And now, for something completely different. Make it last the weekend. I’m trying to work things out with Ms. Magical.

Where I grew up – it was like two sides of a coin. College town next to factory town. Some of my relatives thought we were uppity because my mom insisted on Cedar Falls schools for us. Waterloo was the town of Rath Packing and John Deere. In my area, everyone worked for either the University of Northern Iowa (formerly Iowa Normal School, Iowa Teachers College, etc.), the factories, or one of the businesses who were kept in business by them. My folks’ families weren’t exactly the Montagues and the Capulets, but Mom’s side were Cedar Falls people and Dad’s side were Waterloo people.

I just remember a lot of green grass and blue skies. Little snippets of happiness and adventure. Moments of sadness and adjustment.

Great grandpa was one of eight kids of a dour Danish couple. His father worked for the railroad and would die in a fall off this bridge in Cedar Falls and leave a bunch of little tow-heads who had to drop out of school and get jobs to support the family. Isn’t America great? Both of great grandpa’s sons grew up to be PhD/educators.

There is a picture somewhere of great grandpa sitting on a horse-drawn ice truck in front of this ice house, circa 1918 or so. He’d go on to own a successful trucking firm that he sold off in the 40s. Way before I could inherit, dammit.

This is the Waterloo Rath wienie whistle – they tried to counter Oscar Mayer, but it didn’t go over so well. Doubtful that the politically correct police would allow this mascot today. The board actually handed the irretrievably outdated company over to the employees in the 80s – you can guess what happened. My mom used to do freelance design work for them. I still have an empty bacon box she designed.

This is the remnants of a record store in East Waterloo. During the race riots in the 60s, the residents burned down their own stores and homes. It’s never really come back. My stepdad was shot in the riots. I used to live on this side of town when I was very young. My dad grew up there and his parents lived there until urban renewal took their rental.

I drove through the old neighborhood once, about ten years ago, near The Sullivan Brothers Park – major drug deal going down in the middle of the street so I couldn’t pass. I just looked down until they were done.

Waterloo had an idiot mayor that stayed around forever – he devised a plan to get people to stop in Waterloo when they were finally going to get an Interstate to roll through. And, now, they are known for the only US Interstate segment with stop lights. Then, they got a guy to run against that mayor – the reason he ran? His sidewalks were never repaired. He worked as a bread maker on the night shift at Wonderbread or something like that. He was eaten alive.

When I was a pre-teen, this guy named Jon Crews, who was, I believe, a college student, ran for mayor of Cedar Falls. He won. I think he was the youngest mayor in the US as of that time. His mom was my preschool teacher. He stayed around a while, then moved on but never had any great success so he ran again and has been there ever since.

My dad’s dad used to take us to baseball games – double or triple A at the time – at this wooden stadium built in WWII. It has a train track running behind left field. The old stately cemetery next door was where I taught my sister to drive. Figured she couldn’t kill anyone there.

The biggest thrill was before malls. We’d go to Black’s Department Store in Waterloo. It had several stories and both an elevator and a mezzanine. I just like saying that…mezzanine. There was an actual person who took the elevator up and down. It was the ultimate in elegance to me, when my mom bought a dress there. Once, I got a pair of red sneakers with black rubber and stripes. I wore them swimming at a local waterway. My shoes were full of sand, so I took one off to empty it, set it down to do the other (in the water) and off it went downstream. Dumb ass started early.

My sister and I were baptized in this tiny chapel – thought to be the world’s smallest at 6’ x 8’ feet. Fortunately, we weren’t very big then.

I used to regularly go visit an old lady who had come to speak to my class in about third grade – she was nearly 100 and lived in a retirement home downtown. I was fascinated by her stories which included what it was like to visit the Cotton Theatre in all its glory during vaudeville and then the silent films. In my time, it was called the Regent, and I’d go for the double feature with a coupon from the Cedar Bulletin and get a popcorn and soda all for 35 cents.

This tree (on the corner of Tremont, no less) always fascinated me when I was young. It still stands. It’s pretty cool.

There was also this round barn right outside of town. It was pretty cool too.

My dad used to take a this trolley from Waterloo to Cedar Falls.

If we were really lucky, we’d get to stop and have a maid rite sandwich (loose meat). The joint has a long countertop and red-covered stools and is famous for its loose meat – way before Roseanne Barr’s character bought a place like that in her show (what, 20 years ago?)

I once rode a Greyhound bus somewhere, I don’t remember where. It took off from the Black Hawk Hotel. It was a dumpy dive full of wanderers and lost souls. In its heyday, it was a true stagecoach hotel. Now, it’s a fancy schmancy boutique hotel.

The biggest treat for me was going to the Dog’n'Suds Drive In restaurant. They had Coney Dogs. Like chili dogs, but better. When I was like 30, my mom gave me the Dog”n’Suds root beer mug that had been inadvertently left on the floor of her car twenty years earlier. I’m thinking she could have taken it back, but I’m glad she didn’t. I’d kill for a Coney Dog about now.

My friend Barb and I would climb to the top of the domed church at twilight in the summers and watch the Starlight Drive In’s R and X rated movies (without sound, obviously). All the drive ins are closed now. I blame myself.

We actually had a country club called Porkys Red Carpet Club. It was founded in 1918, way before the movie Porky’s. It was very swank. My best friend Paula belonged and we played 3 holes of golf in our swimming suits and held up real golfers and then went on our merry way to swim. On my 13th birthday, when my mom said I could eat anything I wanted, I went there for dinner (we didn’t belong) and I had shrimp cocktail and filet mignon for the first time. I had no idea what it was, but I knew it sounded good, and it was.

On cold nights, I’d go with older looking friends and have a beer at places like The Blue Room Tap. It was a cop hangout. They never hassled us – might have been because I was a Police Explorer. What do they call that, The Blue Wall? I had always wanted to get into The Stein on College Hill, but looked too young.

Harry Chapin ran out of time when he gave a concert at the UNI-Dome. He moved the show out to the lawn. I usually had to work during the best shows, but saw a handful of them before I left town. Our high school team played football there – on one of the only Astroturf fields for high school players in the country. I hated football. Oh, wait, I still do.

Yeah, it’s Iowa, but it was a pretty sweet place to grow up.

My sister moved to California about – jeez, 15 or so years ago. She would turn me on to different music. I was trapped in Euro music for a lot of years, but this was the 80s, right? And, I lived in Europe for most of it.

When she let me listen to Etta James for the first time, I was so overwhelmed with emotion, I didn’t know what I’d do. I put her up there on the pedestal with Ray Charles who I finally got to see in a small venue in 1990. But, Etta, she’s remained elusive (and expensive when I had no money).

I’ve waited four months. Through two jobs. Through kid schedules. So, tonight – Friday, May 16, 2008, I will see her in a small venue here in Sacramento at 7:30 pm. Damn Your Eyes. At Last. I’d Rather Go Blind.

UPDATE: I’m not going. She canceled. I am still reeling - quick someone, the smelling salts.

We’ve come a long way, but there’s a long way to go. Do we stand a chance if the US Supreme Court decides to take this on at last? Read the lengthy California opinion here: California Supreme Court Tosses Out Gay Marriage Ban in 4-3 Vote

A reader comment, and an excellent one at that:

“I am over the moon. I don’t believe the US Supreme Court has any jurisdiction over this decision - it was a legal opinion on the California constitution. I know there are opponents who will try to now change the constitution, but I found some interesting language in the ruling, “…we conclude that, under this state’s Constitution, the constitutionally based right to marry properly must be understood to encompass the core set of basic substantive legal rights and attributes traditionally associated with marriage that are so integral to an individual’s liberty and personal autonomy that they may not be eliminated or abrogated by the Legislature or by the electorate through the statutory initiative process.” So, makes me wonder if the matter is settled.

Wow.

TaraDharma“ 

Hard to believe, but my baby brother (half-brother) is turning 30 this year. I don’t really know him. I was 17 when I left home and he was a mere babe in arms, literally. For many years, he lived in a garage apartment at my dad’s until he moved into his shared apartment with his fiancée. Until then, his mom cooked and did his laundry.

Last weekend, they got married. She’s a chiropractor. Sounds good? Her new practice is in rural Arkansas. I’d shoot myself. He’s not a city boy exactly, he’s a suburbs boy. You know, where you can get to a major league baseball game in under an hour. What’s he thinking? Oh, yeah, lurve.

They knew I wasn’t coming to the wedding. The place in Arkansas is not on a direct route to anywhere and it would have been too expensive.

They registered at Target. I viewed the Target items and most had been spoken for or required me to have a clue about their taste and current possessions, except the Playstation. There was no way I was going to secure a premature place for them on the judicial divorce calendar before the marriage had even started by buying them a Playstation. So, I decided upon a check. Can’t go wrong there, right?

I go out and buy a very beautiful card with a lovely sentiment for Cory and his lovely bride Kari. I glance at the invitation to make sure I spell the girl’s name properly. I write out the check in their married name—Cory & Kari. I craft a beautiful sentiment about married life in the card. I pop the card into the mail and pat myself on the back for not waiting until the first anniversary to get around to it.

So, I’m talking to my sister last night and she says, “I can’t believe it, but the thank you note already arrived from Becky.”

I’m thinking I missed something. “Becky who?” I said.

“Cory’s new wife, Becky.”

Uh, oh.

I wondered why Kari didn’t sound right as I wrote it out. But, I thought it must be her given name.

Then, I realized that I had pulled out the invitation for the other wedding I’ve got coming up. Wrong bride.

I spent time last night crafting a menopausal-centric apology to my new sister-in-law and mailed it off. I hope she has a good sense of humor. She’s going to need it in this family.

Confession time. Bless me lesbians, for I have totally not gotten this whole social networking thing. MySpace? Well, I think I have had about seven messages on it in over a year. What, you mean I have to send messages to get messages?

Leztown? Um, can you say “round up the usual suspects?” Very fine and lovely subjects though they be. But, it’s kind of like being in the girl bar on Friday night anywhere in the United States.

Then, there’s Facebook. This is the one that befuddles me more than the rest.

While in the doctor’s office today, I was reading an old Newsweek that laid out what Facebook etiquette looks like. When it is or is not appropriate to ask to be “friends” or “poke” someone for example. People will rise up in righteous indignation if Facebook etiquette is not followed, yet don’t know how to write a handwritten thank you note nor to bring a hostess gift when being invited over for the first time.

I mean, I’ve not only got my pokes, but drinks to buy, snowballs to throw and flowers or fish to send. I can call them hipster names or call them gay—the gayest, if I want. I can play Scrabble or compete in a geography contest with my nearest and dearest “friends”—most of whom I have never and will probably never meet. There’s a fun wall and a super wall – I still haven’t figured out which does what. In fact, none of it makes any sense.

And, the only way to advance in most of these things in order to gain another coveted cyber flower or fish or higher ranking is to sell out the very friends, all 41 one of them, who have promised to stand by me until death – oh, wait, Facebook friends aren’t usually that kind of friend.

Thanks to Beancounters, I’ve put it all in perspective.