Masterpiece Cake - A big nothing with some interesting commentary

Masterpiece Cake, as it will be known forevermore, was decided yesterday. I worked a tiny tiny bit on this case when I interned for ACLU of Colorado, which is pretty cool, notwithstanding the fact that I really added no discernable value. Charlie and David are lovely, though.

Yesterday morning, I joined the chorus of sighs as I heard the headline. It was foolish for me to jump to conclusions before reading the actual opinion.

One matter that I am not seeing discussed enough in the media is the Court’s comments that it was relevant that the incident that spawned this lawsuit occurred pre-Obergefell (the SCOTUS same-sex marriage decision). The Court suggested that the baker’s assumption that there was nothing illegal about refusing to make a cake for a gay wedding was bolstered by the fact that same-sex marriage was not recognized in Colorado at the time. That means that this case likely has little precedential value for any dispute arising since June of ’15.

The majority opinion itself little precedential value anyway; that’s what is meant when you keep hearing that the ruling is “narrow.” 

Be on the Right Side of History: Consider Your Meat

In this month's issue of Men's Journal, there is an article about going vegetarian. Gordon Ramsay decided to "give the vegan thing a try." Anthony Bourdain is still resistant to a plant-based diet, but with any luck, he'll accept my invitation to come to Crested Butte so that I can serve him a delicious vegan meal.

Regardless, the writing is on the wall: vegan eating is on the rise and will only continue.

Lest you react that the article I've just shared is from the UK, rest assured that the same is true in the United States. Forbes published a piece recommending that businesses embrace veganism and pointing out how it's already happening worldwide.

The Gender Binary Is Stupid: Early Childhood

It all starts with the idea that you must be either male or female. The inability to allow for an "other" option (indeed, even the need to ask at all) already alienates people who don't fit into the easy either/or boxes we shove infants into before we even wash the slime off them. It's not common, but it's a lot of people.

Then, society keeps attaching assumptions to those categorizations based on genitalia. If you stray too far from those assumptions, you'll probably be a target for bullying, which is often a way for the gender police to "keep you in line."

Snips and snails and puppy dog's tails. Cooties. Boys don't cry. Girls shouldn't be too tough. Girls get in that line, boys get in the other line. No, no, not defined by how you identify, but by what's between your legs. Let's make it clearer: Vaginas in this line, penises in the other line. That is your primary classification.

It's insane. Actually, it's fucking insane, but I'm trying to curse less these days.

My favorite things: The Muppets

I've written about a number of people/characters that influenced my youth. The Big Three are David Bowie, Jo Polniaczek, and Miss Piggy.

The other night, my husband literally gave so few fucks about what we watched that he was willing to let me pick and to watch without question. I picked a movie I'd been wanting him to watch for a long time: The Great Muppet Caper.

The story is classic: Kermit and Fozzie play identical twins who, along with their friend photographer friend Gonzo, try to save their journalism careers by cracking the case of jewels stolen from Lady Holiday, a fashionista from London. Meanwhile, Piggy lands a job as a receptionist for Lady Holiday, and hilarity ensues when Kermit mistakes Piggy for Lady Holiday and Lady Holiday's (spoiler) criminal brother falls in love with Piggy. This is the Muppet movie that features the scene that I carried on my lunchbox for years.

It had been a while since I watched it, but I've watched it dozens of times, and I enjoyed it the other night just as much as I did when I first watched it in the goddamn theater.

And I especially enjoyed seeing my husband, who didn't have high expectations, thoroughly enjoy it. He didn't even nod off once. He'll say that what he liked best was watching me enjoy it, but it's definitely not just that.

It's this: The Muppets are fucking awesome.

Don't forget that the Muppets and Sesame Street are basically the same thing. It's the same producers and voices, and Kermit in particular crossed over. I had a crush on Bob (the first in a long line of friendly white guys, one of whom I married), and I appreciated Maria (one of few Latinas on television at the time). I liked Big Bird and Mr. Snuffalupagus. I wanted a sweet roll and I had a banana in my ear. And by golly, that motherfucking lollipop was following me.

I had outgrown Sesame Street by the time Elmo came around, but I never outgrew the Muppets. I was watching the Muppet Show at the same time that I was watching Sesame Street, but something kept the Muppets on my radar long after Sesame Street faded. To the extent that it did. I take pride in owning this album:

"Muppet fan" was not anywhere on my husband's list of things he either desired or was opposed to in a partner. He liked me, and "Muppet fan" came along with me. He understands that he is now part of the Muppet fan community, and he has reacted with only delight at all that entails.

The Muppets rule. Don't forget it.

Believe her - even if she's saying #NotMe instead of #MeToo

It is outstanding that we are having conversations about sexual assault, harassment, power imbalances, consent, rape culture, privilege, and many of the complex issues that go into improving relations between people regardless of who they are. The conversations are long overdue. It is crucial that we are beginning to understand that sexual assault can encompass a lot more than a stranger-rape with a weapon. We must listen to the stories of those who have experienced sexual misconduct, and believe their assessments. As I've written before, we must also allow people to grow and learn things about their conduct that they might not have realized when eyeball deep in the culture that has evolved so much. Finally, we must believe the stories of those who continue to insist that they were not victimized.

In a Vanity Fair piece she wrote four years ago, Monica Lewinsky discusses how she was victimized in the aftermath of the publicity surrounding her affair with Bill Clinton. I had not thought about her situation in those terms when I read the piece, and I was ashamed to recognize my complicity in her humiliation. It is clear that in the writing of that piece, she sees two distinct phases in the Clinton situation: the relationship itself, and the aftermath. I think it's pretty undeniable that her treatment in the aftermath was unforgivable and anti-feminist.

This piece, written in 1998, is painfully true about feminists' complicated but ultimately regrettable relationship with Bill Clinton. The author was prescient about Hillary Clinton's eventual run for president. We really should have demanded that Bill Clinton acknowledge his shitty past behavior, apologized, and contributed a bunch of money to a relevant and reputable organization. I believe both Clintons have grown since his presidency, and I think both ought to publicly acknowledge that. There is no doubt, in retrospect, that Bill Clinton was a very very big part of the culture that we've learned to condemn.

Recently, Ms. Lewinsky wrote a new piece reflecting on her experience in the age of #MeToo. It deeply provokes thought about the wider implications of the Clinton/Lewinsky scandal and its effect on the nation, as well as its role in the expanding discussion of sexual misconduct. Ms. Lewinsky also reflects on her involvement with Bill Clinton in light of the expanded discussion abuse of power as a manner of sexual assault. I'm sure there are already thousands of comments in every type of media saying ugly things about her, and probably, I hope, there are a lot of supportive comments as well.

I appreciate Ms. Lewinsky's story. It's an extremely important part of the conversation, and I firmly believe that her story is hers, and only hers, to tell. And my story is mine.

Around the same time that the scandal was coming out, I engaged in one of the classically imbalanced relationships: Student/teacher (about twenty years my senior).

The Potential for Unlikely Allies: Cory Gardner and Weed

The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, but despite everything I hate about Colorado Senator Cory Gardner (and there is plenty), if I saw him tonight I would buy him a beer. Or a joint. Or an edible. Dude has made it clear he's going to fight for our legal weed.

Weed was never on the radar of the Cheeto-in-Chief, but his shrunken apple doll of an Attorney General had a big stick up his butt about it. Way back at the beginning of the year, in a moment that must have aroused him more than the most tempting Siren, Attorney General Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III rescinded Obama-era guidance to the Justice Department to leave us potheads in Colorado (and an increasing number of states) alone. 

I imagine that nothing would have come of the rescission; the genie is out of the bottle and everyone knows how much money is in it. But rather than remain silent and hope for the best, Cory Gardner not only raised hell, he blocked the administration's DOJ nominees. He stopped doing that in February, ostensibly because progress had been made. Indeed, last week he secured a promise from the administration's boss that the feds really don't give a flying fuck about weed and there will be no raids. I can just imagine Sessions's weed hard-on going flaccid.

I've been proud of Cory Gardner for stepping up. Sure, it's all about money, and no, I'm sure as shit not going to go join his campaign or anything. But I like my weed, and I appreciate my representative's push to represent the will of his constituents despite his party's (completely wacky anti-federalist) platform.

Gardner's politics are mostly still repulsive however.

My First Local

“My Local” has a meaning to people like me that can’t really be figured out through Google. It’s short for “my local pub,” but it’s not just the pub up the street where you take your coworkers once a quarter for the office happy hour. A Local is a special place; indeed, it is a home. If you know Cheers, it’s like that.

Your local truly is the place you go where everybody knows your name. And they’re always glad you came! My Local – and I always have one no matter where I live – is an alcohol-serving establishment at which I am a regular and where I can always walk in alone and find friends (at a minimum, the bartender).

A certain kind of person establishes deep friendships at the Local. Not everyone fits into the Local scene, and sometimes people who don’t really get what a Local is have difficulty wrapping their heads around the concept.

Back when I worked a regular 8-5, I went out to my car one morning to find that the battery was dead. I took the bus to work and explained to my boss that I’d have to go take care of my car as soon as I tracked down a friend with a car and jumper cables. He was sympathetic; he’d have done it himself if he’d had the cables.

When I informed my boss that I was heading out to take care of my car, he said, “OK. One of your rugby friends came through?”

“No,” I replied. “One of my friends from the bar.”

He was baffled. To him, the bar was a place where you went with friends, not a place you met them. During our brief exchange I was unable to make him understand that this is a person that I met at the bar, hung out with at the bar, and am still close to.

I need a local in my life. I discovered this when I found peace at my first local, the crappy campus pub in the basement of the Chemistry building at my alma mater.