderful you can still be stopped in your tracks by a truly powerful work that can speak to you.

This one did. I saw it in expat blogger Anglofille’s Flickr photostream this morning. And of course a sneaky pic can never have the power of the real thing, but it did take me back to an August afternoon in Florence this gray and cool London morning.

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Rather interestingly, she her latest post is about her grandfather, gone 9 years and their connection that remains.