What Would Jack Do

It was only a sweatshirt- a hoodie, to be more accurate…and not even anything special at that…except that it was from Rice University in Houston. A few square feet of grey cotton, comfortable and warm and, except for the logo, thoroughly indistinguishable from any of the other gray hoodies hanging in his closet. Except that this one WAS different. When She would spend the weekends at his place, She always wore the sweatshirt late at night or when She woke up. Being a woman, She was always cold, so She bundled up in the sweatshirt and a pair of his socks. Being a good deal smaller than the sweatshirt’s owner, it covered Her like a blanket, the lower hem hanging well below Her knees and the sleeves rolled up so Her hands wouldn’t be swallowed by the sweatshirt’s arms. It looked good…no, it looked great…on Her, and as time went by it became Hers by default. Though it hung in his closet, he ceded any rights to the sweatshirt to Her, no longer feeling it appropriate to wear it, as if doing so would somehow break the spell. The sweatshirt became completely and totally Hers, not through any conscious decision (at least not so far as he could recall), but eventually the idea of wearing it himself seemed somehow…wrong. Wearing it, She was the picture of loveliness- comfortable, adorable, and cute as a button in a way that only the completely smitten could understand. For him to wear it would reduce it to the status of just another article of clothing hanging in his closet. When you find magic, you nurture and preserve it at all costs. Failing to do so…well, who knows what might happen, right?

When She wasn’t around, he could look at the sweatshirt hanging in this closet and feel the warmth of knowing the time would soon come when She would again be wearing it. In time, the sweatshirt came to bear Her smell, and he luxuriated in the memories that smell triggered. It was comforting and it set his mind at ease, even though She could be a challenge and the relationship had more than its fair share of turbulent times. The sweatshirt became the constant, a symbol of something greater than himself, and something worth preserving and cherishing. And so, when She wasn’t around, the sweatshirt hung in his closet, testimony to what had come before and what (hopefully) was still to come.

Inevitably, as so often happens, love turned to dust and She left, though the sweatshirt retained its place of honor. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, but the sweatshirt remained implacably in its place. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to wear the sweatshirt- Her sweatshirt. Though the magic it had possessed had left with Her when She departed the scene, the memories were simply too much, as if the sweatshirt still somehow contained and refused to relinquish Her essence. He knew this was ridiculous, of course, and that he was too old and sensible to be imputing such magical qualities to a few square feet of cotton…but there it was. Weekends would come and go, and as he rummaged through the hangers in his closet, he would stop at the sweatshirt, even if only for a moment, and the memories would come rushing back. He could still picture Her, stumbling out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from Her eyes as the sweatshirt almost swallowed Her whole. He could remember how She felt as She curled up next to him on his couch with the morning paper and a cup of coffee. Her smell, the sounds She made, the solid, sensuous feel of Her weight against him- it all came rushing back as the sweatshirt stared back at him. It was Her, and even though She was gone, almost certainly never to return…it was still Hers.

Finally, he recognized one day that the time had come to break the spell. He could no longer live in the past, and he could no longer hang that past on a sweatshirt, which had transformed itself from a mere article of clothing into an anchor. He carefully removed the sweatshirt from the hanger that had supported it for so long, and he allowed himself to embrace the softness of the cotton. As he thought about how it had looked on Her, and how much that had meant to him, he began to realize that the sweater was just a thing, redolent only of whatever symbolism he chose to imbue it with. He recognized that it was time to let go, time to move on, time to stop acting like a lovesick schoolboy…and time to put the damn thing on.

After a few moment’s trepidation, he began to pull the sweatshirt slowly over his head as he considered how odd it felt to be wearing Her sweatshirt again. As it settled about his shoulders, he walked into the bathroom and considered what he saw in the mirror. He was struck by how comfortable it felt, how good it looked on him…and he realized how much he had missed wearing it. It was a sweatshirt…nothing more. She was gone, and She wasn’t coming back…but he still had the sweatshirt. It was no longer Hers…and it was really nothing more than just a few square feet of cotton designed to keep him warm. It was then that he knew he could move on. The spell was broken. After all, it was just a damn sweatshirt, right?

OK, so I’d imagine that by now my antipathy for Texas is not exactly the stuff that breaking news is made of. Yes, after 10+ years in the Great State (3722 days…not that I was counting), I think I’ve earned the right to vent my spleen. I did my time, and I think I know of which I speak. ‘Nuff said….

In fairness, I do have to admit that my dislike for the Lone Star State is not all-consuming. There actually are things I miss. There’s Austin, f’rinstance…which is sort of like Eugene, OR, except with better weather, a higher suntan potential, and a killer football stadium. There’s the music. Say “Pat Green” in Portland and be prepared for a plethora of blank stares. Most of all, there’s the food. Before I moved to Texas, I hated Mexican food. Once I moved to Texas, I came to understand why. I don’t know what it is, but it seems that the farther away you get from the Mexican border, the less authentic and palatable Mexican food becomes. What’s a Mexican restaurant like here in Portland? Eh, you probably don’t want to know…. How much do I miss Tex-Mex? Oh man, let me count the ways…. ;-)

Start talking to me about migas, huevos rancheros, fajitas…and well, you can pretty much have your way with me. This article about breakfast tacos in Austin almost has me ready to pack my bags and move to Austin. Almost…but I’d sell my left nut for a plate of breakfast tacos right about now….

(Thanks to Art Lynch: “It’s getting even bleaker than you think down here in Baja Oklahoma…. Pardon the language, but we’re f——d!”)

It’s been said that Americans generally get the quality of representation they deserve. I know it’s been said, because I’ve been the one saying it for years. This is particularly true in Texas, where last week’s primary yielded results that no reasonable person could have predicted under any circumstances. Then again, this is Texas we’re talking about, so limiting the discussion to reasonable people is significantly thinning the herd. Man, if the primaries are this much fun, I can hardly wait until the general election in November.

First, there’s Tony Cunningham, a Republican candidate for the State Board of Edumication, who won his Republican primary. This despite being apparently unable to speak in complete sentences…and being completely unaware of what the position actually entails.

Here’s a guy who pays a $300 filing fee to run for the District 3 State Board of Education seat, does little or no campaigning, can’t answer a straight question, stays home election night and learns of his victory in a phone call from his mother.

In an interview with radio talk-show host Adam McManus on AM 630 KSLR this week, Cunningham said he filed for the SBOE post because he thought it was a paid position.

Uh, wait…you mean I don’t get my own helicopter and call girl??

Then there’s Rick Green, a Republican candidate for the Texas Supreme Court, who managed to win his primary despite what could charitably be called a tenuous grip on ethical standards. Hey, the guy’s a lawyer and a Christian…and we all know that in Texas those two adjectives convey special powers and a free pass when it comes to ethical standards mere mortals are expected to adhere to.

While in the Legislature, Green also drew criticism for successfully pushing the Texas Parole Board to release a man who owed $400,000 to a company his father owned and, according to The Dallas Morning News, pressured lobbyists to donate to his Torch of Freedom Foundation, which sponsors the Patriot Academy, a program for young adults “to learn about America’s system of government from a Biblical worldview” — essentially a summer boot camp for politically minded conservative teens and 20-somethings.

You see, the problem with politics here in Oregon is that it’s BORING. The political climate here is nowhere near as Jesus-y or neoApocalyptic as Texas…and frankly, it puts me to sleep. (Quick…can anyone even tell me who the Governor of Oregon is? No? I suspected as much. It’s Ted Kulongoski…and no, don’t get me started on how phenomenally freakin’ boring the man is. He makes Harry Reid look like Eric Massa.).

I may hate Texas (and I truly do), but man, do I miss the politics or what??

Here’s something to ponder on a cold Wednesday morning….

We tend to think of the battle for abortion rights as being fought in federal courts, on the big stages where decisions are made that impact us from coast to coast. The reality is that the real skirmishes are being fought far below the radar, in statehouses and city council chambers. In Utah, f’rinstance, they’re gradually doing away with the ridiculous notion that women should be able to exercise control over their reproductive functions. Those of us who support the right of women to control their bodies tend to focus on Roe v. Wade as our touchstone. Don’t get me wrong, Roe v. Wade was a wonderful moment in our history and a shining example of fair and right-thinking jurisprudence, but that was 1973, if memory serves. In the intervening 37 years, anti-choice forces have long since determined that the best long-term strategy was not a full-on frontal assault, but a patient approach that nibbles around the edges. History has borne them out, as little by little oppression is being restored to the legal landscape…and it’s barely even been noticed. As is often true in history, victory accrues to the patient and the persistent. Zealotry really can be its own reward.

Should the current trend hold, and there’s little reason to think it won’t, we may well wake up one morning to the realization that women really ARE the property of men, and the idea that they should be in control of their uterus is yet another quaint Liberal notion slowly destroyed by the American Taliban. A little bit here, a little bit there…and pretty soon it’s all gone. Time to wake up and smell the cat litter, don’tchathink??

Home-school textbook market dominated by books skeptical of evolution. Just when you were beginning to wonder where the next generation of ignorant, reactionary, hyper-Christian, prepared-to-die-for-Jesus zealots would be coming from….

Nashville Man Loses Friends, Job Over Email. Sorry, y’all…but if you forward an email that compares Michelle Obama to a chimpanzee because you think it’s funny, you’re a racist. Admit it. Deal with it. There’s simply no credible way to deny it.

Taxing Soda, Pizza May Reduce Obesity. And you thought college students were upset about rising tuition costs? Wait until they hear about this….

Corker And Alexander Place Hold On Aviation Funding Bill To Prevent FedEx Drivers From Unionizing. Because nothing succeeds like protecting a multinational’s right to exploit and brutalize its workers.

After Telling Women, Gays How To Live, Oklahoma GOP Outraged At ‘Government Intervention’ In Divorces. No one gets to decide who we can hate and oppress until WE decide who to hate and oppress. Capice??

Chef Makes Cheese From Wife’s Breast Milk. Coming soon to a Food Channel show near you….

Google TV? Company Testing Satellite Service. Everybody wants to rule the world. Google has the resources to actually do it.

The Pentagon Shooter, Insurrectionism, And Right-Wing Bloggers. When the Left does it, it’s the worst, most egregious sort of traitorous, anti-American, insurrectionist sedition imaginable. When the Right does it, it’s speaking truth to power.