IT'S THE REAL THING

(The Pop Vs. Soda Map from Strange Maps.)

When I was growing up, the generic name for a carbonated beverage was a coke, whatever brand it was. If you wanted the original, most folks called it Co-Cola. I personally preferred RC Cola, when I could get one, which was not reliably until I was 12 and could scrounge money to buy it myself -- they were still a dime then, plus bottle deposit if you left the premises with it. Canned soft drinks you opened with a church key. Pull-tabs didn't come out until after we returned from Brazil, when I was 13, and they were the pull-it-off variety that tended to fail if you weren't careful, making you search the kitchen drawer irritably for the church key again.

We moved often when I was a kid, and in addition to packing up everything in the trailer, getting us kids settled into territory in the back seat (my older brother tortured us relentlessly if we were in reach, which of course we were while trapped in the car), and boxing up cats/trying to keep dogs from urping, my poor mother also had to pack enough grub to keep us fed along the way. We sometimes had a cooler, sometimes did not, and easy-fix options were extremely limited. I mostly remember egg salad sandwiches with pickles the first day, peanut butter on crackers after that, with water to wash it down.


We absolutely did not eat out: Far too expensive. The first drive-in we ever tried was when I was seven and it was because we were visiting my aunt and uncle, who paid. It was a McDonald's, back when they were just starting out, the menus weren't yet standardized, and there really were golden arches out front. I remember liking that the burgers were small, kid size, and the paper straws had red and white stripes like a barber pole. But most of the towns we lived in had only one drive-through place, and that was not a McDonald's.

If we were crossing the desert, parched and whiny, and my parents felt flush, when we stopped for gas my dad would allow us to get cold drinks from the coke machine. These were the old fashioned kind of machines, which came in two main varieties: An upright with a glass door that you opened to view the ends of the bottles, and a horizontal chest variety where you lifted a massive lid and looked down on rows of bottles, again identified by their caps. In both cases, you put in your dime and pulled hard on the bottle (in the chest, you had to position the right bottle by sliding it along tracks to the exit bay). If your hand slipped, the bottle stayed in and you lost your money, so we were never allowed to pull out our own bottle.

We also were not allowed to choose our beverage, at least, not me and my little brother Bill. Our teenaged older brother probably did get to make his choice, and he got a bottle all to himself. Mama liked Pepsi, Daddy got Coke in those little bottles, and Bill and I were forced to share a Delaware Punch because Mama thought (unlike most people of her day) caffeine was bad for children and Delaware Punch had a strong grape juice component. It was sour, we thought, but we didn't complain after Daddy said "Would you rather not have anything at all?" "No sir" with downcast eyes and a meek face.

The best thing about those machines was how extraordinarily cold they kept the drinks. This may have been helped by the syrup mixture of the times, which was vastly superior to the taste of them now. Even in the blast furnace summer of West Texas, there would often be a plug of sweet, crunchy ice in the neck of the bottle, absolute heaven.

Sharing with Bill, however, was problematic. For a long time, the issue was simply how to divide the contents. Mama's usual method was to let one of us decide on the dividing line and the other get first choice, but that didn't work on the squat, bottles of Delaware Punch. She settled on making us take turns at sipping. I was at a disadvantage with this because my habit was to eat and drink very slowly. I was generally anorexic, trying not to eat at all. With Delaware Punch, of course, I was quite willing to partake but I preferred to drag it out. However, if I didn't take a big gulp, Bill would and he'd wind up with much more than his share. One or the other of us often choked on our too-greedy swigs of the slightly tart, barely carbonated brew.

Then, one trip, Bill figured out if he dropped a wad of spit into the neck of the bottle where I could see it, I wouldn't want to drink any more from that bottle. He got the entire Punch to himself. It only worked once because I raised holy hell, shrieking I was going to take the bottle and lay it across his skull repeatedly. Mama had to intervene and after that, I got first dibs on the drink, Mama drawing a line in the condensed moisture outside to indicate where I was to stop drinking. I have to admit, I pushed it as far as I could.

When I was 17 and became lovers with the woman who was the mother of my daughter, she completely cracked me up by referring to cokes as pop. I thought that was an old-timey Western term, kinda like sarsparilla. She had been raised in Michigan, and took exception to my laughter, informing that coke was a brand name but of course hicks didn't know the difference. Later, when I moved to California in my 20s, I had to adjust to everybody calling them sodas -- coke meant one brand only to folks in Cal-i-for-ni-yay.

Thus, when I found the map above, I was gratified to find how the terminology really does have regional genes. I'd love to know the actual origins of why different regions went with different names -- like when I read that the reason New Yorkers say "on line" instead of "in line" is because non-English-speaking immigrants used a different kind of grammar, I think Germanic, which altered the meaning in their original language and it got transferred over to English. Clearly, "in line" is accurate -- you're not ON a line, i.e., standing atop it, you are IN it. And coke is coke, dammit. Unless you want a Co-Cola.


© 2008 Maggie Jochild.

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BROAD CAST 20 JANUARY 2008: SUZANNE, LESBIAN/GAY RIGHTS, FISH SUSTAINABILITY, LOCAVORES, METAL SPIDERS, STRANGE MAPS, AND ASK A MONK

(Suzanne Pleshette and Tippi Hedren in "The Birds")

I am saddened to hear of the death of Suzanne Pleshette, who would have turned 71 at the end of this month. We've had a chance to see her recently on TV reminiscence shows about Bob Newhart, and probably that role is the one for which she will remain best known. But those of us who carried a crush on her since childhood remember her particularly as closeted lesbian schoolteacher Annie Hayworth in The Birds, whose "death by crows" was likely intended by Hitchcock as a symbolic punishment for imaginary deviance.

Ten years ago, I wrote a slash piece of fiction for a proposed book of dyke sex scenes between Golden Age Of TV Female Stars. The book was never published, but I had a lot of fun imagining Mary Tyler Moore moving from Minneapolis to Chicago and coming out with Emily Hartley. Suzanne Pleshette wore a plum-colored velvet pantsuit. And was the top, of course.

A funny, smart, powerful, talented, and drop-dead gorgeous woman, our Suzanne. We'll miss you.

(Thanks to Shadocat for letting me know about this loss.)


In local (Austin, Texas) news, Uri Horesh, a University of Texas lecturer of Arabic in the Department of Middle Eastern Studies, has begun a hunger strike after the university refused to budge on its policy not to extend spousal benefits to the same-sex domestic partners of employees. Horesh said "The fact that the university is conducting itself in this manner makes me feel like I'm a persona non grata here, a person whose rights are less important than others."

According to the Austin American-Statesman, "The university has pursued neither his original complaint nor an appeal, citing state law, which prohibits state institutions from recognizing same-sex unions. The university's nondiscrimination policy prohibits unlawful discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, but Horesh's complaint could not be pursued because 'to provide him with the remedy he sought would mean that the university would be violating state law,' said Linda Millstone, UT's associate vice president for institutional equity and workforce diversity. 'I and other administrators are not unsympathetic to his concerns. The issue of providing benefits in today's society is critically important in the recruitment and retention of employees, faculty, (and) staff.'"

The paper reports "Horesh, who as of Tuesday afternoon had consumed only water and vitamins for about 40 hours, said he intends to fulfill 'all my duties (at UT) to the extent that my health will allow. I'm not going to start eating until this matter is resolved or I'm taken to the hospital. Whatever happens first.'"
("Office at Night" by Edward Hopper)

In a similar story, Deb Price (out lesbian columnist for the Detroit Free Press) points out "A tsunami of empty desks is about ready to pound Uncle Sam. Largely due to baby boomer retirements, the federal government is going to lose a third of its full-time work force during the next five years, according to the nonpartisan Partnership for Public Service. That's a staggering 530,000 workers." She goes on to say "And that's a reality at the heart of bipartisan congressional legislation to offer partners of gay federal workers the same benefits, including health insurance, provided to spouses of married heterosexuals."

Twenty senators -- one-fifth of the Senate -- are co-sponsoring the legislation. They include both front-runners in the Democratic presidential race, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Meanwhile, Rep. Tammy Baldwin, the lesbian Democrat from Wisconsin, introduced the bill on the House side.

If you're interested, contact your Congressfolks and tell 'em to get behind this bill.


(Members of "Heterosexuals for Mandatory Marriage" listen as the Vermont Marriage Advisory Council held a public forum on the topic of marriage at the University of Vermont's Davis Center in Burlington on Saturday, January 19, 2008; Liza Cowan is in the mink hat and chartreuse scarf -- photo and copyright by Glenn Russell, Burlington Free Press)

Delicious news from Liza Cowan in Burlington, Vermont: "Yesterday some nutjob Heritage Foundation morons held a public forum on Heterosexual Marriage. A bunch of us went as Heterosexuals for Mandatory Marriage (hmm), and did our best to disrupt the proceedings in a theatrical manner."

The Burlington Free Press's article doesn't share any of the details about Liza's group (whose antics may have gone over their heads), but we can simply imagine...


From the Associated Press via 365Gay.com, "In an effort to help Sen. Larry Craig, the American Civil Liberties Union is arguing that people who have sex in public bathrooms have an expectation of privacy."

As a dissenting voice in the lesbian/gay community, I have to object: Privacy for what? Bathroom functions, certainly. Privacy as to my identity, genital appearance, gender identity, absolutely. But privacy for sexual activity? I don't agree that I've extended my consent to others to have sex in public bathrooms. And, vehemently, I don't want any child under my care to be exposed to adult sexual activity in public environments. I want the ability to control what versions of adult sexuality my child is witnessing until they are developmentally old enough to process the information.

This is a no-win stance for queers to take, supporting the right to public sex between any genders or orientation. The most successful wedge used to stop passage of the Equal Rights Amendment was the lie (from Phyllis Schafley, predominantly) that the ERA would mandate unisex bathrooms. A great majority of women do not want to have to share bathrooms with men. (Yes, even in their own homes, if they have the option.) Male sexuality and biology as it is expressed in America tends to be intrusive and uninterested in the expression of an equal, independent female sexuality. We need more room from it as it currently exists, not less.

If, as a movement, we are to get behind the option of safe bathroom space for transgender folk (which we absolutely should), we're going to have to be open to respecting those who want sexuality removed from the vulnerable setting of emptying our bowels and bladder. It doesn't have to be bundled together.

(Europa Polyglotta, published in 1730 by Gottfried Hensel, located at Strange Maps)

Sara Robinson over at Group News Blog has a great post, Just to put it in perspective... which shows map wherein U.S. states are renamed for countries with similar GDP's. It's a great read, but even better, it turned me on to Strange Maps. As a cartophile, I've begun trawling their unique and beautiful creations. The one above combines my passion for maps with my passion for language! Hist, Maoist Orange Cakers!

The Daily Green (Consumer's Guide to the Green Revolution) is offering us "4 Best Web Tools to Help You Eat Local: A Quick and Dirty Guide to Sourcing Local and Seasonal Eats Via the Web".

A synopsis of their tips are:
1. Map Your Course of Action.
2. Find Your Farmers, Family Farms, Community Supported Agriculture Programs (CSAs), and Food Co-ops.
3. Find a Restaurant That Sources Only Local Foods.
4. Find Your Inner Farmer.

Click on the link above for excellent details.

(Another LOLcat from little gator.)

In a similar vein, if you eat a lot of fish (like Ginny Bates) and are concerned about which seafood is sustainable, you can call the Fish Phone from the Blue Ocean Institute via text message at 30644 and get an instant answer. You can also download a copy of their Blue Ocean’s Guide to Ocean Friendly Seafood to view at any time. SNAPper!


Not for the arachnophobe: After scissors and all manner of metal tools began to be confiscated from airline travelers by the TSA, artist Christopher Locke began buying these seized items and turning them into sculptures of spiders. Check 'em out at his website Christopher Locke's Heartless Machine. He's also got bug made from pieces of multi-tools and Swiss Army Knives that were likewise confiscated by the TSA.

(Quote from Hilda Gutierrez-Baldoquin)

If I've failed to address things uppermost on your mind this week, you can use the service offered by the Zen Center of Cleveland's Cloudwater Zendo and go there to Ask a Monk. This is a serious offer. Their website states:

"The historical Buddha Shakyamuni is said to have 'turned the Wheel of Dharma' when he decided to share his Compassion and Wisdom with all beings so as to enable them to end their suffering. The traditional way of requesting a Ch'an or Buddhist teacher to answer one's questions about teachings or practice is known as Turning the Wheel. All questions, whether general or specific in nature, will be given respectful consideration by a qualified Buddhist teacher as time permits."

(Image by little gator.)

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