Romney Had No Idea He's a Racist

Romney is a Mormon here is a bit of history of blacks in the LDS church.

Massachusetts governor apologizes for calling Big Dig 'tar baby'
July 31, 2006

BOSTON --Gov. Mitt Romney has apologized for referring to the Big Dig mess as a "tar baby" during a fundraiser with Iowa Republicans, saying he didn't know anyone would be offended by the term some consider a racial epithet.

Romney, who is considering a presidential run in 2008, acknowledged in a speech Saturday that he took a big political risk taking control of the state's troubled highway project after a fatal tunnel ceiling collapse, but said inaction would have been even worse.

"The best thing politically would be to stay as far away from that tar baby as I can," he told a crowd of about 100 supporters in Ames, Iowa.

"I'll get the blame for anything that goes wrong," he said. "But I'm sure tired of people who are nothing but talk. I'm willing to take action."

Black leaders reacted with outrage at his use of the term, which dates to the 19th century Uncle Remus stories, referring to a doll made of tar that traps Br'er Rabbit. It has come to be known as a way of describing a sticky mess, and has been used as a derogatory term for a black person.
"Tar baby is a totally inappropriate phrase in the 21st century," said Larry Jones, a black Republican and civil rights activist.

"He thinks he's presidential timber," Jones said. "But all he's shown us is arrogance."

"He obviously has lived a sheltered life," said Leonard Atkins, president of the Boston NAACP.

"He's completely disconnected with reality in terms of racial sensitivity. He just does not get it."
Romney's spokesman, Eric Fehrnstrom, said the governor was describing "a sticky situation."

"He was unaware that some people find the term objectionable and he's sorry if anyone's offended," Fehrnstrom said.

White House spokesman Tony Snow sparked similar criticism in May when he used the term in response to a question about government surveillance.

© Copyright 2006 Associated Press. All rights reserved.

Lost

For the next couple of weeks I am going to be housesitting for my parents. They have only lived in this house for a few months. I had the choice of sleeping in the guest room or their room. I choose their room because the guest room only has a full size bed which is far too small for my nearly 6’5” body. They have a king, so it fits just right.

I had packed a bag with everything I would need for the next two weeks clothes, shoes, toiletries, lube. Later when I was at work I realized I left the lube out on the nightstand when I was unpacking. I felt a little strange, but no one would be there to see and there was nothing I could do about it at that moment.

When I got I put the lube back into my bag just to ease my mind. Elbert called me to say he would meet me at the T station in 20 minuets. I grabbed my wallet, but I couldn’t find me car keys. I loose my keys at least once a week, but I am used to living in a three-room apartment, the places they could be are limited. In their house there was much more ground to cover and recover. I retraced my steps through the garage into the family room, up the stairs to the kitchen where I emptied my pockets, into the bathroom, then the bedroom. No keys. Back to the family room under the sofa, then the kitchen, checked the office even though I wasn’t in there, back to the bedroom. I was stumped. Maybe they fell under the bed and couldn’t see them, because the hideous dust ruffle my mother has. I stuck my head under the bed. The keys weren’t there, however the bottle of lubed had some how fallen under bed. I reached for the bottle. KY warming liquid? This isn’t mine!

Most Beautiful Moment

After I saw this the first time I was shattered for the rest of the day, I haven't been able to get it out of my mind since.

A Big No for Miss Cho

On Friday my friend Maureen and I went to see Margaret Cho at Dartmouth College. I was a looking forward to the show. I have been a fan of Margaret’s for years, but have never seen her in person.

Dartmouth College is the small town of Hanover in northern New Hampshire on the Vermont border. This town is a Norman Rockwell wet dream, very picturesque, filled with false liberalism, and no minorities unless they are students of course, but if you think they’ll sell property to them, think again.

To get to the theater we had to walk through the foyer of the main campus building, Maureen pointed out all on the rainbow flags on the student mailboxes. Great the place will be overrun with earthy lesbians, I thought. When we took our seats I realized I wasn’t far from wrong. “If I have to sit next to some patchouli stinking hippie, I am going to be very unhappy,” I told Maureen as I tried to fold my legs in a way that would make them fit in the extremely small space that was provide for them.

Margaret started the show with some new material about 2 minutes worth. After that it was nothing but jokes and stories I’d heard before, some classic others not so classic. It was like listening to a bad Greatest Hits package from a great band. The show had no direction or continuity. It barley lasted an hour we drove longer then that to get there.

Although I laughed and thought most of it was funny she wasn’t able to make a real connection with the audience. Never once did I think the whole room was with her. Maybe jokes about urban gay men aren’t as funny to a mostly affluent white community in the middle of nowhere as they are to boys in Ptown.

If there was such thing as an honorary homo Margaret would be one, however I can’t help resent it when she refers to the gay community as “our community”. She said, (paraphrasing) “ If you laugh your ass off at Will and Grace, but you’re against gay marriage then fuck you. You don’t get to pick and choose what part of our community you like and don’t like.” Which of course I agree with, but at the end of the day she is a straight woman who can get married. She is still just a guest in “our” community. I would never assume I know what it’s like to be in ethnic minority by saying “my people”, please don’t do the same to me.

Not So Funny.

Sometimes I wonder why my sense of humor is so strange, then after one conversation with my mother I wonder no more. My parents have a place in Maine, where they spend most weekends in the summer. It is very close to a place we used to camp when my sister and I were young.

When we were on vacation almost with out fail someone in my family would end up getting rushed to the emergency room. We were at the hospital often enough that some of nurses knew us by name. “Oh the Dow family is here. What is it this time, third degree sunburn, spider bite, broken arm, bee sting, swimmers ear? No? You split your head open with an ax, Ok the Dr. will be right with you.” My father was the one who split his head open. I wasn’t there and was told my mother didn’t throw the ax at him, that he got it caught in a clothesline while he was splitting wood, but I am not sure I believe that.

A couple of years ago my father whacked his hand metal door handle. He hit it just hard enough to break the skin and cause bleeding. Not an injury bad enough to land you in the hospital, that is until he woke in the middle of the night to find his forearm had swollen to twice it’s normal size with large red lines running down the length of his arm. Off to the hospital he and my mother went. I am sure they argued the entire way about which was the best route to take and if he was actually over reacting to the pain and should have waited till morning.

As it turned out he had contracted an infection in the cut, overnight it had formed a cyst. The emergency room doctor put him on antibiotics and sent him home to see his primary physician. He was then referred to a surgeon to remove the cyst. God love the HMO’s. My father joked with surgeon about loosing his finger. Un-amused the doctor told my told him he would worry about his finger when he was sure he could save his whole hand. There are few things that spoil a joking mood like the loss of a hand. Luckily after a week in the hospital and surgery the surgeon was able to save his hand with his finger intact.

This past Saturday was my mothers turn for a health scare. That morning she slept a couple of hours later then is usual, like most people post 50 she is up a the crack of dawn. When she woke up her left arm was numb and she was feeling light headed. She thought she was having a heart attack. My father immediately went in to panic mode. He was able to get it together long enough to get an ambulance to take them to the hospital. This time he didn’t argue with her. Less then a week before they’d attended a funeral for a classmate who had dropped dead of a heart attack. He was a year younger then my mother.

In the emergency room she was hooked up to a heart monitor, she had tubes coming out of everywhere as she put it. My aunt and uncle who camp next to my parents came to the hospital to see if there was anything they could do. “I am the only person I know who gets visitors in the emergency room,” she told me chuckling.

The doctors tested her for everything they could and found nothing wrong, not even the stress test showed anything. The doctor told her it was probably nothing, just to be on the safe side he would monitor her overnight.

She was admitted they were able to give her a private room, no thanks to her HMO. Unable to take my father’s moping any longer she sent him back to camp with my aunt.

Her nurse came to take her dinner order and off handedly told her a priest was at in the building and asked if she’d like to see him.

“Priest?! I guess.”

The priest came and administered last rites.

The nurse came back. “Would you like to fill out a Do Not Resuscitate order?”

“What for? Am I dining and on one has told me?” again chuckling.

“Not that I know, but we have to ask everyone,” not chuckling.

“Can you believe it she asked me for a DNR right after I got last rites?” My mother thought this was hysterical.

She laughed when she told my grandmother. She laughed when she told my aunt. She laughed when she told me. When she told my father she laughed hardest. All he said was, “Maureen it will be a long time before I can laugh about this.” He walked away in a huff. She laughed again.

Carolla vs. Coulter

In case you missed this with all of the World Cup Fever this weekend someone finally severed Ann Coulter a big glass of shut the fuck up.

She had been over an hour late calling into Adam Carolla’s radio show, when she started to complain about how she was pressed for time he added a couple free of minutes to her day by hanging up on her. Here a link to a transcript and an MP3 of the conversation.

Hey, Ann the when someone invites you to be on their show to help you sell one of your bullshit books, maybe next time you’ll be a bit a little less of a bitch. Oh and Ann a turtle next will help cover that Adams apple with no problem.

Note: Here is the link I forgot. So sorry.

Viva Italia!

This has been one of the best weeks to be living in Boston. When I lived away I would often lament the types of events I have been able to attend this week.

On the 4th is hands down my favorite day of the year to be in the city. This town takes it’s history and it’s roll in it very seriously. All the stops come out when it comes to celebrating our countries independence. When I lived on the west coast every 4th I was home in time to see the broadcast of the Boston fireworks on A&E.

Today’s treat was something unexpected. I had lunch with a friend in Boston’s South End. Being a typical American I didn’t realize today was the Word Cup final between Italy and France. We had lunch in a small pub where we were lucky to get a table. Nether of us could figure out why they were as busy as they were, but about 10 minutes of us sitting down the game started. The people who came in after us were turned away.

The only things I know about soccer are thick legs are very hot and the rest of the world goes insane for it. Justin however had played all through high school. He explained the things that were happening while we watched and ate. After a couple of beers we the place was getting crowded we decided to take a walk.

We walked around for about an hour before we got a block away from City Hall Plaza. We could hear a large crowd and saw people start to run past us. When we got close enough see the plaza, we could see the jumbo screen showing the game with thousands of people watching like a giant open air pub. There were both French and Italian flags waving above the crowd. The crowd was cheering and yelling like we were in Berlin watching in person. We stayed and watched the last half hour to see Italy win it. During the game I yelled, I cheered, I clapped, but mostly because I was happy to see Boston at it’s best.

Independence and Sex

The love the 4th of July. Celebrating our countries independence in one of it's oldest cities is something not everyone get's to do, but they should do it once. Bostonian's take this holiday very seriously.

Every year my friend Sue and her family have a tailgate party at an office building in Cambridge. The party is always a mixture of her family, extended family, new and old friends, and friends of friends. When I lived away I missed this party like I now miss Halloween in LA.

I don't get to see these people very often which makes this party even more special. They always serve more food and beer then everyone can eat or drink. About and hour before the fireworks we walk up to the Longfellow Bridge to watch the fireworks display. After the fireworks back to the lot for another sandwich while the traffic dies down.

Sue and her husband have been together for 10 years. I gave her my congratulations and told her how jealous was she had a great relationship, while I was still single. She explained it wasn't as great as it looks 'cause every time you want to have sex you just look at him and think, "That again?". So much for love.

When we left Sue was our designated driver. While driving with my friends after a couple of drinks, I feel the need to point out the places in the city where I have had sex.

"Hey, I've had sex in that hotel."

"Oh, I've heard it's nice there, how was it?"

"It was better then nice. It was great, too bad he lives in Dallas."

"I meant the hotel, Scott."

“Oh, I don’t remember.”