CommuniKate

To quote VP Joe Biden, “This is a big f**in deal.” Lovable old Hairplugs Joe was of course referring to the successful passage of health insurance reform. I am referring to the shameful, dangerous behavior of the overly televised Teabaggers.

Stupid does as stupid is. In a recent poll, 25% said they believe Pres. Obama is the anti-christ. 40% think he’s a socialist. It’s not clear what percentage of that 40% know what a socialist is. 20% believe Pres. Obama is doing many of the things Hitler did. 38% percent think he wants to take away Americans’ right to own guns. A big percentage thinks he wants to take away their fishing licenses. And the majority of them get their feelings hurt if you call them stupid.

My galpal says do not call them stupid.

“But what if they are?” I ask.

She says it’s not stupidity, it’s class.

I think it’s racism tarted up as class.

Just look at the pictures. Watch CSPAN. The Party of Hell No is the White Party. The Other White Meat. When the Republiban had their Evita moment and held up “Kill the Bill” signs from an outdoor balcony, they goaded their goons on the ground into race-baiting behavior. House members had to walk a racist, homophobic gauntlet to vote on healthcare. After the vote, Representatives received death threats, rocks through their windows, faxed nooses. Sarah Palin, that i.e.d of demagoguery, put a map on her website with bull’s eyes over Representatives who voted for health care reform.

The only response to hate speech is more speech. Once again, silence equals death. Ask, tell, scream, yell. This is a big f**in deal.

The Oscars made me sick. Not because my George Clooney did not win and attended with that faux galpal arm-candy instead of me. Not because Kathryn Bigelow the first woman to win best director was so ditzily girly in such an historic moment. But because the tribute to horror films was an unrelenting filmic homage to violence against women. The wink wink nudge nudge “it’s just a genre” disclaimer did not work for me, especially after news footage of the actual horrifics of femicide in Nigeria.

A week later and I’m still sick to my stomach. It could be the Boniva my doctor prescribed to aid in the absorption of calcium. I took it just before I read the studies someone finally got around to doing. The drug shilled everywhere by Sally Field, the Flying Nun for god’s sake, causes shattered femurs in women users. Images of Sally Field collapsing in a heap of bones on the set of Brothers and Sisters, taken out to the backlot and euthanized. “You like me, you really really . . . blam.” I’m not taking it anymore.

Nor am I taking the blame for healthcare reform fights over the vexing – for whom? - issue of abortion funding. If I have to spend one more dinner listening to progressive men talk about how difficult it is for them to decide yay or nay weh weh on health care, I’m going to forkstab their thighs. As a Vagina-American (it’s a pre-existing condition) I’m sick of Viagra-Americans not supporting women’s choice.

The Oscars showed graphic violence against women to an audience of 41.3 million. Big Pharma knocks the legs out from under women. Legislators make abortion funding an annoying deal-breaker. It’s the stuppak pits. And ßmy Milk of Amnesia doesn’t work anymore.

What was I thinking? The weather forecast for the Northwest was “partly cloudy, showers”, generally a safe bet, so I wore a big black raincoat and layers for my trip to Seattle and Portland. Had I forgotten the daffodils during the Vancouver Olympics? Forsythia, flowering quince, blooming tulip trees and blindingly blue skies greeted my squinting, and grateful eyes for my Northwest sojourn.

After a great lunch at Seattle’s Wild Ginger with producer/activist Paul Bauer who had picked me up at SeaTac in his black El Camino, I had a quick nap. I woke up with a quick Starbucks double latte - I did not notice any open-carry weaponeers in the order line - and headed to the Triple Door Theater for two shows produced by Square Peg Entertainment. The second show at 1030p, my 130a, was a wild ride, but thanks to Sarah Palin, it’s now okay to write my whole show cheat sheet on my hand, so I was fine.

The next day, I was off to Portland, the City of Roses, and was met by my artist rep, Tam Martin and her partner Carol Daebrl, who gave me a tour of their new digs and then took me to a great lunch at Wildwood restaurant. It was great to see Tam in person again after months of emailing and phoning. As Carol stared into space, Tam and I caught up on the dish of our biz.

That night Tam and I attended the annual Oregon ACLU Liberty dinner. The very chatty, optimistic affair honored the work of Candace Morgan, librarian, champion of intellectual freedom and steely populizer of Banned Books Week. OR ACLU also honored the work of Dr. Peter Goodwin, physician and one of the movers and shakers behind the Death with Dignity Act passed in 1999 in Oregon. Executive Director, David Fidanque gave a great speech on the serious assaults on civil liberties even during the Obama administration. The speech was a perfect set-up for some comedy and that’s where I came in. The courage and tenacity of the attendees was invigorating.

I made it back to NYC in time for some Oscar couch potatoing. I was wearing GAP. In honor of Women’s History Month, the Oscars presented a tribute to Horror Shows, which should have been called “Men Attacking Women.” Ugh. I consoled myself with Penelope Cruz.