New post over at Grasshopper. Today’s discussion: Suburbs vs. exurbs vs. inner city. Whaddya think?

From e-mail I received from MomsRising. (Would you like to buy T-shirts from them and support the cause? Click here.)

Dear MomsRising Member,

Breaking News: Congress voted today (Oct. 18, 2007) on the State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP), but didn’t gain the 2/3 majority needed to overturn the President’s veto. Now, we have another chance. In the coming weeks Congress will bring children’s health insurance to the President again — and they need our support.

With 1 in 8 children in our nation living without any heathcare coverage, we still have work to do. The good news is that your more than 60,000 emailed letters to Congress, along with the work of our partner organizations, helped build the support that made the vote close enough to try again.

TELL CONGRESS TO KEEP UP THE GOOD FIGHT: Sign our NEW petition to tell Congress: “Children’s health care is a top priority. Bring the expanded State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) to the finish line. The members of Momsrising.org thank those in Congress who have led the way on this issue, and support their continued leadership. We also urge those who voted against the bill to rethink their positions.”

*Click here to add your name to our petition. This petition will be delivered directly to each and every member of Congress. The more signatures we get, the more powerful this petition will be.

ASK YOUR FRIENDS TO SIGN THE PETITION TOO: Petitions grow by one signature at a time, and every signature matters. Do you have a friend (or ten) who you shares your sense of outrage at the President’s veto and Congress’ inability to overrule it this time? This is the moment, right now, to forward this email to them.

*Don’t forget to sign the petition and pass it on.

We can do it! –Katie, Kristin, Mary, Ashley, Amy, and the MomsRising Team

P.S. In case you need some facts to inspire you, here are a few reasons the SCHIP program is so important (and great facts for your rally signs!):
*12% of American Children don’t have any insurance coverage at all
* The U.S. Ranks 37th in the world for infant mortality
* One-in-five U.S. jobs does not provide health insurance, a pension, or wages high enough to support a family
* For a family of 4, one year of health insurance costs an average of $11,000
* Over 1/2 of all bankruptcy filings in 2001 were a result of medical expenses

P.P.S. Here are a few articles about Congress’ vote.
CNN
NY Times

-Your donations make the work of MomsRising possible. To donate today on our new, secure website go here.

I got picked as a Sweet Treat by Natalie of State of Confusion. This made my day.

Hey Natalie — thank you!

“The Song of Wandering Aengus”
William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

(from Poets Corner)

You are a big liar, junk mail folder, with your one thousand e-mails in my junk mail trap every day of my life.

I do not believe there are four girls waiting to meet me.

I do not believe you will make my penis stronger. I do not have a penis.

I do not believe that your watches are “all that” or that Viagra is the answer to my problems (see above: no penis), or that you are “freaking cheap,” although I do believe you are a “freak.” I would not do ritalin and drink, although according to you I can and buy some lexapro for good measure and call it a day.

(Customer service girl at Fred Meyer store, after telling an out-of-state caller, No we don’t sell hard liquor here: “He just needs to get himself a hard lemonade and call it a night.”)

I do not want your meds program, your depression seroquel or your protonix side effects. I do not care about Zoloft, synthroid or ativan side effects.

I know the synthroid side effects, having been on it since I was a child of 14. Its side effect is: I’m alive and not going into cardiac arrest.

I do not want 100 milligrams of this or that or something COD or something for free or all the help I need right here right now.

I am tired of telling my children, “Don’t look, junk mail!” even though I have selected text only no pix so I no longer have to see the big dix. My daughter reads now, and my son is learning. I do not want them to meet you.

You go away now, junk mail, before I slap ya.

ps — All the testosterone I need? No thanks. It’s estrogen here and I’ve got plenty.

From Natalie at State of Confusion, who I found through Vixen!

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 c oil
3 c sugar
2 eggs
1 lg can pumpkin
2 t baking soda
2 t baking powder
2 t cinnamon
1 t all spice/1 t cinnamon mixed
1/2 t ginger
5 c flour
1 t salt

Mix all together with milk chocolate chips. Bake at 350 degrees for 13-15 minutes.

Hockey God, on his way out of the room, tells me, “I’ll see you in bed.”

Then says to Wacky Cat One, “I’ll see you in Hell.”

What should I do with my life? Let’s ask my Google ads, here they come now!

* Christian boarding school (uh. probably not)
* Teen counselor (a clue for who I’ll be calling in the future?)
* House values (sure. what are they if you don’t want to install new carpet, remodel the kitchen and upstairs bath and add patios?)
* Oregon house values (you know me so well, Google)
* Home appreciation rates (according to the realtors, you don’t have to have much money to buy a house in Portland! that’s news to the rest of us)

I was mean about it when the Florida Room moved in. You know, I was all, just what Jefferson High School needs — a bar across the street.

They even had some protesters from Jeff and elsewhere in the neighborhood show up at one point. (The “Church of the Bloody Mary” sign did come down, which many of us appreciated.)

But when the shootings happened, after the Jeff football game, homecoming and dance on Friday? Who was the first out on the street? The EMT-trained kitchen staff from the Florida Room. (BlackFriend left a note in comments). She says, “They wanted to make sure the kids were all right.”

That touches the heart of even a bitchy cynic like myself.

Thanks, you guys.

Is it the cussing? Am I dull as a butter knife and no one has known how to tell me? Pick me! (Jumping up and down, waving her arms around.)

Just for you:

* Last Friday (Oct. 12, 2007) there was another shooting outside of Jefferson High School. Two, in fact. No one was killed. Thanks, Jeebus. We appreciate your attention. (Please send good thoughts to the kids in my neighborhood, would you?)

* In spite of the violence, the tough schools, the white parents bringing their white privilege to the table (“We are here to save the neighborhood! To save you from yourselves! Do what we say!” etc.), the pitbulls, the jerks who look like an angry white mob, with red faces and bulging muscles in their necks at neighborhood meetings re: name change from Intercourse Ave. to Chavez Blvd. (my favorite line in the string of comments on that link was “Wacky Mommy, you ARE wacky.” Yeah, tell me something I don’t already know), in spite of the traffic, in spite of the meth labs and the police with their SWAT vehicles and all of that?

* In spite of all of that, when our (new & improved) realtor told us, “When people think of Interstate Ave. and North Mississippi, they have preconceived notions about prostitutes, drug use, gangs, and whatnot,” (she may not have said “whatnot,” it is just my favorite word lately) all I could think was, “What the fuck do you know, bitch?” and I really wanted to go all North Portland on her ass. Especially when she suggested that perhaps my neighborhood isn’t “all that” and perhaps we should wait until spring to put it on the market? After we remodel the kitchen?

* (I’m fucking not remodeling the kitchen. The kitchen is functional and the lighting is good. Go look here here and here to find out why pigs will need to zoom across the sky before I tackle another big project here. Edited to say: We have since found an awesome incredible painter and no, I won’t give out his number.)

* You know, when my realtor (who is a west sider, by the by) went off about hookers and guns I wanted to say something tactful at that point. Like, “Why don’t you stick it in my eye and then I’ll be able to see that you’re fucking me?”

* I do not feel that she was being positive enough.

* This is a great neighborhood, shootings and SWAT teams aside. Ten minutes from downtown Portland, 15 minutes from Vancouver, Wash. Several schools nearby that, while my husband and I may not always be so keen on them, are loved by a lot of parents, kids and teachers. These are schools, some private, some public, with waiting lists. We have the Mississippi and Alberta “arts districts,” with fancy restaurants, galleries and bars, right up the street. We have fancy-shmancy restaurants and coffee houses right in my neighborhood, up the street. A farmers market within walking distance. Several community centers. A fancy grocery store and a regular grocery store. Yadda yadda blip. And we have a nice house. I am sorry to be a jerk and brag, but it’s pretty, my house. And good-sized. It’s vintage, for pete’s sake — its celebrating its 100th birthday this year. We’ve babied it and it shows.

* It is “Old Portland,” whatever the hell that means. Some people are impressed by it, they’re all “oooooooooh, Old Portland.” But not our realtor.

* Anyway.

* We decided to fix her up even a little bit more, This Old House. Because we haven’t spent enough money here yet. New carpet, maybe some new landscaping, touch-up paint here and there, yadda yadda blip blip, and wait a couple of months “until the market isn’t so smooshy” to list it. My mellow was pretty harshed after we made this decision, especially since we’d already found a really decent house across town and of course in my mind I was there, in my new kitchen, drinking coffee, so I took myself out for coffee to get my mind off things.

* I was reading Andrew Merton’s bio/autobio of Princess Diana — so good, but so heartbreaking, of course — and drinking my boring little decaf. (It may have been caf. You will never know, will you?) These two idiots sit by me and one starts bragging loudly of how he screwed someone on this real estate deal. He wanted this house in my old neighborhood (Rose City/Madison South) and they offered them thousands under what they wanted, and the owner countered with how about this much, instead? and yadda yadda blip and, smugly, “We just out-waited ’em. They finally had to drop the price and ha ha ha! I want them to pay closing costs and ha ha ha!!! I am not fixing the whoozit, they need to pay for that, too…”

* At which point his friend, who may I say to his credit was not being all gleeful and smug, said, “Who much would it cost to fix the whoozit?”

* “Just two thousand, but fuck that! Ha ha ha.”

* At which point of course I rolled my eyes at him and was tempted to crack a chair across his head because next he started bragging about how huge the house was (3,200 square feet). And hello? You just ripped these people off, don’t gloat. Instant karma’s gonna get you, buddy. That’s a sweet deal you got in my old neighborhood. I don’t want my mom to have you as a neighbor, you jerk.

* Then he starts bragging about the East coast, and “Back there it would cost you…” And I’m thinking, dude, pay for the whoozit yourself, you scam artist.

* But I’m glad I ran into him because it made me realize that while I do like getting a killer deal (who doesn’t?) I do not enjoy the gleeful pride of knowing that I screwed someone over.

* So I do want to get a fair shake for our (beloved, beloved awesome pretty) house, and I don’t want to pay tens of thousands more than I should for our new house. But. I do not want anyone coming away from the deal feeling all, nyah, nyah.

*Because that is wrong.

* Really, really, really wrong.

* So now I feel more okay about the whole thing. We’re still selling, just not this weekend. Because that smug guy? The thief? He’s that way, but you and I are not that way, savvy? Are you with me on this, Internet? I know my readers, I know you’re decent people. The housing market is in a little slump here, and there are way too many “PayDay Loan”-type home foreclosures going on because some loaners are opportunists and jerks. People’s lives are getting ruined because of it. Which is messed up and not fair to anyone. Is that instant karma? No, not usually. It’s usually someone who desperately wants to own their own place, and housing prices here can be pretty intimidating, and even though they can’t afford it, the loaners are all, “Suuuuuuure you can, sign your life away right here and I’ll go ahead and keep two of your kids.”

* I have karma on the brain today. Then when I got home, my favorite guy next to Hockey God stopped by: the UPS Guy! He brought me Sharon Stiteler’s book, “Disapproving Rabbits.” It’s all pictures of rabbits! With funny captions! Man, oh man, did I need this book today. And he also brought…

* Richard Avedon’s “The Kennedys: Portrait of a Family,” with seventy-five images from the Smithsonian Collections. I just glanced through it — it’s spectacular.

* So more later on those three books.

* Let’s not crack open any heads out there, okay people?

Love,

WM