You know, as we drove home this pm I kept saying things like "Oh my God! They think I'm a racist! Who tortures children! Oh my God!" etc etc ad nauseum. Our conversation rambled around the whole teaching thing and the whole appropriate-to-teach thing and my flatmate said that the new lad at school had better be damned careful, because he's screamingly of the out-and-proud variety - at least when we're out in the pub - and because the year before she and I came out here there was a bloke who got sacked (or maybe just his contract not renewed) because word spread amont the parents that he was not of the straight.

We'd earlier been talking about the whole Jewish thing, and my friend (who was giving us both a lift) said "Honestly, it never even occurs to them that some of the teachers could be Jewish." And, yes, a colleague who's now left was indeed a (non-practicing, married-to-an-Egyptian-Muslim, bringing-up-her-son-Muslim) American Jew. Which the parents evidently didn't quite catch on to.

"Or worse still, a gay Jew," said my friend.

And it struck me, a trifle belatedly, that in addition to my not-entirely-all-that-easy-to-explain GVSP and NC17 HP slash-writing hobby, I'm a bi girl whose grandfather was called Levi. There was a definite note of hysteria to my laughter.

Jesus, Fay...you should forgive the expression. You know you did the right thing, right?

I'm a racist because I don't hate Jews.

t boggles

In mememe news, just when I thought that wedding coming up on Saturday was going to go nice and smooth after all? Well, our church is a very artsy place, especially WRT visual arts. Once or twice a year, some of the artsy types will do a series of panels (usually in chalks on a black panel) on some set theme--Advent, Stations of the Cross, etc. The panels are hung between the windows in the sanctuary, and we treat it a bit like an art gallery.

This year it's a Holy Spirit theme for Pentecost. Which started today. Since I'm not really in the artsy loop, I didn't know until I walked into the church and saw the panels. So while everyone else in the choir was talking about what wonderfully talented artists we had, I was gnashing my teeth thinking of the extra work I'd have to do to clear them out and put them back up for the wedding.

Only I've now discovered I can't. They're not on the simple pully system that supports the banners and cross at the front of the church. It takes pretty much a full working day to install or remove them, and they usually have one of the artists do it--they wouldn't trust someone like me who's not familiar with the system and doesn't have experience handling the pieces to do it. t cries

It's not like it's tacky or anything--it's the work of working artists or serious hobbyists, so it's all well-executed, and if you know the theme, it's intriguing to see how the different artists interpreted it. But they do look a bit incongruously modern in the elegant and rather unadorned 1920-something sanctuary. And this is a bride who was anxious to know whether the white cloth draped over the cross at the front of the church during Eastertide would still be there. (ETA because she wanted it gone.)

I'm not looking forward to the email I'm about to write. The pastor has offered to back me up with further explanation and calming of the waters if need be, but still....

Oh wow, happy anniversary, Hec and JZ! I remember when I was so confused about you two last year, cause I was new. It looks like the first year has treated you both well. Here's to many more.

Fay's a racist? Then I'm a hippo.

I had no idea we had a stinky-footed racist on the board. I'm glad Fay's boss has some redeeming features.

Happy anniversary, Hec and JZ!

Happy Anniversary! That's a nice thought to contemplate.

I have been at work since 7am. less nice to contemplate.

t insert my now standard bullshit whining here

As one stinky-footed racist to another, good for your boss, Fay! Evil though he may be in other areas.

Happy Anniversary, Dear Zmayhem!

Emily, put Kill the Rabbit on the stereo, crank it and open all your windows. Or Toccata and Fugue, Nessun Dorma, some such. Handel.

'zilla-ma to Susan.

Edited because Toccata is not an Italian pasta dish.

Back from Blunch with Perkins and Sparky. Emmett kept himself busy by making his Harpo gurn in the mirror during breakfast. He managed to dump his pancakes in his lap, but he was mostly done with them by then anyway. Perkins treated us. Nice!

Now Emmett's drawing pictures from Capt. Underpants, and I'm doing laundry and wrestling with our lineup for today's game.

Then Emmett's going to his Mom's house tonight (even though he's on my schedule this weekend), so JZ and I can go do hot tubs together in Berkeley and celebrate the one year thang.

Dear Abby,

My feet smell alright, but I do rather like Jews.

Am I a racist?

I officially feel like hell. I'm exhausted and achy. Perhaps I wrestled a bear in my sleep. Bah.