Indigo’s Indignity

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Rainbow flags are being proudly waved all over our nation this weekend, in honor of LGBT Pride Month, but especially in celebration of Friday’s historical U.S. Supreme Court decision legalizing same-sex marriage in the United States. One injustice has been righted in our country. One remains, however, and it concerns the rainbow flag, the very symbol of LGBT pride.

Why is it composed of six colors instead of seven? Where’s indigo? Every elementary-school child has learned to use the mnemonic device, Roy G Biv, to recall the colors of the rainbow. Those colors are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. Poor indigo has been discriminated against in this flag, and in many other rainbow representations.

To discover why the flag is missing one of its colors, I did a little research and found an article (see link below) that explained that the designer of the flag, San Francisco artist, Gilbert Baker, originally had it composed of all seven colors, as well as pink. He had to drop pink because it was hard to manufacture that color for some reason or other. Then he deleted indigo because he wanted an even number. Why? Is even better than odd? Is the U.S. flag queer for having 13 stripes? The logic of his decision escapes me.

The rainbow flag symbolizes inclusiveness and to deny indigo its place is hypocrisy, plain and simple. I demand the reinstatement of indigo! We must right this wrong. Let indigo out of the closet. Otherwise, proud flag wavers will be considered “one color short of a rainbow,” and, really, who wants that?

http://www.slate.com/articles/life/explainer/2012/06/rainbows_and_gay_pride_how_the_rainbow_became_a_symbol_of_the_glbt_movement_.html

We are Witnesses to History. Be Happy. Be Gay!

Isn’t it surprisingly wonderful when you discover that you’re thrilled about an occurrence that you didn’t know especially mattered to you? That’s how I feel today: surprisingly delighted.

There’s going to be a run on rainbow flags today. I’d love to get one, but where does one get one? I doubt Home Depot or Lowe’s carries them. If they have any sense, they’ll place large orders today.

“No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization’s oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right. The judgment of the Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit is reversed. It is so ordered.”

— Last paragraph of Justice Kennedy’s opinion on the legalization of same-sex marriage in the United States, June 26, 2015

When my husband heard of the decision, he said, “Good, now gay men can share in the horrors of marriage.” “Gay women, too,” I amended.

Dog Days

Our Golden Retriever, Rudy, got his summer shave today, and he is pissed. Because I am an American and speak American English, when I say “pissed,” I mean “angry.” I almost said “mad,” but he’s not a mad dog, as in crazy/rabid; he’s merely a livid dog.

If I were in the U.K. and spoke English English, then when I said that he was “pissed,” I would have meant that he was drunk. But I’m not, and he isn’t. If he were, it would be perplexing because the only dog bar in town, called “BarDog” to confuse PETA, is closed. While it took them awhile, PETA finally caught on (when one of their dogs tried to duck in for a cold one during his walk) and took action.

At BarDog’s subsequent auction, I was fortunate enough to win the “Dogs Playing Poker” photograph that had been blown up and hung waist-high, above the bar, which was very low, for obvious reasons. Dogs don’t sit on stools. This “Dogs Playing Poker” was original in that it was a photo of actual patrons playing poker, but again, they don’t sit on stools or on chairs, so it showed them the way they really play: by sprawling on the floor with cards in their mouths.

But, back to Rudy. This is his seventh year of being shaved, but he never gets used to it. He always comes home in a foul mood. Eventually he forgets that he had a haircut and everything goes back to normal. But in the meantime, he’s very unpleasant to be around. I would slip him a nip to cheer him up, since his watering hole is shuttered, but I’m afraid he’d tell his dog friends and one of them would have an owner who would object and then we’d be back to square one, except my square would be a cell.

So, until then, I guess he’ll live under the dining room table. His plan is to not come out until his hair grows back, but we all know how well that plan works. 

Lost Youth … In a Bag

The other day, when I was looking for something in one of our junk drawers (whose numbers keep growing; it’s like they breed other junk drawers), I found a Ziploc bag of undeveloped film. I don’t know if “film” is even in the dictionary anymore, so you know that this bag has been around for awhile. Anyway, I told my 22-year-old son that I had found his missing youth. He suggested that I lose it again.

“I don’t want to see embarrassing pictures of myself!” he said.

“Why would they be embarrassing?” I asked.

“Because, they’re of when I was under 12,” he answered reasonably (to him, anyway). He knew that these photos were at least 10 years old because that is when we moved to the house we are in now, and he says he remembers unpacking the bag of film. He probably also remembers hiding it.

“Well, I’m developing these pictures.” I told him. “There’s a huge gap of years in your photo history.”

“My photo history? You mean those moldy pictures you keep in shoe boxes in the basement?”

“Yes, ” I said.

“And you’re going to put these new pictures in shoe boxes, too, and add them to the pile of boxes in the basement?”

“Of course. That’s where I keep your photo history.”

“Well, I guess nobody will ever see these pictures, so go ahead and get them developed,” he said, walking away.

“I will!” I yelled after him.

Now, if I can just find a place that still develops film.