For Frying Out Loud (19 page)

July 2009

MERMAIDS AND SATYRS UNITE!

You know, sometimes I have to grapple for days to think of a topic for this column and sometimes one just falls kerplunk into my lap. So it was this week when I heard about Senator Sam Brownback and his new legislation to ban the creation of half human-half animal hybrids. Where to start?

First off, it's too late. Brownback himself is half-human, half-jackass, so what's the point? But it's hard for me to believe that this Republican anti-stem cell activist is spending his senate time worrying about scientists creating centaurs and mermaids when he really should be worrying about the state of the union.

Hey, Sam, I know there's a lot of talk about hybrids in Washington, but I really don't think they are talking about half-human, half birdbrain. In case you care, it's been done: George Bush.

If you think I am kidding, this is real legislation being proposed by Brownback and 20, count 'em 20, other senators to ban the creation of “part-human, part-animal creatures, which are created in laboratories, and blur the line between species.” When it comes to blurring the line between species, Ann Coulter has been blurring the lines between human and cockroach for years.

Truly, you gotta admire the gumption of these legislators to introduce the Human-Animal Hybrid Prohibition Act of 2009. According to Brownback, “Creating human-animal hybrids, which permanently alter the genetic makeup of an organism, will challenge the very definition of what it means to be human and is a violation of human dignity and a grave injustice.”

No, a violation of human dignity is marriage inequality in this country while human-stud horse hybrids like Senators Mark Sanford and John Ensign continue to reap the legal benefits of wedded bliss.

I don't know what's so wrong with these mix and match species anyway. You've got the hilarious comic Bruce Vilanch, who is a delightful human-teddy bear hybrid, while on occasion, like at a buffet, I fall into the human-sow category. And who hasn't enjoyed Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman?

From what I understand, Brownback got on this kick because of his background in agriculture, working to produce superior snap peas. For him it was a quick jump from frozen vegetables to mermaids and satyrs. The world is full of scary, serious, life-threatening problems, and Brownback is worrying about…mermaids? Bette Midler should sue for defamation.

Okay, I get the mermaid thing. We'd have to be pretty sure they'd come out of the test tube looking like Darryl Hannah and not some icky-sweet Disney creature, but I think it's worth the risk.

And your satyrs – for heaven's sake – Brownback is worried about satyrs? According to mythology, satyrs are half man, half goat, with a love for wine and a huge sexual appetite. This is Rehoboth, people! You've been to the bars. People love our local satyrs!

Gee, we haven't even talked about the half-human, half ostrich. Wouldn't that be Sarah Palin teaching her kids abstinence?

In his own words, Brownback says, “You could make a change now that could be passed along through the gene-pool for the rest of humanity. We do not know what the full effect of this could be.” Oh yes we do, look at the gene pool that produced Dick Cheney.

In defending this ridiculous bill, Brownback has said, “What was once only science fiction is now becoming a reality, and we need to ensure that experimentation and subsequent ramifications do not outpace ethical discussion…. History does not look kindly on those who violate the dignity of the human person.”

Really? How about violating the dignity of the half-gay, half-soldier? Senator Brownback is so worried about labs producing
half man, half sheep, that his entire delegation is willing to act like sheep-men and vote in lock-step against the dignity of the human gay person.

I'm not letting the cat-woman out of the bag here when I tell you that Brownback has long had some pretty weird ideas. He's the guy who wanted to abolish the departments of education, energy and commerce, not to mention what seems like a really fantastic idea now: putting social security money into the stock market. He'd probably have trusted part-human, part-shark Bernie Madoff.

Now this goofball wants to spend our time and money going after mythical creatures. My idea of a mythical creature is a senator who works with both sides of the aisle to actually get something positive done for the taxpayers. Seems as if those are as extinct as dodo birds and minotaurs.

As Brownback says, “The Human-Animal Hybrid Prohibition Act of 2009 works to ensure that our society recognizes the dignity and sacredness of human life.”

Puleeze.

But then, the legislation does ban minotaurs. You know, those creatures who are half-man, half-bull. Brownback bans himself. There's a winner. Go for it.

July 2009

THE GAYBY BOOM

I'm thrilled about the gayby boom.

When the first real wave of lesbians with child began, I was already on the cusp of menopause so the subject was always pretty academic in my house. That the boom came too late for me and Bonnie, was okay with me. I like kids, I do. It's just that I haven't spent any time around children since they were my peer group.

So frankly, I was quite comfortable in my childless lesbian world. But as the gay parenting trickle turned into a spate and then a boom, it sure has been fun to watch.

Like the time we went to dinner with a couple we'd just met. As the waiter took drink orders, Bonnie and I chose vodka and tonic, one of our new friends asked for a glass of white wine, and our fourth companion looked up at the waiter and said, “Nothing for me, thanks, I just inseminated myself.”

The waiter handled it rather nicely. “How about a Shirley Temple?” he asked. Then turned and walked smack into the wall.

Now I don't know about you, but while it may be politically correct for lesbians to have babies, I think Emily Post would say it's still incorrect to discuss insemination at the dinner table.

“Yes,” my new friend continued, “It was so weird. I almost got a speeding ticket on the way home tonight. When the cop stopped me I told him I had just been to the sperm bank, and the sperm was in the cooler on the front seat, and I had to get home and inseminate myself, or it would spoil. He let me go.”

I bet he did. And I can imagine the conversation later in the squad room.

Also in the “too much information” department came the day we sat at a restaurant and spied two women at the next table, one obviously very pregnant. We smiled at them in a
friendly “my-gaydar-is-working kind of way. The pregnant woman looked at us and announced “artificial insemination.”

Who asked? It's like the straight couple behind us pointing to their baby and saying “missionary position.” No need to know, thank you.

Then we met two women who found a sperm bank just too impersonal for their baby project. But they worried that having a male friend provide the goods might make him feel financially obligated, or worse, lead to parental meddling. So they cooked up a cloak and dagger scheme requiring several male friends to provide twice weekly donations and deliver them surreptitiously.

Each contributor had instructions to drop by the house early in the morning on a rotating schedule of days, open the unlocked front door, sneak up the stairs like a cat burglar and deposit the gift in a Dixie cup on the back of the toilet tank. The women promised to stay in bed with the door closed until they were certain the daily drop had been made.

Voila! There would always be a donation available in case the time was right for basting the turkey.

Several things happened. First, the police began to watch the place, certain it was a crack house.

Second, the schedule occasionally got confused with two donors showing up, samples in tow, bursting into laughter in the darkened stairwell.

Third, everyone began to look like hell. The boys had to get up early and, er…produce, before their morning jogs and the girls had to gauge how long to stay locked in the bedroom before safely going to pee.

Fortunately, sperm and egg met and began the beguine before the guys were hospitalized for exhaustion or the girls got Uremic poisoning.

Sometimes the gayby stories even involved me. I got a surprise once when a favorite male couple came for dinner and one of them said, “We're thinking of having a child, could we rent your womb?” I dropped my spatula into charcoal.

“My uterus is in a jar in somebody's lab,” I said, laughing, “You'll have to keep looking. And besides, I suggest you try a puppy first just to see how the Waterford Crystal and Queen Anne furniture hold up.”

For the record, they took my advice and stopped at the Shitzu.

But these days, same-sex families are so ubiquitous it's the spawn rather than the parents causing the smiles. And teachers and neighbors are starting to get used to it.

We have acquaintances whose six year old son was asked to write a story in three sentences as his homework. His essay was as follows: My Daddy's friend Mona is a man. Mona dresses up like a woman. Mona is pretty.

I'd love to have been privy to the teacher's reaction, but the essay got a star.

In one household with two men and a four year old, the bedtime admonishment goes ““If you don't behave, there will be no ABBA tonight!” How gay is that!

And while it's way too late for me to join the rent-a-womb brigade or adopt a Chinese baby, I do drive way too fast sometimes. So I'm thinking about keeping a cooler on the front seat.

“You see, officer, I've just been to the sperm bank, and….”

August 2009

CLIMB EV'RY MOUNTAIN…

I'm astounded. Bonnie and I just got back from the Canadian Rockies, where we canoed, white-water rafted and hiked. No, I am not kidding. We hiked way more times than we had cocktails, which is just wrong.

Before the trip I wouldn't have bet ten cents I could have managed all this physical activity – and truthfully, if Larry the vacation planner told us what he was planning I might not have gone, which would have been criminal, since I had a blast.

On our first day in Banff, Canada I got a whiff of the trouble ahead. We rode a cable car up some gorgeous mountains – and from there hiked up to a second, higher observatory. Why did most people have hiking poles and sturdy shoes while I had a digital camera and sandals? At 4000 feet above sea level I gasped for oxygen and my legs burned with each step up. I wanted a hiking pole just to poke Larry in the butt with. I would have bought poles, too, but I was sure this hike would be the only time I needed them. Hah!

The next day we went whitewater rafting on a course advertised as fun for the whole family. Who, the Addams Family? Frankly, this was the most strenuous thing I've ever done. And that was just pulling the wet suit up over my ass.

They gave us all kinds of instructions about what to do if we fell out of the boat and I thought it was hilarious. I mean nobody would fall out, there were pre-teens along. Besides, the way we were costumed, with wet suit, splash jacket, helmet and life vest, none of us could move, much less topple out.

I perched on the side of the inflatable boat, paddling away, smiling and enjoying myself until we hit a five foot drop, the raft twisted and Larry fell out.

Holy crap. As our guide leaned over, grabbed him by the life vest and plunked him back in the boat I realized the severity of my situation.

From that moment on, my right hand clutched a rubber handle in the boat and my wetsuited butt clamped itself onto the inflatable. My behind was so clenched that when we finally got back to shore, I had a hamstring injury and couldn't lift my left leg to get back into the car.

Bonnie, however, unclenched, voluntarily jumped into the icy water for a swim. Opposites attract.

Next on the Olympic schedule came canoeing on a lake so azure blue it looked like a Home Depot paint chip. Now a canoe is an unstable little boat and I'm an unstable big person. Once I sat down in the front I was fine, but getting in was a bit of tippy-canoe and screaming too. Eventually we settled down to a delightfully quiet hour of paddling on a serene lake surrounded by glacier-covered mountains. Amazing.

Then, as told to me, Larry and his canoeing partner returned ahead of us. His buddy removed his life vest but Larry did not. “You're on land now, Larry, you can take off the life jacket.”

“Oh no,” he said, “I have to help Fay out of the boat and anything can happen.” That's what friends are for.

After canoeing, we went to the Banff Hot Springs, soaking in a huge public 104-degree pool surrounded by mountains and Canadians. I asked several Canadians about their health care system and they were all absolutely thrilled with their government-run option. And none of their elderly parents have been ordered killed by government bureaucrats.

In short order we trudged up to some magnificent waterfalls, traversing trails dotted with tree roots, ruts and rocks to be scaled, where once again I suffered hiking stick envy. I'd have climbed more comfortably if I was as thin as the air. Coming back we stopped on the roadside to see elk, horned sheep and mountain goats. Western Canada was having a record hot spell and the moose and bear population was cooling off out of sight. Drat, no photo ops.

From Banff we drove on the Icefield Parkway to the Columbia glaciers, where we rode in a mountain climbing
vehicle up onto the glacier, where, duh, it was slippery and cold. And impressive and beautiful, albeit disturbing to see the sign in the parking lot noting where the toe of the glacier had been in 1904. What global warming?

Then we were off to the little town of Jasper, and its record heat wave. Did we see any wildlife on the way? Only me when I discovered our cabin lacked air conditioning. That was one miserable night.

But it was better by early morning when we rode the Jasper tramway up 7000 feet to an observatory above town. From there, a bizarrely steep dirt path led to the very top of the mountain.

So far, we'd been hiking at angles far steeper than the ones I'd labeled sadistic on my treadmill. But this one took the cake. I noticed strategically placed boulders all along the path, probably to keep collapsing tourists from falling all the way back down to Jasper. As Bonnie and I huffed and puffed, pulled each other up and rested periodically on the boulders, I was tempted to mug passing climbers for their expensive hiking poles.

Fortunately, Larry had reached the top and was on his way back down when he came upon us, draped over a boulder and gasping for air. We took congratulatory photos that looked like we'd reached the top and headed back down – no easy trick either. I prayed not to turn into a rolling stone gathering no moss.

The next day we visited Maligne Canyon, and started at the top of the canyon, hiking down a mile or so to see gorgeous waterfalls on the way, The descent was strenuous enough, but seeing the hikers' faces as they struggled back up told a horror story all its own. I haven't seen so much pain and suffering since the premier of
The World's Biggest Loser
.

Luckily, when we reached bottom, physically and emotionally, there was a parking lot and Larry volunteered to hike back up alone to get the car. Bless him. But then again, he was spared watching his friends exit the park on gurneys, escorted by Royal Mounties.

Perhaps saving the best for last, we headed to Lake Louise, where 19th Century Canadian Pacific Railroad barons built a spectacular hotel with the most stunning glacier-covered mountain views. Our week long fitness regimen paid off on our last long hike around the lake. Glorious.

Wow, I am so busy talking about outdoor activities I haven't mentioned food, which is really scary. We enjoyed fabulous salmon, trout, black cod, and halibut plus delicious bison burgers in many a rustically decorated restaurant. I passed on Elk stew.

By the way, we went through customs into Canada as family, as they honored our 2003 Vancouver wedding. Great feeling. Coming back to the U.S., not so much.

So here's the thing. I loved the trip. If a Jewish American Princess is hiking in the woods and there's nobody there to see her enjoy it, is she still a Jewish American Princess?

Next time, frickin' hiking poles.