Who knew?

Who knew it was so easy, I mean. Here, I’m just a week out from major surgery, and still have the usual million things to do around the house: clean, organize, cut the grass, garden, swim in my piles of cash, etc. I wasn’t sure how I’d get everything done, but then I hit upon the perfect solution to all my woes: Rent-a-Boy.com. And who do I have to thank for this brilliant idea? Why, none other than crazy anti-gay conservative minister George Rekers, who rented his escort, I mean cabana boy, I mean concierge, so that he could have some help after surgery.

Yes, in a stunning example of forward thinking, Rekers knew that he’d be unable to lift any luggage on his trip to Europe after surgery, and so he immediately went to a site apparently known for providing such kinds of assistance, the aforementioned rentaboy.com. According to Rekers:

“Contacted by the newspaper, Rekers claimed he was ignorant of his traveling companion's profession when he hired him for a 10-day European vacation.

‘I had surgery," Rekers told the newspaper, "and I can't lift luggage. That's why I hired him.’”

Of course, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, or perhaps a bias of the liberal media, that the gay hooker he hired, "Lucien", claimed the minister liked daily nude body rubs. I’m positive that’s just related to the debilitating surgery he had. Positive. Pos. I. Tive.

In closing, I just have to say that this, this is the kind of bold, honest thinking those fervent anti-gay activists are known for. Kudos.

The antidote to Komen = the Pink Daisy Project

Note: This post is more serious than my usual posts, so if that doesn’t interest you, well, consider yourselves warned. I’m sure my next post will be about my usual Schleprockian bad luck, i.e. a house falling on my head, etc.

Komen. I’m sure a lot of people don’t understand why those of us with BC could possibly have problems with this organization. Why we’re so passionate about our dissent. After all, haven’t they brought breast cancer to the forefront, helped raise awareness, raised tons of money, wrapped everything in that sunshiny pink? I suppose so, but consider the following:

1. I do not know a single person who’s been helped by Komen personally. Not one. Given that they talk so much about how much they do for survivors, what exactly do they do on a personal level? I’ve checked their websites, and they even state that they don’t give money or grants to individuals. Gee, thanks. There are a LOT of women who could use just some tiny small part of the $1.5 billion you’ve collected to date.

2. Yes, $1.5 billion, not $1.2 as I stated in a previous post. Sorry for the error. No wonder some people call them Komoney.

3. Breast cancer treatment doesn’t seem a whole hell of a lot more advanced now than it was 20 years ago. I’m taking the same drugs that Robyn’s mother took 20 years ago. Adrienne L., who found out she had the BC gene, still had everything that could potentially be deadly removed: breasts, ovaries, etc. It’s still all about the slash and burn.

4. Speaking of which, why the hell haven’t they made any advanced in chemo in all this time so that it’s not quite as, say, DEADLY?? Deadly as in killing the women it’s supposed to help. Danica, who got leukemia from chemo. Ally, who’s in end-stage heart failure right now because of chemo. And my dear friend Jennifer, who I’m pretty sure had her death hastened because of the harshness of her chemo regimen. WTF? This is the best we can do?

5. Medical advances require money, I get that. Well, $1.5 billion is a whole hell of a lot of money. I could take that cash and set up labs and populate them with a lot of capuchin monkeys in lab coats, and do better than Komen has done so far, I’m pretty sure.

6. Oh, but they have had advances! What about Herceptin? You know, the great drug for women who are Her2 positive? Yep, great drug. Its development was funded by….Revlon.

7. Komen’s dumbass slogan “I am the cure!” is offensive. There is no fucking cure. But they make people think there IS one, that BC isn’t a big deal. It is.

8. Speaking of offensive – when it comes to money, do the ends always justify the means? Is it okay for Komen to take money from anyone at all, because that money goes to fund – well, whatever they fund? In my opinion, no. It is NOT okay to give your stamp of approval to and collect money from fricking Jingle Jugs, for god’s sake. Which are bikini-clad boobs mounted on a wooden trophy rack. Hello, Komen brain trust, how could you not understand how offensive this is to those of us with fake boobs through no choice of our own?

9. Partnering with KFC, also a bad idea. I have nothing against KFC – if people want to eat fried chicken, have at it. BUT, given what a huge risk factor being overweight is for BC, and given the fact that commercial chicken is loaded with chemicals and hormones and so on – again, why give this your stamp of approval?

10. If “awareness” is such a huge thing for Komen, then why is it that so many doctors STILL tell young women who go to them with a lump “oh, that can’t be anything serious, young women don’t get breast cancer.” Try telling that to Karen George. Or tell it to her grave, because she’s dead. Her treatment was delayed until she was stage 4, because she was told “you can’t possibly have breast cancer.” Where’s the awareness among the medical community?

Some might think oh, I’m just bitter about the Bat Girl thing. Which isn’t the case. Again, I knew a couple of weeks ago I hadn’t won, and wasn’t ranting about it. And they picked a lot of worthy women, which is great. But the fact that EVERY SINGLE WOMAN has as a commonality the raising of money for Komen – yes, that pisses me off. Because that means that the only real criteria was what one has done for Komen – and to politicize something like this so blatantly is offensive.

I’m not saying, for example, that the woman who won for the Cubs was unworthy. But her story again was focused on her participation in the Komen 3-day Walk. Compare that to Tracey. I haven’t even met Tracey yet, but I love this woman, just based on what I know about her. I found the YSC message boards too late to ever meet Courtney, a young woman from Chicago who died of BC at the age of 23. But in a search of posts, reading about her, I kept seeing one name posting over and over again – that of Brown Eyed Girl, gathering support for Courtney, getting people to send cards and flowers and treats and gifts, even as Courtney was at Northwestern, dying, her bones breaking every time she moved because the cancer had spread to her bones. Tracey was there every step of the way, no matter how hard it was for her to watch her friend die.

Don’t tell me that’s not more important than a fucking 3-day walk.

So this is why we’re pissed off. This is personal for us. We watch our friends die horrible painful deaths, while Komen yammers on about a non-existent cure and doesn’t do a whole hell of a lot for young women with BC, with all their money. They keep talking about the importance of “awareness” – when what we need is a cure. And we don’t like it when everything – even baseball - boils down to how much money people can raise for Komen.

Now, don’t get me wrong. If people want to participate in the 3-day walks and so on, I’m certainly not going to condemn them. To each her own - we’re all adults, we make our own decisions on who and what to support. But for anyone looking for an alternative, who wants to know exactly what their money will be used for, consider the Pink Daisy Project. This organization was started by a woman named Debbie, after she saw how her friend Danica struggled with everyday things as she was battling not just cancer, but all the brutal side effects of the treatment, and the complications. All of the money that Debbie collects goes to help women personally, with their medical or household needs. She is truly making a tangible difference in these women’s lives.

One other thing – every picture you see here is of one of our sisters who died of breast cancer.

Were they the cure?

Hello Court Building, my old friend

Shockingly enough, I did NOT get stuck in the Denver Airport for the duration, and so even though I missed the stellar US-Canada hockey game, I also didn’t get stuck with a bunch of guys drooling over women’s curling. Yes, apparently curling is a big draw for the male contingent, something about the “girl next door” appeal of the curlers. So many people living in Russian mining camps – who knew?

Anyway, one of the reasons I needed to get back on Monday was so that I could file an appeal of my new HIGHER assessment for my property taxes. Because of course, in the Alterna-Universe that is Chicago, property values here have gone up, according to our government, even though they’ve tanked, oh, everywhere else in the country.

Of course, Monday was the last day I could file. Now, surely you’re thinking “Miss Tasha, is this another example of you being a total dumbass?” To which I would say, only in part. Because this was actually the third time I’d be filing an appeal – the first one was denied, the second one got me a slight decrease, and so this’ll be my third one, where I get to go to court to state my case. The hardest part of which will be maintaining civil language when I ask why the hell my yuppie neighbors, with their $1.3M dollar home, are assessed at a lower value than me and my falling-apart abode.

So, third appeal. And we all know how things work in Chicago, i.e. that the people who get reductions are those who hire lawyers to file their appeals – the same lawyers that contribute mightily to the Assessor’s campaign funds. Shocking, I know. Because of that, I debated as to whether or not I should bother. The idea of going downtown, trying to find parking, then paying $12 or whatever for the privilege of parking on the street for 2 hours wasn’t too appealing. Not to mention going to the Court Building and getting into another shouting match and tussle with the assclown security guy over my so-called “illegal” keychain. You know, the one with the can opener on it.

So I dithered. Mulled. Dithered some more. Then after figuring out that instead of going downtown I could just head over to the Skokie Courthouse, I leapt into action. Let’s see – hassle of downtown and ridiculous parking meters vs. easy drive to Skokie and a parking garage. Hmm.

I get to the Skokie Courthouse about 1:20, and am prepared for the mad crush of people all filing appeals on the last day. Elbows out, I look for a long line, irate security, an angry mob of people with pitchforks yelling “let us in! let us in!” Nothing. Odd. Am I at the right place? I go in anyway, past the perfectly pleasant security people, then wander down the basically empty hallway to room 155. Where again, I expect to see mass confusion, a lone “Office”-type person barking at people, no clear directions as to where one should go, etc. In other words, the usual scene downtown.

Again, confusion, because as soon as I get to Room 155, there’s a big sign that says “Board of Appeals” in front, and then as soon as I walk into the outer lobby part, which is under construction, there’s a series of signs taped to the wall that say “Board of Appeals” with an arrow. Sign after sign after sign. Then I step into the office, and I brace myself for the typical conversation:

Office Guy: Why are you here??!
Me: I..
OG: YES or NO?!

But that too is not what happens. Instead….

Office Guy: Can I help you? Are you looking for Board of Appeals or Property Transfers?
Me: Board of Appeals.
OG: Right that way, following the signs.

The signs continue, one after the other, with their cheerful little arrows like beacons lighting the way.

Now, here is where the Skokie Courthouse begins to recall the good ol’ days in Soviet Union. Because I get to the right counter…but the lone woman there is on her lunch break from 1-2. And it’s only about 1:30 now. And of course I can’t piss her off by grumbling about this, because who knows whose sister or relative she might be? Sigh.

So I wait, thinking aha, maybe that’s it, maybe the hordes of people coming in today know that they need to wait until 2PM. Tick. Tock. Finally, 2 PM! Umm, I’m still the only person. I go in, get my form and am filling it out, when – aha! – 2 women come in, also to fill out the forms. But they have no clue what they’re doing, as I hear them asking each other how to fill it out in something resembling Russian/Polish, and so I proceed to “help” them fill it out totally wrong, because I figure – every other homeowner’s reduction equals less of a chance that I’ll get one, you know? This city has just so much money to spread around.

Okay, I don’t really do that. I help them fill it out, and then Lunchbreak Woman and I wind up giving them tips on how to make their case for an appeal, because they really have no idea.

Woman 1: Een my country, houses are not so much money! This ees my case!
Woman 2: When I buy house 20 year ago, I pay $2,000 in taxes. And look now for how much! This ees what I tell them!

At least now they have a tiny bit more of a clue – and at least they have a lot of time. Because the appeal deadline for their township isn’t for….another month. Welcome to the Life of Tasha, dumbass party of one.

Ding dong, Stroger's gone!

Election day in IL. Finally. “Just” the primaries, so probably the usual 8% of registered voters will vote – which is pathetic, quite frankly. But for weeks now (months? seems like years), every ad on tv has been political, I’ve been getting about 15 pieces of campaign material every day, and the calls! My max in one day (not including today) was 7. Yes, 7. And yes, I’m on the do-not-call list – but imagine, politicians and their campaigns are exempt from that! I know, shocking. I don’t mind the actual calls as much as the robocalls, which annoy the hell out of me. I’ve chatted with Ed Mullen’s people so many times, once when I was on vacation in Florida, that we’ve truly bonded, such that I think I’m getting invites to several weddings and block parties this summer from my new Mullen “family”. Hey guys, don’t worry, I’m bringing the bundt cake! Then there was the visit by Dan Farley himself – he of the dominatrix wife – not to mention one of his henchmen.

So finally - finally! – we get to today. Where I somehow naively and foolishly think that the madness will end. I think wrong, of course. By 9AM today, I had already received 4 calls. I’m tempted to see if anyone will show up at my door so that I can ask for a ride to the polling place, as this is the Chicago way. But finally I decide I can handle walking the 4 or so blocks, even with that daunting inch of snow which has apparently sent voting levels sinking to heretofore unseen depths, so I start trudging over to my polling place.

11:30AM

As I get near my polling place, I see three people standing on the sidewalk holding some kind of flyers. You’ve got to be kidding, I think to myself. More crap being foisted on me??

Me, to the merry trio: Oh come on, you’re NOT going to try to foist more paper on me, are you?
Woman: We’re just handing out flyers with Alderman Schulter’s suggestions on who to vote for.
Man: Are you voting?
Me: Hey, you’re the guy who showed up at my door last week! On Bell – I’m the one who told you that of course I’ll vote, I always vote, even in the primary elections where there’s one guy running, unopposed.
Man: So you’re voting today?
Me, sighing: Yes.

I take the sheet of paper, even though I know full well that Schulter’s picks are all the Democratic Machine candidates, and I’ve done my own homework, but otherwise I can sense I’ll be out here much longer than I want to be.

11:35AM

I walk in after battling the crowds – okay, after moving past 3 people standing in front of the door chatting and creating a bottleneck – and give my name to the first guy. Then I see Holly from Starbucks, working at the polling place.

Me: Holly! How’s it going?

I go over and chat for a while, holding up the democratic process for the 2 people who come in after me. But hey, if voting is important to them, they can wait.

Finally I make it back over to the name-taking guy, where I jokingly ask if I’m one of tens of voters. Sadly, I am – about #60 today. Then we’re discussing the craziness of this election, with the phone calls and so on, when…..my phone rings.

Me, to name-taking guy: I’m answering this only because I’ll bet you it’s a political call. Hello? Hello?
Person on phone: Hello, I’m calling from Ed Mullen’s campaign.
Me: I’m actually at the polling station right now, getting ready to vote.
POP: Oh, okay then, thank you.

I vote. The only real toss-up is the governor’s race. Pat Quinn is a buffoon, but I was so annoyed by the irrelevance of Dan Hynes dusting off 30-year-old video of Mayor Harold Washington saying mean things about Quinn that I can’t in good conscience vote for him either. Though it’s easy to vote against Todd Stroger, with glee. My back hurts. I sit down and chat with Holly some more, and as we’re talking, the woman from outside comes into the polling place.

Woman: That woman who asked to use the bathroom, she didn’t have any credentials. You shouldn’t have let her in.
Hapless older polling place woman: I…but……she just wanted to use the bathroom.
Woman: She’s not allowed.
HOPPW: Maybe she was a voter?
Woman: She wasn’t a voter, she had Ann Williams stickers all up and down her coat.

(Ann Williams is running against Dan Farley, Schulter’s guy.)

Me, wondering what the big deal is: Did she leave campaign literature in the bathroom or something?
Woman: No, but no one without credentials is allowed in a polling place, except for voters. And certainly not people with Ann Williams stickers plastered on them.
HOPPW: I didn’t know, I….
Woman, sternly and paranoidly: It’s okay. Just ask for ID from everyone from now on.

I leave, and walk slowly over to SB for a well-deserved latte. On my way, across the street I see another polling place, and Teamster-looking guys standing in front of it. Interesting. I’m willing to bet they’re more of Schulter’s guys: the Democratic Machine in full force.

After getting my latte and talking to Diane for a while, I head home, this time walking on the side of the street with the Teamsters. First I pass two guys who look like hoodlums – turns out they’re from the Williams campaign. Then I get to the Teamsters – yep, Schulter’s people.

Teamster #1: You votin' today?
Me: Already voted, thanks!
Teamster #2: Because we got a form here with Alderman Schulter’s suggestions.

Since these guys look like they’d be happy to snap me like a twig if I look at them crossways, I take another flyer. This is getting a bit ridiculous. No, wait, the Ridiculous Train left the station a long time ago.

12:30PM

I make it home, and see from the footsteps in the snow that someone’s been by. Kind of early for mail – but they couldn’t still be leaving flyers…..could they?

12:31PM

They could. Yet another one for Dan Farley. I think I’ve now received the equivalent of at least one Amazonian rain forest in campaign mail.

12:32 – 3PM

4 more calls.

3:10PM

The doorbell rings. It can’t possibly be a campaign person….can it?

3:11PM

It can. A pleasant woman from Ann Williams’ campaign, asking me if I’ve voted yet. Sigh.

3:15 – 5PM

3 more campaign flyers shoved in my door. I start watching the clock, counting down to 7PM when the polls close.

7PM

Whee! Party time!

7:30PM

Watching LOST, and now it’s REALLY time to drink, as they start showing the preliminary results – though of course they keep reassuring us that “we will not, we repeat not cut into LOST viewing at any time this evening.”. Whew! The most relevant one, for Cook County Board President: Toni Preckwinkle, the uber-candidate, is running away with it by a more than 2-1 margin. Todd Stroger? Dead last. Finally, cause for celebration!!

And for all you people who didn’t vote today for one lame-ass reason or another, do the rest of us a favor and never bitch and moan about our elected representatives, about corruption or politics or high taxes or any of that stuff, okay? Because if you don’t care enough to vote, then you pretty much forfeit your right to do any bitching, in my book.

Every vote counts!

Finally, a poll we can all believe in - other than my very own brain tumor poll, that is. The question being asked here is the following: Who was the biggest assclown of 2009?

Now, in some ways this may seem like a simple answer, when your choices are finally narrowed down to Glenn Beck and Joe Lieberman. I went with Lieberman, because he's a worthless shill who has no problem betraying the people he's supposed to represent, all while lining his own pockets.

On the other hand, I watched a snippet of Beck the other night on Rachel Maddow's show, and from that, I can only come to the following conclusion: this guy is batshit crazy.

Here is the gist of what he was babbling about:

"This time Beck is taking shots at the titan of American capitalism, John Rockefeller, accusing him of having been a secret communist. Beck knows this to be true because he has discovered all sorts of "communist" and "fascist" art on NBC headquarters at Rockefeller Center, as well as on land behind the United Nations that was donated by Rockefeller.

........Rockefeller left clues to his true legacy with these communist art pieces which are hidden in plain sight, and since we have people in our own time who call themselves progressives they must actually be communists (possibly fascists?).

.......Also, Beck's icing on the communist cake is that the Rockefeller Foundation honored Beck's latest target, Obama adviser Van Jones. Got it?"

Well, no, I don't really get it - but then, I'm not batshit crazy. At least not for the most part.

Happy voting!

Al Franken, American hero

So I was having a few 'nogs tonight, relaxing, toodling around on the internets in between catching some of SNL's Christmas skit special and chuckling at the "lost scenes" to It's a Wonderful Life (George Bailey, about Mr. Potter: "hold him down while I kick him, Mare!"). And what should I find, which I liken to Christmas Miracle #2? Something we thought we'd never see in this lifetime?

Yes, it's someone actually having the balls (finally!) to tell Joe Lieberman to just shut up already. Or at least in the Senate, where members of Congress are allowed to pontificate for hours on end, one "honorable" senator after another, this was the equivalent of him being told "hey Joe, STFU, okay?"

The paragon of spinehood who shut this weasely little bastard down was none other than Al Franken. Al, you were great on SNL, and you're even better now. Thank you, from a grateful people (person) who think(s) sniper fire is too good for Joe "Aetna" Lieberman.




By the way, who's the clown who voted for the "brain tumor" option in the fricking poll?? I thought we had agreed that no one would dare jinx me like that! If I *do* have a brain tumor, it'll be on your head, you cretin. And if you win, you won't be getting the Fuck Cancer hat, oh no. No, it'll be the...the.....the plushie brain for you instead. Yeah, that's it. So there!

And for inquiring minds who want to know the status of FBE, no, it's not better. It's gotten worse, actually, and it's driving me a bit over the edge, quite frankly. Hence the nog. I still don't think it's anything other than a mysterious eye ailment, but if that's the case, why can't they figure that out? I mean, what are we, in Ukraine, where the answer to every health problem is some combination of vodka, honey, and raspberry jam? And I'm not even making that up. Though come to think of it, hmm, they might be on to something.....