She Ruminates...

On Solidarity in Exhibitionism...

2010-01-08T22:33:00.000-08:00

Ah Facebook...

So, the other day I flipped open my iPhone to check my Facebook and noticed a large number of people posting colors for their status...statusez... statusii...statuses... whatever. AT first I thought these colors represented some covert personality profile or current mood. Clearly something cohesive had occurred and I'd missed the memo. Still the colors lacked pizazz... white, beige, black...women wishing they could say leopard but admitted instead to tan. I wondered if the colors reflected a widespread plague of SAD. (Seasonal Affective Disorder)

I inquired and found out that there is some movement... a "girl to girl" campaign that invites other women to post their bra colors in Facebook in order to, ah, show solidarity for breast cancer awareness.

Yeah, OK. Ladies. Please.

First, do you care what color your friend's bra is? (OK, some of you do... you are excused) Yeah, neither do I. Who does care? Um... yeah. And would it be much of a stretch for a guy to think, and probably suggest to his buddies over some beer, a video of "Girls Gone Wild," and a pizza...

"Hey, I got a great idea... You know how women are always posting stuff about causes and shit? Like there's always some dying child who wants cards from everyone as his last wish before he dies... and women email each other and get each other to send cards even though the kid has been dead for like a decade... or didn't ever exist? Or they post stuff about angels and kittycats or about how every moment is precious and to enjoy their mothers while they can and call a best friend today before it's too late?

Well, OK, women are gullible. So what if I email some anonymously and tell them to post their bra colors on Facebook in order to support breast cancer awareness? Wouldn't they totally fall for that?? And then us guys can totally be in on it and see these silly women posting about their bras?"

Second... Ladies... are any of you unaware of breast cancer? Did any of you wake up this morning, read an array of colors and think, "Hey... these colors have informed me about the seriousness of breast cancer... thank goodness because I had no idea about breast cancer and if I did I certainly didn't think other women cared about this enough to covertly post their bra colors on Facebook. I am so much more aware now."

Third, puleeeze. Women in the US are totally sexually repressed. I don't know about you, but the first women I saw posting their colors were the ones who'd never post that if someone just asked them to. The ones who post most days about the goodness of the Lord and various Psalms or about how well they cleaned their houses today or about how cute their child is... or about how the country is going to hell under that liberal Nazi. You know who you are. You are wonderful, all of you, but I'm just sayin'. But, oh man, give them a cause like breast cancer and these little church ladies don't question a thing... they're just instantly delighted to tell you the color of their bra and even whether they're wearing one or not. It takes the barest hint of an excuse and these little angels are all over sharing information about their boobies without any critical thought. Good for them!

I know, I know... I'm such a critic. How dare I point this out? Don't I care about breast cancer and solidarity and kittens and lollipops for dying card collectors and secret bra campaigns?? Don't I understand the importance of female bonding over viral manipulations??? Am I really this cold hearted???? Do I use too many question marks?????

Yeah.

Hey though... my husband got an email for men to show solidarity for prostate cancer by posting the length of their...

On Crackers and Six Packs...

2008-10-22T15:56:00.000-07:00

Real America... Pro-America America... Real Virginia... Hockey Moms, Walmart Moms, Joe Six-Packs...

I think it's important to understand what is really meant by these things...what our Republican candidates are talking about.

The McCain campaign would have us believe they mean "real people" who aren't rich and famous and who are humble, hard-workers who care about their families, God, and Country (not necessarily in that order). The mainstream media--not Fox, of course--critically takes them to task for this stuff but the media suggests these terms mean "Republicans" or "just people who agree with McCain and Palin."

What isn't being said much is what we're really talking about...what they really mean when they use those catchphrases.

Let me backtrack. I'm a "country girl" without a pasture. Raised in suburbia on John Denver music and my grandparent's FM country radio, I managed to absorb a fair amount of affinity for rural life and rural pleasures. Camping, fishing, boating, off-road vehicles...cold beer and pot luck. Love it.

AT the same time, I went to college. I took women's studies and multicultural classes. I became properly guilty for the sins of my Caucasian ancestors and my snooty city friends made sure to taunt my country nature into hiding. For a time, I wore chunky black shoes, squarish black eyeglasses, and clipped my short hair with funky black accessories. I went around with a pinched expression and lamented about oppression.

But then we moved to Montana. Oh how free I felt there! Free to be me! Free to let my inner "redneck woman" out of her corral. Yee haw! I bought a cow hat and ate steak. I felt something unusual... but I couldn't name it.

Across the country, "redneck" became cool. Songs, comedy routines, movies, TV... began to celebrate what had previously been a derogatory term. I started thinking about it... 'cause I felt it too... felt the urge to be more "redneck"... to own my own redneckedness.

And then I understood why... Pride and cultural identity. You see, my whole Gen-X life I've been told and I believed that it's bad and evil to be proud of my ethnicity. White pride??? Gasp!!! I mean, that's racist!!! Break out the hoods and shave your evil head. While all around me it was OK and even celebrated to "honor diversity." My schools and workplaces had celebrations for African-Americans, Latinos, various Asian cultures... celebrate diversity! The argument was that our primary culture...our primary celebrations were all about White people to begin with so we had to add celebrations for other ethnicities and downplay or eliminate any celebration of our own White culture.

Only, the thing is, that approach isn't really working very well because you have a whole lot of people who have had to act for a long time (for some of us our whole lives) like they were guilty, ashamed or embarrassed about who they really are. White culture had been oppressed. To put it bluntly, I believe the "redneck" craze is simply a safe and marginally politically correct (or at least lighter-hearted) way for Whites to be proud of White culture (which, I admit totally tweaks my guilt and shame button just writing that sentence).

We can hear a person say they are "proud to be a redneck" because we picture Larry the Cable Guy or Jeff Foxworthy... or Gretchen Wilson who "cleans up real nice." It's a silly and benign way to say we're proud of our--frankly--White culture without also suggesting that other cultures are bad. Of course we have to be sort of goofy and self-effacing about it.

Oprah Winfrey can say directly and with passion, "I'm proud to be a Black woman," and I never think she's saying, "I'm better than you because I'm Black." But if I heard Gretchen Wilson say, "I'm proud to be a White woman," I'd have a completely different impression of her words and intent. Now, Gretchen can say "redneck woman," and I'm all, "Hell yeah!" Why? Because I know what she means by it and what she doesn't mean. I'm both fond (shit, I can't even bring myself to say "proud") of my White girl (if you add "girl" it doesn't sound so bad, does it...?) culture and also appreciative and welcoming to other cultures. AT THE SAME TIME WITHOUT VALUING ONE OVER THE OTHER.

Now, are there Whites who are proud of their own culture AND racist fucktards? Oh yeah... we've seen them aplenty recently.

Which brings me back to what we are really talking about. The McCain/Palin campaign is bursting with cute phrases like "Joe Sixpack," "Hockey Mom," "Small-town America," "Real America," etc. Like "redneck" I swear this is code for White. The next time you hear Palin say this stuff, in your head... or even out loud... insert "White." I think that's what she really means and that's who she's really talking to...OK, specifically "White Heterosexist Christians."

And by talking this way, she's freed the racist fucktards to feel their oats...to crawl out of their bunkers and embrace the new lingo... embrace a candidate (mostly Palin, I gotta say) who frees them to be proud of something they've been pissed off by having to hide for so long. I also frees them to show their stupid fears about the "other;" in this case a brilliant mixed race presidential candidate and all those freaks who support him. Ooooo...sccccaaarrryyyy...

My husband overheard a right wing radio show yesterday discussing how electing Obama will change America (for the worse). They lamented that our "American Culture" will be lost... and that Obama threatens our American identity. The thing those boneheads don't understand... is that our American culture has already changed! If they'd take their fearful heads out of their fearful butts and get to know America--all of America--they'd see that we are truly a multicultural community.

Obama is not responsible for changing our country to a more diverse culture--our evolution to a more diverse culture is responsible for making it possible for Obama to be our leader. Our country has already changed. What the fearful conservatives need to understand is that they can have their culture, religion and tradition without clinging to it in fear or living with the delusion that they represent "True Americans." We can embrace the change and still be whoever we want to be... Americans united and diverse Americans. We can "celebrate diversity" with the inclusion of us "rednecks."

Talk about elitism! How dare Palin and her fellow conservative wacks presume to say who is and who is not a "True American." This is absolutely appalling! As I recall, Hitler had some ideals about who was and who was not a true German (or worthy human being, for that matter). Palin-heads hope to woo people who may think, "Oh, I want to be a True American too! Apparently, if I want to be that, I need to vote for McCain/Palin..." You know, they might grab a few people that way...

However, guess what? All that does is unite the rest of us in patriotism and invite the rest of us to take a stand. The rest of us know and love America as a land of diversity and we embrace the changes and new identities. We're uniting in something pretty magical, hopeful and compelling... something that isn't about hate or fear, but about redefining for the better what it means to be American. We're uniting under a mission of inclusion... and we have to make room for White cultures too in our diversity celebrations.

But right now, we're in the midst of a cultural war. Started somewhat by the presence of a "man of color" on the ticket but really ignited by Palin and McCain's campaign of fear and propaganda. It sickens me.

When Obama supporters talk about Hope and Change. We are talking about inclusion, kindness, altruism... We are talking about not hating each other for being different than we are but rather appreciating both our sameness and our differentness. We're talking about uniting... One Nation... Indivisible... With Liberty and Justice for All.

That's the reason we began to love Obama in the first place. He was the first candidate to recognize the pain of our separation and to suggest we don't have to hate each other. What a concept. What a mission.

Yet, having said that, I admit I nearly deleted this post prior to publishing it. I'm frankly so intimidated by broaching this subject that I nearly did not. But I feel it needs to be said.

On Race and Resumes...

2008-10-15T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'm frankly appalled (though not terribly surprised) at what human sludge McCain (and especially Palin) have dredged up to support them.

But, sludge aside, ask yourself if Obama would ever be our potential president if he had McCain's resume... Would he have even been a senator if he'd had McCain's resume, education and personal history?

Think about it...

The following was posted on "Don't Get Me Started." It's an excellent illumination of how race, unfortunately, matters in our culture. Certainly the recent hate fests... um McCain/Palin rallies have been rife with it. These two yahoos are playing to the lowest common denominators of our US society and doing little to stop it. McCain's recent "attempts to quell" the racism and hate? Oh please... Where is his backbone? Those aren't strong statements he's making; they are just drops in a big old bucket of fear mongering.

How Racism Works (or Doesn't Work)

Received this from CT Gen and it makes some very simple, but very telling points...

~~~~~~~~~~

This is How Racism Works

What if John McCain were a former editor of the Harvard Law Review?

What if Barack Obama finished fifth from the bottom of his graduating class?

What if McCain were still married to the first woman he said 'I do' to?

What if Obama were the candidate who left his first wife after she no longer measured up to his standards?

What if Michelle Obama were a wife who not only became addicted to pain killers, but acquired them illegally through her charitable organization?

What if Cindy McCain graduated from Harvard?

What if Obama were a member of the Keating-5?

What if McCain were a charismatic, eloquent speaker?

If these questions reflected reality, do you really believe the election numbers would be as close as they are?

This is what racism does. It covers up, rationalizes and minimizes positive qualities in one candidate and emphasizes negative qualities in another when there is a color difference.

You are The Boss... which team would you hire?

With America facing historic debt, 2 wars, stumbling health care, a weakened dollar, all-time high prison population, mortgage crises, bank foreclosures, etc.

Educational Background:

Obama: Columbia University - B.A. Political Science with a Specialization in International Relations; Harvard - Juris Doctor (J.D.) Magna Cum Laude

Biden: University of Delaware - B.A. in History and B.A. In Political Science; Syracuse University College of Law - Juris Doctor (J.D.)

McCain: United States Naval Academy - Class rank: 894 of 899

Palin: Hawaii Pacific University - 1 semester; North Idaho College - 2 semesters - general study; University of Idaho - 2 semesters - journalism; Matanuska-Susitna College - 1 semester; University of Idaho - 3 semesters - B.A. in Journalism

Now, which team are you going to hire ?

PS: What if Barack Obama had an unwed, pregnant teenage daughter...

~~~~~~~~~~

Makes you think, huh?

On Little Men and Compensating for Something...

2008-10-10T16:32:00.000-07:00

Here's an interesting biography article from Rolling Stone about John McCain; worth reading no matter which way you'd like to vote.

http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/23316912/makebelieve_maverick/print

On Healing and Hope...

2008-10-09T17:13:00.000-07:00

I couldn't begin to express my feelings as well as this guy does:

Obama Will Be One of the Greatest (and Most Loved) American Presidents

By Frank Schaeffer

Posted October 8, 2008 | 02:45 PM (EST)

Great presidents are made great by horrible circumstances combined with character, temperament and intelligence. Like firemen, cops, doctors or soldiers, presidents need a crisis to shine.

Obama is one of the most intelligent presidential aspirants to ever step forward in American history. The likes of his intellectual capabilities have not been surpassed in public life since the Founding Fathers put pen to paper. His personal character is also solid gold. Take heart, America: we have the leader for our times.

I say this as a white, former life-long Republican. I say this as the proud father of a Marine. I say this as just another American watching his pension evaporate along with the stock market! I speak as someone who knows it's time to forget party loyalty, ideology and pride and put the country first. I say this as someone happy to be called a fool for going out on a limb and declaring that, 1) Obama will win, and 2) he is going to be amongst the greatest of American presidents.

Obama is our last best chance. He's worth laying it all on the line for.

This is a man who in the age of greed took the high road of community service. This is the good father and husband. This is the humble servant. This is the patient teacher. This is the scholar statesman. This is the man of deep Christian faith.

Good stories about Obama abound; from his personal relationship with his Secret Service agents (he invites them into his home to watch sports, and shoots hoops with them) to the story about how, more than twenty years ago, while standing in the check-in line at an airport, Obama paid a $100 baggage surcharge for a stranger who was broke and stuck. (Obama was virtually penniless himself in those days.) Years later after he became a senator, that stranger recognized Obama's picture and wrote to him to thank him. She received a kindly note back from the senator. (The story only surfaced because the person, who lives in Norway, told a local newspaper after Obama ran for the presidency. The paper published a photograph of this lady proudly displaying Senator Obama's letter.)

Where many leaders are two-faced; publicly kindly but privately feared and/or hated by people closest to them, Obama is consistent in the way he treats people, consistently kind and personally humble. He lives by the code that those who lead must serve. He believes that. He lives it. He lived it long before he was in the public eye.

Obama puts service ahead of ideology. He also knows that to win politically you need to be tough. He can be. He has been. This is a man who does what works, rather than scoring ideological points. In other words he is the quintessential non-ideological pragmatic American. He will (thank God!) disappoint ideologues and purists of the left and the right.

Obama has a reservoir of personal physical courage that is unmatched in presidential history. Why unmatched? Because as the first black contender for the presidency who will win, Obama, and all the rest of us, know that he is in great physical danger from the seemingly unlimited reserve of unhinged racial hatred, and just plain unhinged ignorant hatred, that swirls in the bowels of our wounded and sinful country. By stepping forward to lead, Obama has literally put his life on the line for all of us in a way no white candidate ever has had to do. (And we all know how dangerous the presidency has been even for white presidents.)

Nice stories or even unparalleled courage isn't the only point. The greater point about Obama is that the midst of our worldwide financial meltdown, an expanding (and losing) war in Afghanistan, trying to extricate our country from a wrong and stupidly mistaken ruinously expensive war in Iraq, our mounting and crushing national debt, awaiting the next (and inevitable) al Qaeda attack on our homeland, watching our schools decline to Third World levels of incompetence, facing a general loss of confidence in the government that has been exacerbated by the Republicans doing all they can to undermine our government's capabilities and programs... President Obama will take on the leadership of our country at a make or break time of historic proportions. He faces not one but dozens of crisis, each big enough to define any presidency in better times.

As luck, fate or divine grace would have it (depending on one's personal theology) Obama is blessedly, dare I say uniquely, well-suited to our dire circumstances. Obama is a person with hands-on community service experience, deep connections to top economic advisers from the renowned University of Chicago where he taught law, and a middle-class background that gives him an abiding knowledgeable empathy with the rest of us. As the son of a single mother, who has worked his way up with merit and brains, recipient of top-notch academic scholarships, the peer-selected editor of the Harvard Law Review and, in three giant political steps to state office, national office and now the presidency, Obama clearly has the wit and drive to lead.

Obama is the sober voice of reason at a time of unreason. He is the fellow keeping his head while all around him are panicking. He is the healing presence at a time of national division and strife. He is also new enough to the political process so that he doesn't suffer from the terminally jaded cynicism, the seen-it-all-before syndrome afflicting most politicians in Washington. In that regard we Americans lucked out. It's as if having despaired of our political process we picked a name from the phone book to lead us and that person turned out to be a very man we needed.

Obama brings a healing and uplifting spiritual quality to our politics at the very time when our worst enemy is fear. For eight years we've been ruled by a stunted fear-filled mediocrity of a little liar who has expanded his power on the basis of creating fear in others. Fearless Obama is the cure. He speaks a litany of hope rather than a litany of terror.

As we have watched Obama respond in a quiet reasoned manner to crisis after crisis, in both the way he has responded after being attacked and lied about in the 2008 campaign season, to his reasoned response to our multiplying national crises, what we see is the spirit of a trusted family doctor with a great bedside manner. Obama is perfectly suited to hold our hand and lead us through some very tough times. The word panic is not in the Obama dictionary.

America is fighting its "Armageddon" in one fearful heart at a time. A brilliant leader with the mild manner of an old-time matter-of-fact country doctor soothing a frightened child is just what we need. The fact that our "doctor" is a black man leading a hitherto white-ruled nation out of the mess of its own making is all the sweeter and raises the Obama story to that of moral allegory.

Obama brings a moral clarity to his leadership reserved for those who have had to work for everything they've gotten and had to do twice as well as the person standing next to them because of the color of their skin. His experience of succeeding in spite of his color, social background and prejudice could have been embittering or one that fostered a spiritual rebirth of forgiveness and enlightenment. Obama radiates the calm inner peace of the spirit of forgiveness.

Speaking as a believing Christian I see the hand of a merciful God in Obama's candidacy. The biblical metaphors abound. The stone the builder rejected is become the cornerstone... the last shall be first... he that would gain his life must first lose it... the meek shall inherit the earth...

For my secular friends I'll allow that we may have just been extraordinarily lucky! Either way America wins.

Only a brilliant man, with the spirit of a preacher and the humble heart of a kindly family doctor can lead us now. We are afraid, out of ideas, and worst of all out of hope. Obama is the cure. And we Americans have it in us to rise to the occasion. We will. We're about to enter one of the most frightening periods of American history. Our country has rarely faced more uncertainty. This is the time for greatness. We have a great leader. We must be a great people backing him, fighting for him, sacrificing for a cause greater than ourselves.

A hundred years from now Obama's portrait will be placed next to that of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Franklin Roosevelt. Long before that we'll be telling our children and grandchildren that we stepped out in faith and voted for a young black man who stood up and led our country back from the brink of an abyss. We'll tell them about the power of love, faith and hope. We'll tell them about the power of creativity combined with humility and intellectual brilliance. We'll tell them that President Obama gave us the gift of regaining our faith in our country. We'll tell them that we all stood up and pitched in and won the day. We'll tell them that President Obama restored our standing in the world. We'll tell them that by the time he left office our schools were on the mend, our economy booming, that we'd become a nation filled with green energy alternatives and were leading the world away from dependence on carbon-based destruction. We'll tell them that because of President Obama's example and leadership the integrity of the family was restored, divorce rates went down, more fathers took responsibility for their children, and abortion rates fell dramatically as women, families and children were cared for through compassionate social programs that worked. We'll tell them about how the gap closed between the middle class and the super rich, how we won health care for all, how crime rates fell, how bad wars were brought to an honorable conclusion. We'll tell them that when we were attacked again by al Qaeda, how reason prevailed and the response was smart, tough, measured and effective, and our civil rights were protected even in times of crisis...

We'll tell them that we were part of the inexplicably blessed miracle that happened to our country those many years ago in 2008 when a young black man was sent by God, fate or luck to save our country. We'll tell them that it's good to live in America where anything is possible. Yes we will.

Frank Schaeffer is the author of CRAZY FOR GOD-How I Grew Up As One Of The Elect, Helped Found The Religious Right, And Lived To Take All (Or Almost All) Of It Back. Now in paperback.

On Choices and Inspiration...

2008-10-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

My favorite blog to read is Linda Sharp’s “Don’t Get Me Started.” In addition to some hilarious entertainment commentary, she recently added a political section and she does a fantastic job of linking to an array of timely videos (like SNL’s Tina Fey’s Palin skits) and other sources.

Here’s the link to her political blog:

http://dontgetmestarted-lindasharp.typepad.com/dont_get_me_started_on_po/

Recently, her commentators clashed over what Obama supporters like about him and it led to me examining my own preference for him as my president.

Why I Like Obama

I can’t say that I agree with him on everything. He’s probably more left-leaning than I tend to be…I’m moderate, after all. So why is it that for the first time in my life I’m actually excited about a presidential candidate?

My first reason is that he’s the first candidate who actually tells me what I want to hear. As I listen to political speeches and interviews, I have a sense of where I think a candidate should go… of what they could say to impact me (and others in my Gen-X and after generations). In most cases, Obama tags these expectations perfectly.

It’s as if John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change” song now has an answer.

It's not that we don't care,We just know that the fight ain't fair…

When I see Obama, I feel like…OK, now we have a horse in the race. Why? Because he seems to get just how disgusted we all are with the Red-Blue un-Civil War. Our country is weak exactly because of the liberal-conservative clash. Our internal pissing match is our biggest security risk and it has led to a serious morale problem. Obama was the first candidate to truly speak to it and to speak to it in a way that let us know he gets it.

Hillary didn’t do it because she’s still pretty entrenched in Dems vs Repubs. McCain and Palin try… by throwing out soundbites about “partisan politics” (it seems to work for Obama, so lather rinse and repeat) but it doesn’t ring true. Obama gets it and I believe him when he says he’ll work on that problem.

My second reason is that Obama motivates people. He has an intrinsic charisma and an aura of wisdom that soothes and encourages others. JFK and Bobby had it… MLK had it and Obama has it. A good leader doesn’t do everything himself… He delegates and motivates those around him to pitch in and contribute. A president who inspires others (“Ask not what your country can do for you…but what you can do for your country…”) to work together as one will accomplish so much more, will strengthen our nation as a whole, and will bring about a sense of unity and pride that we’ve needed for decades now. Obama has the potential to be a truly great and beloved leader. Everyone jokes about his “Hope” platform, but really, wouldn’t you rather be hopeful than cynical? Wouldn’t you rather collaborate with hopeful people than cynical people? Neighborly rather than dog-eat-dog?

My third reason is that Obama is a spectacular figurehead. As the first bi-racial president, his presence will send a message that race is no longer an absolute barrier. He will be in a position to freely investigate and candidly talk about race relations and to help all people move forward and heal. He is youthful but wise and so he’s able to excite and engage a wider range of citizens…much like JFK did.

His presence will send a message to the world that the US is, perhaps, a different place than everyone had thought. The world is watching our election precisely because of Obama and if you think about it, the US will be a different country under Obama than it is under Bush or would be under McCain. Obama’s leadership presence at the helm will affect all sorts of systemic and perceptual changes that I believe will help our country evolve out of the quagmire we’ve been in for so long now. I believe our allies would be more committed and our enemies, perhaps, a little disarmed by him.

Conservatives argue that it doesn’t matter what the World thinks of the US…we’ll do whatever we darned well please. But, Hello…knock knock knock… we need allies. We are a stronger and more secure nation with allies. We need a president who can play well with others…who can be diplomatic and strategic.

Did it ever occur to anyone that Obama’s comments about speaking with our enemies could be strategic? Could be more about what they hear and perceive—what ambivalent nations hear and perceive—than what he actually does? I think Obama is a crafty strategist who understands that what he says and how he says it has a powerful systemic impact…even now, as he’s just a presidential candidate. He’s not just speaking for just the US to hear…he’s also speaking to the World.

So that’s why I voted for him in the primary and continue to support him now. I get what you’re trying to do, Barack, and I support you.

One could argue that Palin is also youthful, charismatic and a different figurehead. I admit that her presence is doing some interesting things for gender relations and women in general along with forcing traditional conservative misogynists/sexists to drink and distribute some seriously feminist Kool-Aid.

At the same time, she isn’t inspirational or soothing. There is nothing about her that gives me hope for our nation’s healing. She doesn’t seem terribly wise and she exudes a rather clueless narcissism. She has not in any way demonstrated any ability to self-reflect or be real with us. Her image is cut-and-paste rhetoric…she’s a fashion doll with a soundtrack… A pretty Star Trek android who blows circuits when the questions don’t match her pre-prepared and coached answers. She has not an ounce of global thinking and has demonstrated no capacity at all for understanding diverse perspectives. She’s a great character, but a great president? Nope. No way.

Then there’s McCain. I feel like I’ve covered this, but briefly he’s just too obnoxious. I personally don’t want a “maverick” as my president. I don’t want a guy who just seems to like being contrary just so he can call himself a maverick. He also hasn’t demonstrated how he’s any different in thought or practice than the current administration. How does he differ from Bush? We don’t know because he just keeps saying that he’s a maverick. He says he’ll “reform Washington” but never follows that up with a picture of what that reform would look like. He’s just too off-putting, impulsive, and weird and I don’t believe he’ll improve our nation in any way. In fact, I believe his impulsive nature is a security risk and I don’t see any wisdom in him at all. I don’t trust him to carefully navigate our country and keep us safe.

Oh, I’ll be glad when this is all over… or terrified. Time will tell.

On Puppy Love and Cognitive Dissonance Also...

2008-10-05T11:17:00.000-07:00

This whole Sarah Palin thing is pretty fascinating, from a sociological and psychological perspective. (Terrifying from a political and pragmatic perspective, but I'll set that aside for now)

I've known many conservatives... die hard, Limbaugh, praise Jesus or go to hell, gays are the spawn of Satan conservatives... Every single one of them--even the female ones--have traditionally insisted that women should not govern our country. Heck, most of them wouldn't even hire a woman to manage an office department.

These are the same folks who spent hours criticizing Hillary Clinton and using any number of sexist and colorful commentary on her female shortcomings. It was clear that not only didn't they agree with her politically/philosophically but they also couldn't stomach the idea of a woman holding the highest office in the land. Before Sarah Palin's introduction to their psyche, I could have asked any one of them, "Do you think a woman could be a good president?" and I absolutely know not a one of them would have said "Yes, sure." They would have said, "No way. Women are too emotional. Women aren't as smart. Women have PMS so, man, having them near the red button??? Yikes. Women are hens. Women are irrational... Etc."

They thought they knew themselves well. They were proud of their confidence in their beliefs that, of course, only men should be president.

Then John McCain had to throw them for a fruit loop and introduce Sarah Palin to their brains. Now, these conservatives--especially the male die-hards--are in love. I read a few message boards for some of my family's outdoor interests and many of the contributors are conservatives. They rhapsodize about how "hot" she is, post pictures of her leaning seductively on machinery, talk about how she's so smart and spunky... She is nectar to their mid-life crisis'.

It matters not to them that she becomes largely incoherent when interviewed. That's just the press bulling her, after all... that mean old Katie Couric. How dare she ask those tough questions like, "What do you read?" Our little Alaska flower shouldn't be picked on like that. Besides, she's hot. I'm not sure I could have ever imagined conservative men using "she's hot" as a reason to vote for a potential president. It boggles my mind.

Who says you can't use sex to sell? Palin is the Republican pin-up-girl and the fellas are swooning hook, line and sinker.

Why is this happening to our conservative men? The answer is cognitive dissonance. (From Wikipedia: In psychology, cognitive dissonance is an uncomfortable feeling or stress caused by holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously. The theory of cognitive dissonance proposes that people have a fundamental cognitive drive to reduce this dissonance by modifying an existing belief, or rejecting one of the contradictory ideas.).

Essentially, conservatives who always staunchly believed a woman should not be president now have a forced choice. They must vote for the McCain/Palin conservative ticket (of course, the Obama/Biden ticket is just not an option for a slew of reasons). However, because Palin is female and thus contradicts their well-established notions of who should/should not be president... this naturally creates some serious internal contradictions. They somehow have to find a way to relieve the psychological discomfort.

So you have men who would have cut off their left testicle before they'd see a bird-brained woman be president--now, having to talk themselves into how Palin possibly is a good choice. They are miraculously able to overlook her sketchy education, her folksy sayings, her gibberish answers, her inability to debate (if one considers a debate actually, oh, I don't know, answering questions and taking a side in an argument as opposed to Palin's "debating" which appears to be saying whatever you'd planed or been coached to say no matter what the question was), her working-woman ambition, her pregnant-teen daughter, her tag-along first dude, etc. They are having to justify and overlook things that would have driven them nutty a year ago.

Can you imagine what these conservative men would be saying if Palin were a Democratic VP candidate???? Let's say she's exactly the same woman except she's a Democrat. Heck, she can even have the same ideology...I don't care. But if she was the Democrat VP choice, the conservatives would be making mincemeat out of her. They'd be appalled. If she was a Democrat, they wouldn't have to twist their minds around her deficits...they'd just get to tear her to shreds.

But she's not. So they love her and think she is hot. Good for them.

I do wonder, though, how Palin might affect the evolution of gender politics in our country. We now have legions of men who used to abhor the idea of a woman leader prattling on and on about how great Palin is...how she'd be a fine president... how women can work and be a good mom... Palin's existence is shattering just about every sexist idea these men have ever depended on. Palin and cognitive dissonance are transforming these men into feminists... I wonder how long it'll take for them to figure that out?

On The End of the World as We Know It and Stability...

2008-09-30T08:09:00.000-07:00

McCain...

I don't quite understand him. I mean, I hear people rhapsodize about what a great statesman he is and about all of his experience and yet I don't quite understand where he's made a significantly positive impact on our world.

The POW thing... Kudos to him (and the 600 other heroic POWs) for enduring that time and yet I don't consider this a presidential qualification. In fact, as a psychotherapist, I've worked with people who've experienced similarly bad things and I've got to say it doesn't do wonders for one's emotional stability. I wonder how his imprisonment and torture shape him today? Does he have residual and understandable PTSD effects?

Then there is the issue of his temperament in general. Long-standing stories and anecdotes about how volatile and reactive he has always been (even prior to his POW time). I'm uneasy that our president would be emotionally vulnerable like that when he is the one who has power over some serious kick ass, world destroying, weapons.

I admit I hadn't given much thought to McCain until he picked Palin. I figured, well, he's pretty old and doesn't represent my generation's concerns but I wasn't particularly worried about him maybe being president. Then he picked Palin...an impulsive, increasingly absurd, decision that could have serious consequences to the world as we know it. The woman is fluent in gibberish.

Then there's his recent decision to "suspend" his campaign so he could presumably help with the economic crisis. Though Fox News called this brilliant (Fox... fair and balanced? I mean, really, the rest of the Country said WTF...rightfully so. Stop the BS or stop calling yourself fair and balanced) the rest of us just thought he lost his mind or, more accurately, looked to avoid the debate and David Letterman. Then he does come to the debate, leaving us to wonder what, exactly, he possibly contributed to the "crisis" during his "suspension."

Now he has his campaign blaming Obama for McCain's own party voting down the bailout bill. How on earth could Obama have so influenced the Republicans to vote NO when Obama's own party (and I think Obama himself) largely voted YES? On what planet does that make sense?

These stunts are ridiculous, unwise, and impulsive. Do you really want a president who thinks (or doesn't think) like this? I hate to say it, but he just might be worse than GWB and Palin is--as one reporter brilliantly put it--"George Bush in drag."

The more I see McCain, the more I see a petulant little boy. The kind of little boy you dread to see on the playground because he's just sort of a sassy little sh*t. I know he isn't always like this (none of us are just one persona, right?) but he is like this when challenged. He is this smart-ass bully when people disagree with him or challenge his presumed authority... Unfortunately, this is a natural element of the job of President.

McCain takes his work personally. He takes dessenting views personally. He's snotty, rude, snide, impulsive and immature. He can rant all he wants about being a maverick and about jumping party lines, but he doesn't know how to play well with others in the sand pit. He can compair himself to a dozen dead presidents, but they never would have picked Mrs. Cotton-candy Brains as a running mate.

I hear the Right on their worries and beliefs. I know it's tempting to support McCain just because he's the one unfortunate choice on the Republican ticket. I was similarly tempted by John Kerry--a candidate I couldn't wrap my brain around because he was such an arrogant jerkwad but who was the only choice for folks who are of Democratic mind. It totally sucks to have such a poor choice for your party. Maybe you could all revolt? Demand another choice? Impeach McCain/Palin before they ever have the chance to destroy our country...?

But the thing is, with McCain/Palin, I don't believe we are safer. I don't believe they'll take the time and reflection to make good decisions. I don't believe a vote for McCain/Palin is a vote for stability...it's a crap shoot on two people who seem unable to "put country first."

If you were hiring a manager for your company and you wanted someone you could depend on, trust and who could inspire and motivate your staff... If you wanted someone who could partner with other organizations, customers, and vendors... Someone who had the "people-skills" to collaborate at all levels and manage divergent agendas... Someone intelligent; intellectually and emotionally... Would you hire McCain or Palin?

On Pull-Strings and Zeros...

2008-09-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

I, like many Americans, have been paying close attention to this campaign and also our economic clusterf$%k. I admit I have very few words to describe how I feel about it all... Perhaps this sums it up nicely:

WTF!?!?!

Oh my God... where to begin? First of all, Palin and McCain: has our country ever had a more absurd, clueless, ridiculous and whacked presidential ticket? Ever?

When the McCain campaign announced Palin (who?) as his VP pick and I watched that intitial first appearance of the two, it seemed to me that McCain was pretty much trying not to stare at her butt and he smacked of some cute little nursing home womanizer who--at any moment--would reach out and get his hand slapped before talking about his weather-predicting gout. Something about the two of them standing together just looked seriously wrong. It was as if her presence and contrast shrunk him, aged him, and rendered him a goofy caricature of his former self. I thought, Oh Man, this is just going to be a disaster.

Then I watched her convention speech and found myself a bit surprised. She did a fairly good job (for a snarky wench), I'd say, and had me wondering if maybe McCain knew what he was doing.

Then I saw the Gibson interview... the Hannity interview and a slice of the Couric interview...

OMG

I hadn't quite anticipated just how clueless Palin really is. Now, politicians give pat answers and cleverly worm their way around difficult questions...we're used to that. Palin, on the other hand, behaves as if she's been programed with a script. It's...it's as if she's one of those dolls with the pull-cord on her back and a limited menu of statements that she blurts out of her fixed vacant smile whether they match the interview question or not.

Occasionally, she's like one of those androids on Star Trek (old school) who get flummoxed and smokey-eared when asked a paradoxical question (except the questions she's being asked are not paradoxical...but rather simple, really).

This person is somehow ready to be "a heartbeat away from the presidency"??? Really??? The woman can't even answer to Katie Couric without becoming a pile of silly goo. Oh, honey, your ego is writing checks your brain can't cash.

The bottom line is that Palin is in way over her head. She's been isolated in a culture that does not represent most of America, her education is weak, and while she can snap at people like a Pomeranian she has no bite. Palin is small potatoes and no where near ready to lead our country. I won't even get into how freaky it would be to have the leader of the free world believe that "the end of days" is a good thing... she'd run our world into ruin happily if it meant a faster track to rapture. I'm frankly terrified for what her possible presidency would mean for the world as we know it.

So, OK... Yikes.

Then we have this "financial crisis." Of course, no actual useful information is given to the American people about what's going on. We get the rough impression that the sky is falling due to the mortgage debacle (Question: Who's idea was it to issue impossible mortgages to people who couldn't ultimately afford them???? Answer: The rich bastards who will profit from our tax dollars and be kept floating in their affluence even as the middle class are becoming unemployed, homeless, and forever indebted in order to save the world...)

Is it just me, or was the mortgage thing ultimately just a pyramid scheme? I mean, really. And now the rest of us get to shoulder the burden of helping...um... who, exactly? "The economy"? Stupid, overextended home-buyers? Greedy, predatory lenders? Rich CEOs who still feel they're entitled to their bonuses?

I know... why don't we let those banks fail and give 700,000,000,000 to the American taxpayers? I figure that's roughly $5,000 per taxpayer. Then we'll buy stuff, thus stimulating the economy... OK, OK... I know, I know... silly me. Instead, lets just bail out the greedy f#%krs so they can live to see another day of profit, plan for their company-paid vacations, and hunt for their next trophy wife. It's on me.

Funny... you can bet they'll do plenty of lay-offs... They'll lay off the folks making 24-50k who have not had the luxury of saving millions of dollars in their bank accounts, who do not own 8 houses, and who will have to go without health care (or pay $500 a month for their COBRA insurance...with their unemployment insurance...uh...yeah). Yay. Do you think those people will see a dime of the 700,000,000,000? Ah, well, see they'll benefit because the economy will improve and the executives who f%#d up in the first place will buy stuff, thus stimulating the economy...

Wait... I think that made Palin's ears smoke.

2008-07-04T21:11:00.000-07:00

It's a war zone in our suburban neighborhood tonight. Those are not Oregon fireworks I hear out there and I'm jealous... It's nights like tonight when I miss Montana and mongo fireworks aplenty.

In about a half hour, we'll convene in our street to light our little stash of fireworks. I already finished off the smoke bombs and I'm sure the neighbors appreciate the gobs of green and orange smoke I sent into their garage. Oh well, our neighbor is an albino cat lady who won't talk to us anymore because of a strange cat event 2 years ago... No time to get into that now. Her husband plays surf guitar and I could not identify him in a line-up. Like the mysterious neighbor on "Home Improvement," I've never actually looked upon his face straight-on.

We have a funny little street. Our homes are mid-century ranch style... very dull but functional. I would love to make ours seriously atomic, but lack the funds to really go for it. Our neighbors are generally nice and keep to themselves... typical for our Northwest culture.

Still, on nights like tonight, we all end up out there together. We wouldn't want to miss all the grand Oregon fireworks and the chance to live vicariously through other neighbors' fireworks. Though, I confess, Oregon fireworks are rather....ah... yawn.

Pretty much all Oregon fireworks have one of two characteristics. Either, A. they emit puffs of smoke or B. they emit showers of sparks. In fact, just about every firework package says, "Caution, emits showers of sparks." If we're really lucky, they make noise. Yep. That's it. Yee haw. Oregonians can't be trusted with anything more exciting. We also can't be trusted to pump our own gas or sell/buy liquor in grocery stores. Thank goodness we're kept in check like that or we just might have a crisis on our hands.

In Montana, we had freaking mortars. Somebody down the street has those too...I covet them.

So Happy 4th everyone! Our thoughts are with the soldiers who are spending this holiday away from their families. Hopefully, they can come home soon.

Of course our thoughts are also on our vacation... leaving for Lake Shasta in the morning. We have a week of serious practice and training for our favorite water sports: floating with a beverage and flopping off the back of our boat like sealions. I think we're ready.

Have fun and don't burn anyone's house down.

On Grannies and Thieves...

2008-06-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

I’ve worked in Adult Protective Services for over 3.5 years and now work in Victims’ Services. My dad is a retired police commander. I’ve seen “the dark side of humanity” more times than I care to admit and know how to spot abusers and exploiters.

Unfortunately, having that experience and insight doesn’t mean I’m immune to the effects of such people. Sometimes such people are so good at what they do that, even if you know in your gut they are up to no good, you can’t prove it and have little power to do anything about it.

Which brings me to Karen Oviatt. Karen is a middle-aged deaf woman who somehow found her way to my (also deaf) great-grandmother, "Grammie". A couple years ago, Grammie lived in an assisted living facility, and for many years seemed to enjoy living there. However, once she became friends with Karen, Grammie’s satisfaction with her living situation and her relationships with her family began to change.

It first became apparent to our family when Grammie began to have conflicts with her son. I gathered that the son had been suspicious of Grammie’s new bosom friend, Karen, and made attempts to intervene. Since Karen had paid some pretty nice attention to Grammie and Grammie considered Karen a very close and exciting new friend, the son’s interference was regarded as unwelcome and intrusive. Grammie eventually accused the son of abuse and filed a restraining order against him which I understand he challenged and I was told it was dismissed.

I worked in the county Grammie lived in, and helped many an elder person obtain restraining orders, and know how the courts generally favor the elder… so for that order to be dropped, there had to be some fair evidence that the son was not abusive. I regard this scenario as the first attempt to isolate Grammie from her family. Karen, as the "savior friend," helped "protect" Grammie from her "evil son;" alienating the son and his family from Grammie.

It also caused my grandmother, Nan, to ally with Grammie and Karen against the son. Grammie and Karen played on Nan’s sympathies and had Nan fairly convinced that she needed to save them from the "evil son." Both Grammie and Nan have always been highly responsive to anyone who paid extra attention to them and told them what they wanted to hear, and Karen was very good at that. It was a perfect fit and positioned Karen to eventually benefit from the situation.

The assisted living facility was reportedly not fond of Karen for reasons I do not know (I've heard rumors, but I can't confirm them...so I'll stick to what my own family has experienced). But family members reported that Karen was not welcome there and since Karen was Grammie’s new best friend, Grammie found this pretty frustrating. Grammie then moved out of the facility and in with Karen to a small, low-income, apartment.

Nan, my grandmother, began to give them money. She felt sorry for Grammie and couldn’t say no when asked. The next thing we heard, Karen and Grammie were trying to recoup some property Grammie had, ages ago, given to another daughter and so they hired an attorney and claimed Grammie had been tricked at the time. (Incidentally, they have no case for this and there is even a letter written by Grammie way back that suggests Grammie willingly gave up the property...For that matter, Grammie had been living on Medicaid--on thousands of dollars of tax payer money--for years so any property she recovered should by rights pay back the Medicaid dollars) Yet, somehow, with the whiff of financial gain in the air, it became Grammie and Karen’s mission to prove that the daughter stole the property. So, this accomplished two things… One, it alienated yet another child of Grammie’s and, two, it caused Nan to give them even more money.

Incidentally, there has been this vacillation between suggesting Grammie was duped by the daughter--due to her age/vulnerability--and yet supposedly of sound enough mind to accurately judge Karen's character. To my way of thinking, it can't be both ways. Either Grammie is not of sound mind and easily taken advantage of (equally vulnerable to her family and Karen) or she's sharp and able to make her own (bad) decisions. Anyway...

Nan was pretty much willing to believe that both of her siblings were terrible… it made Nan feel self-righteous and altruistic at a time when she needed to feel relevant. She expressed concern to me that she was probably giving them too much money and that she "should watch it" so she would have enough to live on; but she also told me that she just couldn’t say no. Then, she had some health issues, and Karen and Grammie stayed with her to help her recover. She felt pretty indebted to them.

Eventually, after Karen had ample opportunity to scope out Nan's home filled with semi-valuables, to learn that Nan can’t say “no,” and that Nan had some $$; Grammie suddenly hating living in the apartment and asked Nan if she and Karen could move in with her.

Nan couldn’t say “no,” and so the duo moved in about 6 months ago. Nan wasn’t entirely happy with the arrangement and still expressed concerns to me about the costs… Nan paid for cable and internet service (two things she didn't use herself), a separate phone line (that Nan didn't use for herself), and other things in addition to food and utilities. Nan knew Grammie and Karen subsisted on Social Security so she felt she had to help out. In fairness, it was her choice to do so.

I always wondered why Karen had latched on to great-grandma… a woman who had very little income and no assets. (Now, until Karen arrived, Grannie was a great lady... a role-model for many family members so it made sense that she'd attract friends... yet something just didn't smell right) Until they moved in with Nan, a woman who had some $$ and significant assets. (Lightbulb) I was not happy with the arrangement and expressed concerns that Karen might be exploiting them, but this fell on…forgive me…deaf ears.

Nan became suddenly ill in March and died a week later; three months after Karen and Grammie moved in. Within days of her death, Karen began going through Nan’s things and setting things aside that “Nan said” she could have. Considering that Nan always assumed Grammie would die before Nan, it seemed highly unlikely that Nan would do the “when I die, you can have such-and-such,” routine with Karen...someone who was not a family member. Plus, how invasive and strange for this Karen to feel entitled to our Nan's life like that...?

Karen also, like Gríma Wormtongue, convinced Grammie that she could not trust her other family members. Karen hovered around and made nasty faces at us all through the time we were trying to cope with Nan’s death; interfering with our family’s grief process and further alienating Grammie from us. In hindsight, we should have emptied out the house of Nan’s possessions (we suspected Karen would steal and had been stealing from the house) but we hesitated because we didn’t want to upset Grammie.

Incidentally, Nan had a very clear and recently updated will that left her assets and possessions to specific family members (not Karen). In regards to Grammie and Karen living in Nan's home, we explored the feasibility of them continuing to live there but so distrusted and disliked Karen by this time that none of us believed it was a good idea to subsidize her. Alternatives were presented to Grammie for her to live with or near other family members--without Karen in tow. But this just made the two mad at us.

In the end, Grammie opted to move away with Karen and, as I’d suspected would happen, they stole the bulk of Nan’s possessions (things willed by her to other family members) from the house when they moved. I never figured Grammie to be that kind of person...who could justify stealing from her descendants. I wonder what it is about Karen that caused Grammie to compromise her morals like that... They even managed to engage the moving help of local LDS kids and some other friends who would probably be shocked to find out they were accomplices.

Grammie still thinks Karen is wonderful and, at 99 years of age, with Karen’s influence, she has managed to become alienated from just about every member of her pretty large family. I suspect, once Grammie dies (or, hopefully, figures out that Karen has tricked her), Karen will move on to another elder, another family, and make her sad way through the world.

The worst part isn’t the stealing; stuff is just stuff and we can remember Nan other ways. The worst part is that we couldn’t just come together as a family and do what we needed to do. There was always Karen; lurking, scheming, lying, and interfering. The worst part is that, at the end of 99 year old Grammie’s life, she has only stolen property and a thief to show for it. The worst part is how Grammie was so influenced by Karen Oviatt that she somehow justifies stealing from her family (a family that has never stolen from her) and is willing to do anything Karen wants.

I write this for two reasons. One, to vent my frustrations (I'm human and this has been so frustrating); and two because I suspect that Karen Oviatt (and others like her) will be on the prowl for her next victims someday soon. Maybe someone will do as I did, and Google her name, and maybe they’ll find this story and maybe they can keep Karen from latching onto one of their vulnerable family members.

Just remember...she's very good at this and very patient. It took her years to get close enough to these women to be in a position to steal from my family and in the meantime, she's been able to live off of them. She presents as very simple, naive, and cooperative...It was difficult to know what she was up to until it was too late. If a stranger shows undue interest in an elder or disabled person, there is almost always a deception.

Thanks for listening. :-)

On Job Bliss and Global Cooling...

2008-06-04T15:01:00.000-07:00

I have not blogged for some time. This is primarily due to the fact that I have changed jobs and actually have work to do that is enjoyable, engaging and not pointless and so, unlike my last job, I do not spend my work time (ah, lunches and breaks, Big Brother) blogging to escape the harsh realities of a truly terrible job.

Yes, I have a new job and no longer wish to fling myself off of a bridge. My soul is no longer eroding and I feel--maybe for the first time in my life--like I'm on "the trail of a true human being." (to paraphrase Dances with Wolves... I think and feel through movie quotes). But, oh, my last job... my last job was pure, unadulterated misery.

In my last job, I learned all about government waste. I learned that the most incompetent employees will be retained if they are union. I learned that salaried bosses (at least those who work for large, county agencies in cities associated with rain and roses) get paid for their whole day even if they only show up for 2 hours and spend the rest of the day at their kids' soccer games or in their private practice. I learned that in some work cultures, a normally great employee will shrivel up and die.

I don't regret it, though. If I hadn't endured 2.5 years of job hell, I wouldn't have the utmost appreciation for the job I have now or the wisdom to make my current work place great for others. Now I'm in a position to affect how other people feel about their work and I'm absolutely committed to doing what I can to help others do what they're good at and enjoy working. How cool is that?

For the first time in my life I can honestly utter the statement, "I can't complain," or "I have no complaints." No, wait, I take that back... If I have any complaint it's about the weather. It's @#%^*# cold here! Cold and rainy. And it's JUNE. All the hype about global warming and we here in, um, Wetland, are freezing our butts off. We've had one of the coldest and non-sunshiney springs I can remember, last summer was one of the coolest ever, and all I want is warm...no, HOT...weather. So I don't believe in global warming. I'm even inclined to hope for it. There... I said it.

But otherwise, things are good. I'll be looking for blogging opportunities on my spare time. I just know there are ironic, stupid, absurd, humorous things out there... if only I pay attention.

On Lapel Pins and Patriots...

2008-02-24T09:19:00.000-08:00

Headline:

“Conservatives say Obama lacks patriotism…”

Apparently this is due to Obama not wearing a cheesy American flag lapel pin and/or not putting his hand over his heart during our national anthem. Obviously he hates America.

But here’s the thing. But what Hillary, McCain, Bush, et. al. don’t get is this: Obama actually generates patriotism. I mean, look at the voter turn out. I’m sure Hilary will take some credit for this; though will continue to be completely unaware of just how disturbed many of us are by her and how this uneasiness propels some to vote.

Obama generates hope, motivates action, and has built up a momentum like no other candidate has accomplished since the 1960s. Those of us gen-xrs (and younger) who have been largely apathetic since… well, our whole lives, are actually voting and paying attention. We feel we finally have a horse in the race who understands our lethargy, is empathetic with our disgust of the partisan fighting, and who knows exactly what we want. We’re excited about the possibility of having a leader who says something different about America, about who we are as a nation… as a people.

I can’t speak for others, but Obama makes me feel patriotic. I get what his wife said, though she was bitterly criticized for it, about for the first time feeling proud to be American. For our generation (her generation) that’s true. Yes, yes, our grandparents endured World Wars and had some great presidents, our parents had JFK (until he was killed), but our generation has never experienced anything but bonehead leaders who hate each other and global disdain for us. We’ve been a little ashamed of how things have been going our whole lives.

Now we have Obama, who gets it. Hilary hasn’t a clue, McCain is so understandably far out of touch with us that it’s absurd, but the O has managed to unify our nation. That’s patriotism. He’s a true patriot. The man doesn’t have to wear a pin, or go through the motions. He embodies what is good about America. He embodies what is good about all of us. He simply is patriotism.

On Belief Ownership and the Nature of Magic...

2007-11-21T08:36:00.000-08:00

The holidays are upon us, yet again, and so is the Santa discussion. Last year, you may remember, I shared how our daughter (then 8) stated “Mom, Santa must be real because you are my parents, you say he’s real, and you would never lie to me.”

http://sheruminates.blogspot.com/2006/12/on-lies-and-christmas-spirit.html

Her father and I ultimately let it drop after a particularly illuminating discussion I had with Cassie in the Target parking lot a few days before Christmas. A Santa belief related song played on our CD player and Cassie brought up the reality-of-Santa topic yet again. I felt ready. I had a plan. I put on my strategic therapist hat, and said something like, “Well, Cassie, you’re getting older now and beginning to understand that things are more complex than they seemed when you were a little girl…” She nodded; her superior big-girl identity clinging to this sign of her maturity and wisdom.

“You made that comment about how Dad and I wouldn’t lie to you, and I’ve been thinking about that. I do want to be honest with you. So, you must know by now that one man couldn’t possibly do all the work it would take to literally go into every child’s home with toys all in one night…”

“Yeah, that’s why he’s magic, Mom…” She rolls her eyes as she gives me the remedial Santa education I obviously missed or lost somewhere along the way.

“Right, magic… and, as you know, magic isn’t always straightforward and obvious. With magic, things might look one way but be an entirely different way…”

Her eyes widened with some distress.

“So,” I continued, “with Santa it may appear to littler kids that an actual man does all that work but older kids and grownups come to realize that the magic of Santa works everywhere and through everybody…” I’m so goooood, I thought; leading up to my ultimate explanation that we grownups essentially embody Santa and do his bidding…Which, I’ve come to realize is pretty danged true.

But then… “Mom,” she interrupts, “I just want to believe that Santa comes down the chimney, or through the door if we’re at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and delivers my presents. Let’s not complicate it, OK? You have your beliefs and I have mine.”

Alrighty then. “That’s fine Cassie,” I said. “You’re right. You need to come to your own conclusions about Santa.” Thank goodness I was finally released from the “you would never lie to me” burden. So, last Christmas carried on as a full-fledged Santa Christmas.

Now this new year is upon us and Cassie just turned 9. Recently, we discussed God and religion and she made some comment about how it’s silly that people believe in God. I said, “Well, you believe in Santa.”

“Yeah, mom, but I’ve seen proof that Santa exists. I mean, it’s not like you buy all the presents and put them under the tree…”

Imagine, if you will, the kind of facial expression one, who does not lie well, might have on one’s face when one is confronted directly with the truth. I had it. She, sweet, trusting Cassie, missed it… or chose to ignore it. Santa, so far, is safe this Christmas; in a girl who will believe what she wants to believe. At least she’s honest about it.

On Upsides and the Warmth of the Sun....

2007-02-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

So, just for fun, I wrote the following satire news story and submitted it to www.demockeracy.com for their weekly contest. I'm guessing my humor is maybe too "local" but I enjoyed myself...that's what counts, right?

The Good News About Global Warming

Dire predictions of apocalyptic heat, wide-spread drought, and other assorted bad stuff have propelled governments and commoners to clamor for global warming initiatives; aimed at reducing the human contribution to this terrifying climate change.

However, some scrappy Oregonians are eager to embrace the benefits.

Blane Blank, rookie meteorologist for News Channel 8 in Western Oregon, crosses his fingers for the predicted strong storms and potential devastation. "I mean, around here, you know…it's kinda dull. Oh sure, we get the occasional little windstorm or a local stream floods some guy's condo. Last winter we had a dusting of sleet. Wah hoo."

Blank is excited about the possible increase in extreme weather. "I can't help it. I ache to report on massive storms and destruction. I'm so freakin' bored right now and if I have to forecast another 'sunbreak' I'm going to…" At this point, Blank's producer beckoned him away for studio business.

Jen Mercer runs the local "Surf & Dive" shop in the small dilapidated town of Sesquoinicakotohmehoho, on the Oregon Coast. Mercer's hair whacked around and her eyes squinted against a rush of chilly drizzle as she discussed her perspectives. "Yeah, this sucks. I mean, it's just like this pretty much all the time. Oh, did you feel the water? It's numbingly cold. Some fools come here to surf and dive but they have to rent dry suits…not wet suits…dry suits. Otherwise, they'll die. Do I hope for global warming? Lord, yes."

Mercer said the Oregon Coast tourism industry would thrive in a warmer climate by a temperate ocean; as she cinched down the hood grommet on her high-tech rain gear. "Yeah, warmth seems to work for San Diego, Hawaii, and Jamaica. Imagine actually enjoying the coast without the plague of hypothermia. Global Warming? Bring it on!"

Oregon Governor Ted Kulongoski admits, "Nobody talks about it, but warmer weather has its perks. Besides, the media is blowing the whole thing out of proportion anyway. What, we're looking at a one degree change per year?" He grins, "That's just more golf days."

On Birthin' and Workin'...

2007-02-01T16:47:00.000-08:00

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070201/ap_on_bi_ge/workplace_families_3

So, Harvard and McGill University researchers came out with a study that suggested the US is behind on the mandatory provision of family benefits to workers.

Apparently, many more enlightened and progressive countries force employers to offer a plethora of benefits, including paid maternity and paternity leave, thus relegating the US to the Uncaring Bastards Category yet again.

The thing is, I’m a family woman myself. I produced a grade schooler (scholar…schooler….hmmm….whatever), acquired a husband, and adopted a cat. (not necessarily in that order). I, and they, experience sickness and medical appointments and I’m sure at some point we’ll undergo a death in the family. So I’m not entirely unsympathetic to family issues and, of course, would benefit from pro-family workplace policies.

The thing is, though, it is my choice to have those responsibilities. My employers—past, present and future—had nothing to do with my reproduction. Why would I have the expectation that they’d pay me for 6 weeks whilst I’m off birthin’ babies? How can anyone justify legislating such a benefit?

I’ve heard the argument that these sorts of policies encourage healthier children and stronger families, thus improving society in general and benefiting everyone—in the end. Maybe, but where does that leave those who opt out of breeding?

Let’s say I go off for 6 weeks of paid maternity leave. During that time (while I’m romping with my newborn, reading books, watching Oprah and doing nothing to contribute to my workplace) my co-workers are covering for me and also doing their normal work activities. One could say, well it all evens out because you’ll cover for them when it’s “their time,” but many people will not go off and have a baby, or will have 1 when others have 2, 3, 4 babies… Or had their babies decades ago when nobody got maternity leave. Or are male and would never burden their company by staying home and getting paid for 6 weeks…

I’m just sayin’.

Maybe the only real answer is to give each employee 6 weeks of paid discretionary time-off per year. That way, they can use it for breeding, gardening, funerals, trips to Belize, naps, the flu, trying out for American Idol…whatever. Otherwise, rewarding childbirth and overburdening other workers just rubs me the wrong way…

Am I wrong?

On Ching Chong and Gaycial Slurs...

2006-12-18T15:16:00.000-08:00

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20061215/ap_en_tv/people_rosie_o_donnell_12

Oh my good freakin’ grief. And yet, also, like cosmic justice. OK, I’m getting ahead of myself and am incoherent.

So, for those of you who’d rather skip the “news” article, Rosie O’Donnell recently joked on “The View” about how Danny DiVito’s drunk visit to the show probably made global news. Rather than say this (as I just did) in a boring way, she chose figurative humor—go figure, as she’s a comedienne.

Well, guess what? This offended people and now Rosie is under fire to render the exact apology formula to soothe the souls tortured by her shocking display of cultural insensitivity. But, here’s the thing, she was not making fun of Chinese people…she was making fun of those of us who don’t speak Chinese.

We all—by now—know Asian languages (or any languages we do not, ourselves, speak) are valid languages spoken by intelligent and valid people with rich histories, personalities and perspectives. I mean, duh. However, when one’s ear and brain do not comprehend the language, one is left with the general sounds of the language. To our English-only ears, newscasts from China pretty much sound like O’Donnell’s silly interpretation.

Because they sound like that to our ears does not imply that we truly believe they are saying “ching chong ching chong” or that we believe they are not saying anything. It just means we are lazy dunderheads who do not have the time or inclination to learn foreign languages. It also means that other languages sound funny when we do not, ourselves, speak them; especially when those languages insert names and/or words we are familiar with.

I’m sure that English sounds funny to people who do not speak it and I’m sure that non-English speakers can generate some sort of phonetic gibberish to mimic what English must sound like to them. The thing is, I’d find that funny. Bring it on. I’m totally curious how a non-English speaker would phonetically point fun at English.

Yeah, yeah, I imagine the “ching chong” thing has been used to mock others. Most words have been used to mock others. However, I doubt O’Donnell had mean intentions and I seriously wish people would settle down and consider intentions before getting all lathered up.

Ironically, O’Donnell herself presented as an offended party regarding the Clay Aiken/Kelly Rippa spat. For those of you who have way better things to do than follow the drama of daytime television, Rippa, pissed about Aiken covering her mouth with his hands while attempting to shut her up so he could participate in an interview, said something about “…I don’t know where your hands have been…” To O’Donnell, this clearly represented a homophobic remark and she spouted off about it on “The View.”

Of course, Rippa denied this and pointed out that it’s cold and flu season.

If O’Donnell can interpret Rippa’s statement as homophobic—even though Aiken hasn’t come out as gay—I guess it’s fair that assorted Chinese-Americans may be offended by “ching chong ching chong.”

I mean, really, let’s all be offended and demand apologies. Being offended is definitely “in.” I’m offended, he’s offended, she’s offended, they’re offended…wouldn’t you like to be offended too?

On Lies and Christmas Spirit...

2006-12-07T14:44:00.000-08:00

Papa Elf: Well, silly as it sounds, a lot of people down south don't believe in Santa Claus.

Buddy the Elf: What?! Well, who do they think puts all their toys under the tree?

Papa Elf: Well, there's a rumor floating around that, uh, that the parents do it.

Buddy the Elf: That's... that's ridiculous. I mean, parents couldn't do that all in one night. What about Santa's cookies? I suppose parents eat them, too?

Papa Elf: Yeah, I, uh, I... I know,

~ Bob Newhart and Will Ferrell in Elf

My child is eight and still fervently believes in Santa Claus. She believes in him so strongly that she engages in heated debates with her school mates about his existence verses the existence of God—who she does not believe in. They argue for God, she argues for Santa and all use the same sketchy data and circular reasoning used by anyone to prove the existence of an all powerful and knowing entity who doesn’t just, like, show up and say, “Hi.”

I’d expected her to come to some more, ah, mature conclusions about Santa by now or at least make some connections I could utilize to segue her perceptions to “it’s the spirit of Santa that’s important…” But, no, she is still determined that a friendly, large, whiskered, older gentleman has nothing better to do than spend his immortal life whipping elves into toy production and delivering them (the toys, not the elves) to every single household in the freakin’ world within the span of, loosely, 24 hours (assuming Santa arrives around midnight in whatever part of the world he’s in at the time…).

We’ve been content to indulge her beliefs until recently, when she said to her dad and me, out of the blue, “I know Santa exists because you would never lie to me.” Jim and I looked at each other, stunned. I mean, we had no words, no response, no segue. In the end, we opted for a subject change and non-verbally indicated to each other that we’d have a strategic planning session later on.

We are officially perplexed and at odds about this Santa situation. I’m honored that she trusts us and feel strongly that some sort of honest discussion about Santa must occur because I’d rather she hear it from us than find out on her own and distrust everything we tell her for the rest of her life; resulting in involvement with drugs, prostitution and crime…roaming the streets of Portland until she’s picked up by some insensitive cops or worse, ends up on social services.

Jim feels strongly that we should continue to perpetuate the Santa belief because Christmas will be more fun that way and he’d rather not also have to ruin the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, assorted other fairies, and the Great Pumpkin. Clearly, he does not see the implications, the potential for major psychological damage, the trust issues, the teachable moments… sigh…

We did not realize when we set out to parent a child within the Santa paradigm, that the eventual decision to reveal his reality could result in major marital disagreement. It all seemed so innocent and harmless. Since the “lie” comment, we’ve had many discussions, theories, scenarios, bottles of wine, but have yet to come to any conclusion…any plan.

I found out about Santa accidentally, on a Christmas morning, shortly after I’d turned seven. Late on Christmas Eve, I got up for the bathroom and heard weird electronic beeping sounds. Investigating, I peeked around the corner and saw my dad, amongst mounds of wrapping paper and boxes, on the floor of the living room, happily playing with the beeping object. I’ve never been a snoop and honorably retreated back to my bedroom when I’d realized that my parents were finishing their wrapping.

In the morning, as we opened our booty, my step-brother tackled a small gift labeled “From Santa.” He excitedly tore open a little electronic baseball game, turned it on and began to play it. To my shock, it emitted the very same electronic beeping sounds I’d heard the night before. I confessed my discovery and my parents launched into the “spirit of Santa” explanation; fessing up to the ruse. I recall handling it well and having no residual trust issues (at least none related to that subject).

Still, I’d never jumped to the initial conclusion that “Santa must be real because my parents would never lie to me.” Of course this could be because I’d caught my parents in numerous lies prior to the from-Santa-ball-game and really never had the expectation that I could trust them implicitly anyway.

Our child’s trust is both a testament to our basically good parenting and to our ability to lie effectively. What we currently lack is spin. So I imagine, prior to Christmas morning, my spouse and I will generate some satisfying and morally acceptable Santa explanation that teaches her the spirit of giving, perpetuates magical thinking, and covers our asses. Or we’ll just eat the cookies, spill some milk and play dumb as per usual. Either way.

On Ambition and Failure...

2006-11-09T08:55:00.000-08:00

OK, so that first bit of the novel I posted...? Yeah, like, that's all I've written... I mean, seriously, I haven't written another word. I don't even know what kind of bad news the counselor received because I only threw that in there because I read that characters need that sort of thing to keep the story going...like just writing about her experiences as a counselor would not be enough (I know...tell that to Erv Yalom...but still), she needs a dilemma...something that prods her off the course and takes her in a new direction...

The point is, I have not written another word and clearly I have failed at write a novel in a month. The general goal is to write 1667 words a day... I think the prologue I wrote is like 800 words... and it's crap. No, no... I can tell it's crap because I'm bored by it. So I've had little insensitive to continue to write boring crap; especially 1667 words a day of boring crap.

So there we are. However, I have gleaned some learning from this experience. 1) I do enjoy writing, but I'm far to literal to make shit up. I mean, I can blather on all day about my own experiences and perspectives; but to make up a whole world...a whole array of people I don't know...and make them interesting and full of activity and adventures? Ugh. And, even when I try to do this, I end up really writing about myself and people I've actually known and changing their names which is both risky and trite. 2) I have issues with commitment...at least commitment to things that bore me. Or maybe it's adult attention deficit. I can write short columns/blogs but not long crappy novels. 3) It's OK to give up. No, really, I follow through on lots of things so it's OK to admit that this challenge is one I'm going to let go. And, the truth is, I have no interest in running a marathon either... I'm more of a 5k kind of gal.

So there you have it. I admire those who do complete their novels and do see the value of doing it. Perhaps I will write a novel one day, when a story catches my fancy and I feel compelled to write it. Or not...

On Fiction and Impossible Goals...

2006-11-03T14:53:00.000-08:00

OK, I started the novel but I'm so far behind the target schedule (1667 words a day...) that I'm having serious doubts about my ability to complete the damn thing. Also, my brain is so literal that I'm having a terrible time firing up my imagination...

Still, I manged to crank out the following:

Agency (tentative title)

Prologue

The Donald Duck struck her first, followed by the purple bowler hat. She barely heard their introductions and embarassed confession that they'd left their checkbook at home. The duck and the hat demanded way more attention.

Denise and Jared presented themselves on a rainy Tuesday morning with high hopes that counseling could solve their problems. Jared reported that he suffered from chronic depression, sometimes psychotic depression, and Denise nodded vigorously in the chair beside him. Jared asserted that he’d done well with his medications and that his mental illness actually helped his artistic pursuits.

Denise’s nods slowed to a stop at that, she cocked her head and her face bricked into disapproval. “Well,” she injected, “but that time you thought you were Gandhi and glued all that dog hair to your truck…and I couldn’t get you to eat or come in and get warm…and you kept yelling at strangers that they had to join the revolution…”

“Yeah, “ he said softly, “it did get a little outta control that time…and Ralph had to drag me to the hospital…but I’m doing better now.”

The therapist glanced again at the large Donald Duck, dancing in tie-dye, across Denise’s breasts. “I like your shirt,” she said. To the therapist’s ears, it sounded trite and false; the sort of thing a beginning counselor would say to avoid getting too deep. She tried to justify it to herself, “These people have serious problems, I only just met them and I’m trying to build the relationship…” But she could recognize her own bullshit. The truth--that she had way too much wine last night, that her boyfriend had just been laid off, and that she really had to pee—reduced her to therapeutic uselessnss.

Denise’s face brightened, she leaned forward and said, “Oh thanks! I got it at Disneyland a couple weeks ago. We love Disney…love it ,love it. Right?” She looked at Jared for confirmation and caressed Donald’s left foot.

“Yeah, man, Disneyland’s awesome. We try to go a couple times a year…it’s like, at Disneyland, it’s all OK…man, all OK… I got this pin in the Space Mountain gift shop.” He pointed to his velvet hat and the therapist ducked forward to see the small pin on it. She lamely said, “Cool.”

Jared reached for Denise’s hand and they sat together proudly in the afterglow of amusement park memories. The therapist observed, “You both look happy.” She watched the emotions move over their faces; joy, fading to hesitation, consternation, confusion, tension and eventually resignation.

“Well,” Denise offered, “we have really good times together but we have some problems we’d like to work on.”’

“Yeah,” Jared sighed. “She doesn’t like sex.”

“That’s not true! I do, it’s just…”

“She says it hurts.”

“Yeah… He’s too big for me or I’m too small or something…”

The therapist glanced at the clock; dismayed to find out that only 15 minutes of the 50 minute session had passed and she already had mental images of these two creatures in the throws of passion.

“So, sex is a big issue right now in your relationship,” the therapist recapped.

“Yeah…and money.” Denise looked even more miserable.

Jared squirmed. “Now, that will get better when me and Ralp get our business off the ground… I told you it won’t be long, like maybe a month.”

Denise looked doubtful. “You said that three months ago but I’m the only one with the job and I have to pay for everything… I wish you could get a real job to tide us over. ”

“I can’t be a slave to the corporate world.” Jared looked at the therapist very seriously. “I’m like a caged animal…one that’s wounded and bites if people mess with it. I can’t work like that. That’s why I’m starting my own business.”

“Well, I don’t like my job either.” Denise turned to the therapist. “I work at the Walmart and it’s not like it’s my dream job.” Her face turned wistful, “I’d really like to go back to school…I wanna be a nurse.”

“Well, when our business takes off, you can go back to school.”

Denise slumped in her chair. The therapist suspected Denise had heard that before, many times.

“So,” the therapist spoke, “Sex, money… are there any other issues you hope to work on?” As if that’s not enough, the therapist thought to herself.

“That’s pretty much it.”

“Yep. Otherwise, we’re doing OK. Denise is great and I love her. I’ve never been with anyone this long before and we have a great time…but, you know, a man has needs…” Denise just took a breath and looked out the window.

The therapist discussed with them the semantics of the therapy process, fees, appointment times, and expectations. She could have gone deeper with them, tried harder, but she didn't have the energy today. At least she didn't give them a stupid homework assignment, like "pay attention to each time you feel your needs are not being met, write it down and bring it back for next session," that they probably wouldn't do and she'd probably forget to ask them about next time. She gave herself some credit.

She shook hands with them and sent them off for another week. Sex and money: A classic, timeless, solutionless struggle for couples the world over. The therapist yawned and locked the door behind her. As she walked down the hall, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.

She flipped it open and gave her typical greeting, “Hi, this is Emma…”

The color escaped her face as she absorbed the worst news she’d ever received in her life.

On Marathons and Literary Genius....

2006-10-31T12:56:00.000-08:00

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Ooooo… it’s almost time to begin my first novel. I’ve never attempted to write one; primarily because I’ve never been able to commit to a plot, characters or even a genre long enough to make a novel out of my scattered fragments of imagination. If I couldn’t come up with the perfect novel, why bother?

Then I heard about National Novel Writing Month… and I read the website. The philosophy seems to be the writing equivalent of running a marathon…one you don’t expect to win but hope to finish…just to say you ran a marathon. It doesn’t matter if your writing is crap, if you ever publish the damn thing, or if it’s literary genius…The goal is writing 50,000 words in a month that—hopefully—resemble a short novel by the end.

Why do it? Here are my reasons. 1) I’d never do it otherwise due to my own fears, picky nature, and procrastination. 2) Freedom to write whatever I want…w/o worrying about perfection. 3) It’ll be good for me…character building and will prove to myself that I can write a novel.

So, my plan is to publish my writing on this blog as I go. I make no guarantees about quality or entertainment value and stress that it may just be total crap…but, hey, hand me a Dixie cup of water and clap as I run by…at least I'm doing it. Or, come along with me and write your own novel in a month. We can puke together at the end… or along the way…

Now, I’d better start thinking about the plot…characters…genre… Hmmm….

On What Little Boys are Made Of...

2006-10-25T16:07:00.000-07:00

From my husband’s recent email from Guangzhou, China:

Dinner was something called "Hot Pot" in a Szechwan style... (also got pictures) ... I could sum it up as fish head soup... but there was a lot more to it than that... you might have liked it.. but I really didn’t recognize any of the ingredients (well .. except the fish head) ... some were animal ... some were vegetable and some unknown... in fact, I asked the hostess if a certain ingredient was animal or vegetable... she said neither... :-o something looked suspiciously like tongue from its texture... and something else was identified as "part of beef".. but in the shape of fettuccini and looked like nothing I'd seen.... I'm pretty sure it had something to do with a cows digestive system. I took pictures.. which was acceptable because I said they were for my daughter... but really I just wanted to show you and get all freaked out about it later.... I found myself wishing I was blind.... and trying really hard not to imagine what each item might have been.... two eyeballs ended up on my plate and I was told it would be good for my eyesight if I had them..... of course I declined that... but I did dig into the fish brains because it seemed to be the choice cut and I didn’t want to offend. Also .. I ate all the weird veggies and stumbled into some cabbage... I was actually delighted to find cabbage...

On Heros and Uninterested Felines...

2006-10-24T14:56:00.000-07:00

Save the cheerleader, save the world…

I’m hooked on the NBC show “Heroes” and have not enjoyed television this much since the “Bionic Woman” and “Emergency!.” I’d heard decent reviews before the show began and decided to set the ol’ DVR to record the show… you know, in case of boredom.

We watched the first couple of episodes and mostly enjoyed the Japanese Hiro…I mean, total bubble of internal joy every time he exclaimed, “I DID IT!!” in subtitles… but I had some ambivalence toward the rest of the show. I’d had a new episode waiting on my DVR and kept putting off watching it until, finally, I needed something to watch while working out. That one did it…I couldn’t wait to watch the next one and ultimately found myself oozing, “Awesome!!” to the cat (my only companion at the time) after the most recent episode. When I talk to the cat, it must be good.

Essentially, “Heroes” is a modern day superhero tale. Perhaps it is especially engaging for us children of the 70s who grew up with the superhero genre and crave the nostalgia of our youth. Not unlike the Bionic shows, “Heroes” manages to supply rich character development in addition to the fun of the superpower. All the characters are discovering their abilities, and ultimate purposes, while wrestling with life in general. Believe it or not…

My biggest fear is that the show will follow “Surface” into obscurity. If I spend this season seeking to understand how the indestructible cheerleader fits in to total world obliteration, watching alter ego porn girl (who bares a striking resemblance to Diana Krall) integrate, sympathizing with the mind reading cop…. Only to have NY go boom in the season cliffhanger and NBC cancel the show without any resolution… Oh man, let’s not even think about it. I’ll have a lot more to say to the cat if that happens.

NBC hasn’t exactly been its tip top self since it lost the super-sitcoms of yesteryear—well, and Anthony Edwards. Still, I’m impressed with its efforts to generate shows that provide imaginative storylines (not just “gritty” crime shows), engaging but not Hollywood perfect characters, and non-reality storytelling. Kudos, even if you are loosing money, NBC.

Unfortunately—and I’m only saying this because I’m a parent and I remember how much I adored my childhood heroes—“Heroes” is not appropriate for the youngin’s. Most of it is, but it has adult themes—mainly promiscuity/internet porn… I’d rather not explain that to my 8 year old… but also gore, violence and politicians. I mean, you know…

However, for us 70s kids, this show is—so far—heaven. A balance of good/evil, humor, suspense, personality, mystery, intelligence… it can go anywhere it has a mind to. After all, it’s dealing with space-time continuums, leaping tall buildings, ass-kicking mirror images…. Entertainment candy for those of us who are pretty darned sick of reality at the moment and relish some heroes to root for.

I think one can catch up—if you haven’t been watching it already—by watching episodes on the internet. Save the cheerleader, save the world…

On Bitches and Marketing...

2006-10-19T20:40:00.000-07:00

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ucac/20061019/cm_ucac/ojtrialsforterrorists

Ann Colter…is it just me, or does her bitchiness rise to the level of superpowers? I mean, forget flying, invisibility, and spider web slinging… mutant Ann X exhibits superhuman bitchiness… she slays with words… weakens liberals with acerbic verbal kryptonite. It’s almost…sniff…beautiful.

But, that aside, does she have a point about anything? Probably.

She’s essentially pissed because she feels terrorists and those who cavort with them are perhaps getting off easier than they should. Maybe they are… I don’t know and I don’t care because really none of that matters.

The hell you say? Yes. It’s all crap. It isn’t like other terrorists look at the poor bastards at Gitmo and say, reasonably, “Gee, it looks like Saiib and Jsmahhlsammal are having a pretty rough time in that detention center. I would not like to have such a rough time myself, therefore I will cease my terrorist activities to prevent myself from a similar fate.” It doesn’t matter if they are tortured, punished, taunted, overfed, underfed… it will not change the detainees and it will not change the would-be terrorists. It also does not matter if we treat them well and give them all the creature comforts we can imagine. Nothing we do to them matters.

However, talking about what we do or don’t do…arguing about how we should or shouldn’t treat them… making a big deal out of them at all… That matters. Why? Because it makes us look very very stupid to the other countries. It looks like we can’t get our act together. We’ve become the trailer trash of the world…who yell and scream and blabbidy blab blab about all of our private business.

I don’t get why our politicians, Ann X, and other assorted public figures won’t just shut the f—up and get ‘er done. It occurred to me that in a way we were a stronger country with a Democrat president… I mean, he still went in, shot people up, bombed stuff and whatnot—he just didn’t publicize it. Bush, on the other hand, does not know how to shut up. If he only knew how to schmooze publicly and kill privately—oh man, we’d be unstoppable.

http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/treasures/trm139.html

Case in point, the “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” theory. We can be pissed off, we can be scared, we can be determined, we can be buttheads… but we can keep all that to ourselves and strategically do what we need to do. Be cool like Fonzie.

But no, everyone goes on and on…blah blah blah axis of evil… blah blah blah war is bad… blah blah blah stay the course…blah blah blah it’s Bush’s fault… blah blah blah it’s gays… The rest of the world is looking at us shaking their collective heads… not because we have prisoners at Gitmo and not because we’re fighting in Iraq or wherever… but because we just seem so crude and obnoxious. We have no spin…no charm…no charisma…no finesse.

Our government needs a Secretary of Marketing/PR and better get one soon. WWIII will be a war of public opinion…mark my words.

On Vegas and Recovery...

2006-10-18T15:21:00.000-07:00

So we’re back from Vegas and I feel as if somebody hit me with a giant bat. I saw a t-shirt in the airport gift shop that said, “Las Vegas: What was I thinking?” I thought, “Amen.”

I mean, it’s a fun place to an extent and like some sort of forgiving foster parent, Vegas accepts all sorts of children….Everyone fits in Vegas.

When I look back on our experience, or when somebody asks me what we did there, I realize that our primary activity—for 3 days—involved walking around looking at hotels. I mean, the hotels are impressive, yes and all have their own personalities. This is interesting and free entertainment, but man, I’m sure time could have been used more wisely…even if only to sit by the pool with a giant fruit beverage.

Occasionally we’d walk to a hotel for a purpose. We deliberately watched the fountains at the Bellagio several times and stood amazed as they popped off water with the force of fireworks. We went to New York, New York to visit a sing-along piano bar—probably the highlight of the trip. We went to Ballys to see Jubilee, an old-school Vegas show involving matter-of-fact topless women, rhinestones and guys on ribbons. We went to the Venetian to eat some Italian food and ride the Gondolas (which go like 2 miles an hour but you have to wear seatbelts)…I tried grappa.

Otherwise, we generally divided our time between looking at hotels and deciding what to eat. We did a little gambling and I lost a whopping $7. We never did play at any of the tables, where the minimum bets exceeded our risk comfort zone, but did goof off with the penny and nickel slots.

The weird thing about the place is the lack of seating. I sort had the image of parking ourselves in some hotel lobbies for people watching, but realized quickly that you pretty much have to be a paying customer in a bar or restaurant to find a seat. Vegas does not want you to stay in one place for long.

I do not recommend Quark’s Bar at the Hilton… though the Romulan Ale is worth having for obvious reasons…the food is overpriced cafeteria fare. However, I do recommend Ellis Island for both Karaoke and cheap but decent 24-hr food—and breakfast anytime.

We made it to the Dam and took the Dam tour—which has been, unfortunately, shortened after 9/11 for security reasons. And, I told my mom we went and she informed me that a couple years after the Hoover-Fuck incident, she and Dad went back and toured the thing. She regaled me with the parts of the tour no longer available. Great. She got to go on the full tour and I get “Look, generators… Look tunnel… OK, end of tour.” Figures.

The best part of the trip happened in the desert at the Valley of Fire State Park. Essentially a poor-man’s Zion/Bryce Canyon but beautiful. We arrived before sunset and wandered among the red rock formations until we could hardly see them.

I’m glad to know what Vegas is all about… but I’m also glad to be home. Vegas…what was I thinking??

On Birthdays and Dams...

2006-10-10T12:08:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday (at the risk of revealing personal information that could result in identity theft or other heinous scary things that I can’t even imagine but will hear about via the media eventually because they are out to scare the shit out of every American until we are so tired of being scared that apathy really sets in and we throw our collective media devices and Katie Couric into the Boston Harbor…)

I’m halfway to 68 and I don’t care who knows it. It’s all relative anyway. I’m the Goldilocks of aging. At work, I’m about the only female who still menstruates so people naturally don’t take me seriously. In Mazatlan, like 4 years ago, I felt like a fat dinosaur. Among my friends, I feel just right…Sophisticated and wise and yet young enough to appreciate sarcasm.

These be the good old days ~ Ziggy Marley

Today I’m at work and my perfunctory birthday card (signed by everyone whether they know me or not, with a variety of the same statements everyone makes on every office birthday card, “Have a Good One. Best Wishes. You’re Sweet. Enjoy Yourself,” and of course, “Happy Birthday” ad nauseam) is displayed prominently over my flat screen. I’m touched. I wasn’t sure there were enough emails about whose birthdays are in October that they’d remember. Them’s good people.

My co-workers also pitched in to get me a little travel kit involving soaps. This is a thoughtful gift (even if somebody did bring it home from a hotel in Wisconsin, didn’t use it and decided to pass it to me). It’s the thought that counts; and think they did, because I’m on my way to Vegas, baby, tomorrow afternoon and could use a variety of soaps; especially exfoliating soaps. There’s no such thing as too much soap, I always say.

You have to say Vegas baby, when you talk about going there. It just feels good. Not “Las Vegas,” or “Vegas,” but “Vegas comma baby.” I have only visited Vegas as a child and frankly I confuse those memories with those of Reno. Somewhere in there are hamburgers and a cheap stuffed monkey named Fred, won at Circus Circus; along with trying to figure out where kids were allowed and not allowed. I vaguely see myself positioned just outside a velvet rope watching my mother on the opposite side of the rope at a nickel slot machine.

The most vivid childhood memory of Vegas specifically, baby, is not Vegas itself but Hoover Dam; and not the Dam itself but the argument my parents had about whether to go on the damn tour of the Dam. This monumental parental event took place in a Winnebago in front of my step-brother, myself and our wiener dog, Gretchen.

Essentially my mom is scared of heights, enclosed spaces, turbines and anything involving fun and adventure (or so it seemed to my young self, sitting in the RV hoping with all my might that I might get to go into that incredible edifice and understand the dynamics of hydroelectric power…or at least ride a really cool elevator…whatever). Essentially my dad is scared of doing anything without my mom, so when Mom decided she would not participate and would “be fine here in the motor home, reading with the dog…” my dad’s thoughtful response was, “well then, none of us will go.” What followed is relatively blurry but involved lots of huffing, circular reasoning, passive aggressive statements, martyrdom, and most significantly my mom saying “Fuck” in front of us for the first time.

I, of course, burst into tears. Who was this woman?? I didn’t even know her anymore. I didn’t know whose side to be on. Hers, because she said she wanted to stay behind and would be ok if we went ahead… or his, because even though she said this, it could have just been code for “I’m only saying I’ll be fine and that you can go ahead but really I don’t want you to go but I’m going to pretend like it’s ok and make you all feel really guilty anyway.” Or hers, because she really didn’t care if we went our not and would have been fine but my dad is a stubborn fart who’d rather ruin everybody’s fun than just go see the stupid thing without my mother. In the end, none of us went any farther into the dam than the bathroom at the visitor center.

Truly, it made no sense to me at the time. And though I’m still perplexed by the actual nature of the disagreement or the logic on either side of it, I can’t hold it against them because I’ve had more than my fair share of ridiculous arguments with my spouse. Plus, it’s a really fun memory to rehash and never let them live down and it brought the word “fuck” into the family. It’s fodder for years of ribbing and cussing.

So, Vegas, baby. The strip, the food, the drink, the shows, the Dam… I’m on my way tomorrow and not looking back. Hedonism take me away. Happy fucking birrrthdayyyy tooo meeeeee…..

On Fashion and Spanish Pluck...

2006-09-28T16:45:00.000-07:00

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060928/od_nm/witness_fashion1_dc_1

I don’t understand fashion. I mean, I have a grasp on how to assemble items of clothing to pass as presentable, but I’m sooo not sophisticated enough to appreciate the intricacies and drama of the runway. I’m only just beginning to comprehend that the “fashion industry” does not refer to a Wal-Mart sweatshop in Malaysia.

Quite honestly, I haven’t paid any attention until recently when Spain—in a crazy fit of concern for health and welfare, those bastards—decided to bar the underweight from the Madrid Fashion Week. From what little I understand of the situation, Spain had the thought that, perhaps, the push for freakishly thin models somehow damaged the models themselves and perhaps encouraged other young women to emulate famine. Go figure. So they decided to—not unlike sporting events baring athletes who use performance enhancers—ban ultra thin participants.

This has caused much uproar and bitterness—of course, because any change must always cause uproar and bitterness no matter what “industry” or demographic. The government of Canada could ban mustard gas and somebody, somewhere would be roaring and bitter. It’s just the way things are.

But the fashion leaders are especially upset because they believe strongly that their amazingly intricate and artful designs only look good on certain body frames; namely skeletons. Malnourished creatures are their canvas and they are not eager to expend extra fine fabrics on women who resemble, well, women.

I fail to grasp several things. 1) A woman with a Body Mass Index of 18 is pretty darned skinny. How can this standard possibly be a problem? 2) Who—besides the designers, the participant models, and pedophiles—possibly finds these walking-hangers attractive? How on earth did this trend become a standard of beauty? 3) How stupid do these fashion people think we are? Or are they merely delusional? It doesn’t take an analyst in a think-tank to figure out that eating disorders are a gargantuan part of the fashion industry. I, mean, like duh. 4) How come all the anorexia accused women say, “I eat a hamburger any time I want to,” as if that just wraps it up. OK, freakishly thin individual, you must not have any issues with eating because you clearly have a well-established relationship with hamburgers. Sorry to trouble you.

So, OK, should governments involve themselves with “industries” that thrive on abnormal thinness and influence young women to emulate this? Aren’t these folks consenting adults? Oh, wait, many of them are teen-agers as young as 14…13… Hmmm…

Ah well, as long as they eat hamburgers whenever they want to…

On Opera and Outrage…

2006-09-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

“In non-news today, Muslims are outraged. Also, the sun rose at its usual time, and the Earth continued to turn on its axis in the customary fashion.” – Kathleen Parker/Washington Post Writers Group

http://www.nwherald.com/MainSection/local/291120244694037.php

In an effort to curb Muslim outrage, Berlin's Deutsche Opera recently cancelled its production of “Idomeneo.”

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060927/ts_nm/arts_religion_dc_3

According to the article, “The controversy centered on a scene in which King Idomeneo is shown on stage with the severed heads of Buddha, Jesus, Mohammad and the sea god Poseidon.” They figure if they go on with this production, they will offend Muslims who will, in turn, blow stuff up.

For some reason, they are not concerned about offending Buddhists, Pagans and Christians …

Oh, maybe that’s because Buddhists don’t blow stuff up and Christians rarely blow stuff up, but instead, they unleash televangelist talking-heads on the world. This may be worse then blowing stuff up, but I’m not sure. And Pagans? Well, they were pretty much wiped out by the Christians…

I’m no fan of opera, but even I see the value of artistic license and hate to see this sort of censorship. Score one point for the bullies. Yeah, bullies… that’s really it, isn’t it? “Terrorist” is an unfortunate moniker. These folks are just bullies in the world playground and we’d rather hand over our lunch money than stand up to them.

The problem extends beyond religion and art, however. The Yahoo article also points out, “Some analysts fear a climate is developing in which people are afraid to speak out publicly. In a speech to the annual conference of think-tank Oxford Analytica last week, its head, David Young, said political correctness posed a threat to free expression for journalists, politicians and academics alike.”

I say a climate has already developed in which people are afraid to speak out publicly. It doesn’t take “analysts” in "think tanks" to figure this out. Voices are silenced by violence, money, name-calling, social isolation, litigation, etc. Everyone can play the victim card and effectively end all other discourse. We have become very good at shutting each other up.

I love a good debate (much to the dismay of my friends), but this is a lost art. Everyone is too defensive, too quick to anger, too quick to dismiss the person posing the questions… It’s so much easier to call somebody a liberal, a conservative, a racist, a sexist…or to categorically blame figureheads…or to blow up stuff… than to engage in the details. People have strong beliefs but little accurate information; media bites and propaganda are weak fodder for arguments and generally crumble upon inspection. Also, it’s difficult to debate when issues are taken so personally; when emotions outweigh logic.

Mr. Spock, where are you?

So…solutions. I’m all out of them, sorry to say. But I bet we could find them somewhere… in Canada maybe, eh?

On World Peace and Paradox...

2006-09-25T16:12:00.000-07:00

From Yahoo AP News today:

“On NBC's "Meet the Press," also taped Friday and aired Sunday, Clinton told interviewer Tim Russert that the biggest problem confronting the world today is ‘the illusion that our differences matter more than our common humanity.’”

Wait a minute. “…the illusion that our differences matter more than our common humanity…” First off, did Clinton actually say that we should focus on our similarities rather than our differences? Second, this illusion he speaks of…

Whoa…I’m way ahead of myself. See, I’m a White child of the 70s and my parents (and TV culture) raised me to believe that, well, we should focus on our similarities rather than our differences. It didn’t matter that Willis and Arnold were Black and Mr. Drummond was White—what mattered was that they were a family (for its time, this show seemed pretty progressive). My well-meaning, liberal, parents told me “Skin color doesn’t matter, we’re all human.” I wonder if the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. influenced them in any way:

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

They told me racism is bad, I should treat everybody equally and I should not judge anyone based on color, religion, disability, age, sexual orientation, etc. My dad bought a “Love See No Color” t-shirt from an African American street vendor. I thought I had it figured out.

Until I took women’s studies classes at the local University at the ripe old age of 27 and found out I’m racist because I believe that color doesn’t matter. They accused me (and other’s like me) of thinking of non-White people as invisible. Seriously, somebody brought up the “Love See No Color” thing and outrage insued. Somebody actually said, “That’s just means Whites don’t even see Blacks!”

I can’t begin to relate how tedious and absurd the discussions around race became in these classes. People felt unsafe… a lot. I know this because they kept saing, “I feel really unsafe right now.” People cried and self disclosed. Turned out that everybody was a racist. Well, OK, all the White students. Non-White students didn’t contribute to the discussions because they didn’t want to have to “be a representative for their race.” I too gave up contributing because I didn’t want to be a representative for sanity.

The remedy, we’re told, is to “honor/celebrate diversity.” In fact, whole non-profit organizations have been developed, whole FTE training positions have been hired, and whole divisions in government agencies have been formed to propegate this ideology. We’ve gone from “differences don’t matter” to “differences matter a lot” and we must train people to understand just how different we really are. Though the differences are spun positively (as opposed to the negative stereotypes of days past), I can’t help but experience this strategy as devisive. (Especially since there is one cultural group banned from celebrating its own identiy…or even admitting it has one…).

So now, Clinton identifies the “the illusion that our differences matter more than our common humanity” as our largest global problem. But then our tax dollars are paying for programs that promote the opposite point of view. The source of the illusion is no mystery; it’s merely an example of ideology run amok.

The truth is, we are all different and the same. We are all human. We are no better or worse any anybody else. And, quite frankly, we need to get over ourselves. The biggest problem facing the global community today? We take ourselves way too seriously.

On Bus Stalking and Letting Go...

2006-09-24T11:46:00.000-07:00

My daughter entered kindergarten in Bozeman Montana and though adamant that she wasn’t a “little” girl and should have all the rights and responsibilities that come with being an American citizen, she was, however, five and I seriously questioned her ability to make sound decisions based upon her inability to eat anything without depositing it all over her cheeks. However, knowing she’ll eventually be on her own (shudder), I tried to provide her with opportunities for independence; even at great cost to my own mental health.

This is how I became a bus stalker. The little darling had requested she be allowed to ride the bus. Frankly, given the open-enrollment policy of the school district, just getting her settled in a school confused me so much that I had the information lady at the school district screening my calls.

Me: “You mean, she can go to any school in town?”

School District Lady: “Yes. (she said brightly) Well, except that children who live close to the schools have priority (we don't live near any schools) and children who already have siblings in the schools have priority (ours is an only child) and it’s first come first serve…Ooops, you already missed the enrollment event at the schools…(great).”

Me: “Uh… so, uh…”

School District Lady: “Well, there is another enrollment opportunity tomorrow morning at 8 am, but you should probably get there early…some parents camp out all night… (Yikes!)”

Me: “Well, how do I choose a school?”

School District Lady: “Oh, let’s see…one of the best schools is top notch, small, and would be perfect for your little darling.”

Translation: most people pick other schools, so it should be easy to get her in that one since you waited until the last minute to bother with caring about your child’s education, you lazy excuse for a parent.

Once she was settled in the school, I found I needed to have her in an after school program twice a week and that she’d need school transportation to get her there. Now, the idea of coordinating my child with busses terrified me. I mean, when I was a kid, you went to the corner of your street, a bus came along and picked you up, dropped you off at your nearby school and, at the end of the day, the same bus picked you up and dropped you off at your street corner (where your stay-at-home mom stood loyal and true, ready to scoop you up, feed you cookies and hear about your mishaps and triumphs in between vacuuming and preparing the pot roast) Simple.

Bozeman, because of open enrollment, had kids all mixed up throughout the community so the bus system had incorporated a transfer station. A clever thing, really, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around my little, tiny, cupcake, who’s hard pressed to put her shoes on the right feet, managing to (in this order) remember to ride a bus on the designated days, get on the right numbered bus, get off it at the transfer station, get on a different numbered bus, and (probably the most difficult concept for me) remember to actually get off at the after school program bus stop. I had to see it to believe it, so I devised a plan.

Her first bus day began with the following conversation.

Me: “Today, you ride the bus.”

Girl Child: “I’m a big dancing chicken .”

Me: “Cassie, really, this is important, today remember to ride the bus after school. Mommy won’t pick you up, you’ll ride the bus. Do you remember the bus number?”

Girl Child: “Bus, bus, bus….chicken.”

Aside from the poultry fixation, she seemed to absorb the general bus concept. Great. I dropped her off at school and reminded her again, in front of her teacher, to ride the bus and checked that her purple bus instruction tag remained attached to her backpack. Handing her over to the teacher felt like checking airport luggage.

That afternoon, I arrived a half hour before school was out, so that I could park and stake out the bus loading zone. I climbed up a grassy knoll and sat low, staring intently at the group of gathering bus riders until I spotted her, my little purple-coated offspring. At first, she stood in the wrong line and I nearly panicked, my muscles tensing, ready to leap from my hiding spot. Luckily, someone waved a sign, her number, and she obediently righted the situation. Whew!

The bus brigade stacked in, and my girl obediently followed her line onto her bus, #141. Time for my next phase of supervision so I hopped back into my truck. However, at the same time, all the drive-up parents arrived; effectively jamming up the whole block so when the busses began their departure I sat stuck behind somebody’s smoking Volvo. Noooooooooo!

I strained to keep my eye on #141 as I made several attempts to ease around the Volvo. Finally, I squeaked by, and put the pedal to the metal…top speed 25 mph. #141 turned a corner 3 blocks from my location but I knew the area well enough that I thought I could catch it. I turned the same corner and did not see any busses. Oh No!! Then, a glimpse of yellow down a side street and I resumed my chase.

A few blocks later, all the busses stopped at a local middle school; the transfer station. Unfortunately, I could not park anywhere near #141 and had to keep my eyes on its location (nestled among a line of replicas) while I jockeyed for parking and debated with myself whether it was better to park looking straight at the busses or park with the direction of the busses so I could make an easy break to follow her second bus. I tried a variety of parking configurations. An old man on the corner, and his shitzu, stared at me.

Oops, the kids began the transfer process. I could see Cassie’s purple coat plop onto the sidewalk and dissapear behind other busses, tracked her purple shoes make a few confused circles, approach a teacher's loafers and get pointed to the next bus. However, I couldn’t see the number! I left my parking location and made a loop around the block but by the time I got around I could no longer visualize her current location in the queue. I lost her!!

I made another loop and crept by all the busses, desperately staring through the windows for the haircut I knew so well. About then, I became aware of the suspicious expressions on the other parents and teachers who watched me creeping by and knew my behavior mimicked some deranged kidnapper.

Fortunately, I spotted Cassie; bus #96 and 4^th in the bus queue. I pulled into a no parking zone, idled for a quick departure, but all the busses departed in unison; baring any other cars from invading the convoy. I had to wait for 17 busses to depart before I could join them and by then I’d completely lost sight of #96. My efforts to track my child had ended in failure and I swear somebody wrote down my license number. Not good.

The busses began to leave the herd but I couldn’t see #96. Implementing my last desperate plan, I headed toward the after-school location hoping I’d see #96 along the way. A wink of yellow down 3^rd street gave me hope but when I caught up to it, it was only #82. Crap. A kid in back stuck his tongue out at me and another waved both hands.

In the end, I parked by the child care and waited; trying to calm my respiration and heart rate. Eventually #96 arrived and children spilled out; the last, wearing a purple coat trotted into the gates completely unaware of her mother watching from the shadows. She did it.

After that, I felt confident she could handle this process and didn’t bother to stalk busses again. A few days later, my work phone rang twice. One call, her child care to say she had not arrived with the rest of the children and the other call, her school who’d heard from the child care that she had not arrived with the rest of the children. I advised she should have arrived. We panicked. The school secretary offered to call the bus company to try to locate her. I waited in agony for her return call. It turned out Cassie had been visiting with another child and had forgotten to get off at the child care location. The driver had to circle back at the end of the route to drop her off.

My child had a blast. I had half a bottle of red wine that night. From then on, though, I trusted the system and she seemed to get the hang of it. Apparently, she is more competent then I’d given her credit for and I had my first opportunity to let go and trust the little goofball. How does anyone survive parenting? Where's my wine...

On Attention Deficit and Chemical Accidents…

2006-09-20T13:41:00.001-07:00

I can’t stop messing with my hair. After approximately 4 weeks (sometimes sooner), my hair becomes intolerable to me and I must alter it somehow. Shorter, slantier, lighter, darker, layered, unlayered, streaky, plain…4 weeks and time for a change.

I make excuses because my husband thinks I’m nuts. He’s right. Here are some of my explanations:

1) See, it takes a long time to style it when it has those layers in the front so I trimmed it to be a little more sleek.
2) See, it takes a long time to style it when it’s all straight like it was, so I layered it… see how it falls more naturally now?
3) It’s much easier to do my make-up when the color is right… Since I darkened it a bit, I feel so much better...more “me.”
4) It was just too dark and plain. I think it looks better with some texture and highlights, don’t you? I look better blonde.
5) I really want to grow it out… I look better when it’s down to my shoulders.
6) I always think it will look better longer, but really, don’t you think my face looks thinner now that my hair is shorter?
7) Etc.

The reality is, I have HADD: Hair Attention Deficit Disorder; the primary symptom is the inability to leave well enough alone. Occasionally, my disorder has resulted in some fantastically stylish hair, most of the time I end up looking not entirely different than I looked before, and a handful of self-stylings have resulted in memorable disasters.

I learn from the disasters. Lession #1: Go to professionals for highlighting (and pretty much any other hair styling but not Super Clips or Great Cuts, because they suck). Now, I admit I’ve had some success with home highlighting kits—especially when my hair stood “raw” and healthy and I had no time constraints or the influence of alcohol. However, I’ve had enough mishaps to rethink the do-it-oneself approach.

Truthfully, home highlighting kits are fun; comparable to those home chemistry kits one gets as a kid but is only allowed to use once because one generates such destruction on the first use that one’s obsessive compulsive mother refuses to clean the sticky artificial apple flavoring off the microwave and the cat ever again.

But now I’m grown up and hair coloring is exciting. So, with much anticipation, I open the box and remove the hair coloring supplies. For some reason, the manufacturers stick the protective gloves to the instructions so one has to peel them off before reading; as if some sort of chemical accident occurred that prompted this method of glove presentation. They don’t trust us to find them with the rest of the supplies.

Most home frosting/highlighting kits contain the following items: Instructions, gloves, a “coloring cap,” a head-sized plastic bag, 2 hooks (metal and plastic), a mixing tub, a stir paddle, a packet of powder, a bottle of white liquid, a tube of gel, a tube of “toner,” and a tube of conditioner.

The basic process is to: cover one’s entire head of hair with the cap, pull selected hair through the cap, mix the powder and liquid coloring agents via the paddle, apply the mixture to the selected hair, cover the mess with the bag, process hair for time determined by the “strand test” (a recommended step whereby one only colors a few strands of hair to determine how long to color all of your hair but nobody ever really does the strand test because nobody has the attention span to go through all of this for only a couple strands of hair), rinse selected hair, remove cap and rinse all hair, apply the conditioner, rinse and then apply the toner… style as usual.

Sounds simple, eh? OK, yeah, but it gets worse. We’ll start with the coloring cap which is a plastic bonnet dotted with suggested hair hole marks (not actual holes). After putting the bonnet on your head, you have to use the hooks (plastic or metal) to puncture the hole marks (without puncturing your head…ha ha) and grab chunks of hair from underneath the cap, and pull the hair through the holes. I won’t even get into how difficult it is to do this to the back of one’s head or how frustrated you’ll get when you poke through one hole and accidentally pull hair from a previous hole thus requiring a re-doo on that hole…

So after hours of this, you finally have a head of segregated hair poufs ready for chemical processing. You then empty the powder into the tub and attempt to mix in the other two chemicals without fluffing the powder all over the counter and also into your mucous membranes. Good luck with that.

Applying the chemicals is relatively easy until you accidentally get them on skin and find out why the gloves are so prominently displayed. Don’t worry, the skin grows back in a few days.

Then you cover the mess with the head-sized bag in order to increase the temperature of the hair to better process the lightening. Next you must wait anywhere from 60 to 90 minutes before you can wash it all out thus incurring the commentary and ridicule of your family because you really do look completely stupid for 60 to 90 minutes.

When your time is up, you get to rinse the selected hair, remove the cap, and add the final finishing chemicals. Hopefully this goes according to plan and you don’t find out that you left the chemicals on too long and now have gooey gobs of melted hair, or have punctured larger holes than intended and leaked the chemicals to your scalp where they spread out and lightened too much hair to almost transparency giving the appearance of bald spots all over your head… or didn’t leave the chemicals on long enough to get past the orange stage of coloring…Not that I would know.

Yes, I’ve had my encounters with home coloring and these days I keep to the salons when I have the color urge. Hmm… how long has it been since my last appointment? Where is that phone number….ah, here it is… Yes, hello, do you have any appointments available for a color weave (they call it “weave”) next Saturday? Afternoon? Yes, yes that sounds good…and maybe a trim too… I’m getting too scraggily…

On Simple Lunches and Class…

2006-09-15T08:54:00.000-07:00

I am officially tired of the noodle bowls. In an attempt to lay in inexpensive work lunches, and specifically ones that could be prepared via the hot-tap on the office water cooler, I bought a slew of “Simply Asia” noodle bowls from the local Winco.

At first, this was very exciting and I eagerly awaited my lunch to discover what flavor I’d randomly select from the bottom of my file cabinet. Shitake mushroom, garlic ginger, spring onion (not to be confused with autumnal onions, apparently), lemon grass, chili something…etc. Variety and food under $1? Beautiful. A middle-class woman’s dream.

I selected lemon grass and carted it off to the kitchen. After removing the cardboard exterior, knifing the titanium strength external plastic wrap, and carefully peeling back the fragile paper top (but leaving it connected because it is needed to cover the noodles later); I discovered that the loose rice noodles sported another package that included 3 “seasoning” packets. So, in order to partake of “Simply Asia,” one has to open seven separate packaging formations.

One of the packets contained a clear oily liquid that resembled...well...oil. Another held, according to the writing on it, “vegetables,” but they appeared to be shriveled up lawn clippings and I hesitated to add them but did so in the hopes that the hot water would restore their original brilliance. The third packet contained “flavoring” (i.e. colored salt).

After adding all three to my noodles, and wiping portions off of the ingredients off the counter--because apparently it is impossible to open these packets without spillage--I engaged in the hot-tap dance. By that I mean that I had to hold the noodle bowl in such a way that it remained level, with paper top gently arched back, and the hot-tap tab properly pushed in so that the hot-tap could be deployed thus releasing MacDonald’s-coffee-temperature-hot water into my noodle medley to the “fill line” and all over my hand.

The directions indicated that the burning sensation would dissipate with time and also advised that if I let my bowl sit for 3 minutes, it would be ready to eat. Three minutes passed and I excitedly peeled back the top, stirred the meal, and dug in for my first bite.

Helpfully, the directions also indicated that the burning sensation in my mouth would go away after a few days but they said nothing about the creepy texture of the “noodles” (in quotes now because I suspect they are not noodles and are, in fact, reconstituted strips of wax paper), the impact of the industrial strength sodium content, and the “vegetables” that not only resemble but taste like grass clippings.

Yummy. Apparently, “Simply Asia” is more complex than I had given it credit for. I felt mislead. Still, I ate the noodles because I had to because I’d purchased them and god forbid I waste food. And I continued to eat the other noodle bowls, hoping that each new flavor would bring the noodley delight I’d hoped for. They did not. However, in fairness, the shitake mushrooms did not taste like grass clippings but more like small mummified rodent babies.

Today I gagged down my last “Simply Asia” and chased it with a leftover generic Oreo-like cookie from yesterday’s staff meeting. Wow. Is that really as pathetic as it sounds? Do I care so little about myself? Apparently so.

Tomorrow, I bring tuna and something involving goat cheese. I’m worth it.

On Blog Readership and "Hello Out There!"...

2006-08-31T09:39:00.000-07:00

I’m wondering if anybody reads my blogs… you know, other than my husband and friends who are simply blog victims; commissioned into service by guilt. It is pleasurable to write them, but more pleasurable to write them for an audience…however captive.

I know one person, Anonymous, read one of them because he/she kindly left a comment. Got so riled up that Anonymous couldn’t restrain his/herself and purged a reprimand. Initially, I felt shame and then I thought, people actually read this?? And then I thought, who? How? Why? And… Cool.

So hey, if you are not my husband, family or close friends (and even if you are) and you like what you read, get torqued off by what you read, or simply have wisdom or observations to make—related or unrelated to anything you’ve read here—please feel free to comment. It’ll encourage me to be more prolific, knowing I’m not just writing to the vacuum of space and also help me focus on what works and what doesn’t.

Question for the day:

What makes a blog good?

On Holidays and Baguettes…

2006-08-29T12:43:00.000-07:00

Summer has gone by quickly, the leaves are turning, and I’m giving thought to the upcoming holiday season. Almost time to go into the attic and drag down the decorations, cook the traditional foods, let someone know you care… Yes, before we know it, it’ll be Black History Month (BHM) again and, I confess, I’m not at all prepared.

This probably has something to do with the fact that I’m, well, White. So, imagine my dismay when, last year, I began to receive office emails from the “Department Employees of Color Committee” announcing the BHM noon-time potluck and inviting the whole office to participate. The menu? Soul food.

Oh man. I don’t really cook much anyway, but the things that I do cook involve pizza and sometimes, when I’m feeling really crazy, burritos. The unifying factor is, of course, olives. I cook dorky White-girl food and the last thing I wanted to do was prepare something I guessed was “soul food.” I mean, way too much danger of food stereotyping.

I engaged myself in a debate about my participation. If I don’t go, what would people think? Is it offensive not to participate in BHM potlucks? Then, if I did go, how on earth would I ever come up with a politically correct contribution? In undergraduate women’s studies classes, I learned that associating certain foods with African-Americans is racist.

Or worse, would people think I was some sort of food opportunist who doesn’t give a fig about BHM but just wants to score a free lunch?

I’d pretty much decided to opt out, the pressure too intense and the chance for BHM blunders too high. However, a few days later, a Caseworker of Color handed me the sign up sheet. “What are you going to bring?” she asked expectantly. I tried to get out of it, sighting my poor cooking ability, but she said, “Oh, just bring something easy.”

I looked at the list. Sweet potato pies, collard greens, beans and rices…But then I found a category I could live with: Bread. I wrote (in my typical descriptive way) “tasty baguette” and trotted the list to other co-workers. One of them (who happens to be Black) looked at the list and said, “Tasty baguette? What’s that?” (she speaks in italics) The women of color surrounding her chortled.

I stuttered, “Uh, you know, bread…” One of them said, “Hey, yeah, just make sure it’s brown bread…” More laughter at my expense.

I bought the bread; a freshly baked (brown) 5 grain and some Toby’s Spread (It’s tofu based, OK? Deal with it) and arrived back at my office right at potluck time. I intended to go in, I really did, but walked right on by the densely packed masticating crowd of multicultural participants; directly to my cubicle and sat down limply.

I chickened out. The cultural and culinary pressures paralyzed me. In addition to being a White girl, I am, apparently, a ninny. I opened up the spread, found my butter knife, unwrapped my paper bag and proceeded to eat my tofu-laced bread of color.

Maybe I’ll just stay home this year…You know, a nice quiet BHM without all the hoopla and commercialism...

On Dark Sides and Lolly Pops...

2006-08-29T08:46:00.000-07:00

Recently I posted a blog expressing my frustration, one hectic morning, about peanut butter—specifically that my daughter was suddenly not supposed to bring her own peanut butter sandwich (which I found out just as I’d made one, just before rushing out the door and with no back-up, non-perishable foods on hand, after years of peanut butter being OK) due to another child having a peanut allergy (who incidentally seemed to tolerate peanut butter proximity in the past).

It was a rant blog… an expression of those deep dark places we all have but we rarely reveal because people become offended and worked up when you show your dark side. Everyone must be sunshine and lollypops—inside and out—right? Ever patient, understanding, accommodating…always.

I confess, I’m not always sunshine and lollypops. Sometimes I get selfish. Sometimes I get mad. Sometimes I’m not PC. Sometimes I’m stubborn. Sometimes I’m unreasonable… Later, I generally do the right thing, but for a moment I’m downright naughty inside.

I wrote about one of these times. An anonymous commentator found it offensive and assumed that I’m universally insensitive. I guess Anonymous doesn’t have dark moments like I do, and God bless her/him for that.

I’ll tell you, most of the time, I’m doing my best to play well in the sandpit…probably to a fault. I follow the rules, say please and thank you, yield to others… I’m ever courteous…even a bit of a pushover. In the “big city” I live in, courtesy is rare… Occasionally I do tire of being nice all the time… occasionally I wanna be bad to the bone.

It occurred to me that writing about my dark side may be too intense for some viewers. (Without going overboard with mitigations, ala “of course I won’t really try to harm Neb by sending peanut butter…” “of course I’m not really that insensitive and I’ll probably figure out a way to send something else if it’s absolutely necessary…” “Of course I’m a total weenie who’d never really be this obnoxious…”)

So, OK, I take it back. You are right, Anonymous, Neb’s needs are very important and I’m a bad dog for writing an absurd blog about my own petty frustrations. In the future, when I rant, I’ll make every effort to soften it and indicate that it is only a rant and not intended to be taken seriously…that way, nobody gets hurt.

We’ll group hug. I’ll serve peanut-free organic vegan foods that don’t spoil without refrigeration in the hot sun…when I find them. I’m, as ever, open to suggestions.

On Mooving to Montana...

2006-08-28T10:46:00.000-07:00

Montana had been a fantasy life. A place of wonder, freedom, and independent living. When an opportunity to move there arose from a contract job offer, we jumped at the chance to experience Big Sky Country. At last, I could be a mountain girl, a frontier woman, a hardy lass who wore turquoise and laughed at danger. I’d dance under the wild Montana skies!

At least, that was my little delusion. In reality, I’m an Oregonian who grew up with two seasons—wet and not-as-wet. My fashion sense depends largely on name-brand rain gear, layered over drab sweaters and khaki pants. My idea of severe weather involves an inch of snow or a single rumble of thunder, and my truck has anti-hydroplane tires.

Clearly, I had much to learn about living there and I make a confession about my primary handicap. I did not understand steak. I couldn’t tell a good petite sirloin from a package of “reduced for quick sale.” When necessary, I select beef cuts based on price: anything under $2.99 is fair game for my George Foreman grill. I’m mostly used to poultry; simple, small portions of boneless, skinless delicacies.

Not that I have anything against beef. In fact, some of my fondest memories include cow flesh in one form or another…I’m sure of it. I mean, you know, Arby’s Beef’n’Cheddar. I’m no vegetarian.

And yet, when dining at “The Oasis,” a famous local steakhouse in Belgrade, Montana; I wondered what, exactly, it was an oasis from? Certainly not cow. I faced a menu rife with beef options, and experienced a strange sort of protein anxiety. Filet mignon, porterhouse, T-bone, flank, tips, tops, bottoms… rounds… I became lost in the shear range of bovine portions and found myself searching desperately for something familiar; something with feathers. It felt easier that way; safer. I know a good bird breast when I see one. Appreciate a juicy thigh marinated in some tangy herbal rub.

I panicked. I did. My heart beating, my mouth dry, my eyes clouding, the waitress waiting… I meant to order steak, it was all about the steak, and at the moment of commitment, I uttered quietly, “Um, I’ll have the broasted chicken…with…ah…Jo Jo’s.”

At that moment, I realized my faux paus. The steak house quieted, eyes rolled, throats cleared, and someone sipped a clink of ice water. The waitress paused, wrote quickly on her pad, swallowed and asked if that was all. Yes, yes, what else could I say? Damn you, familiar chickens.

John Denver did not prepare me for this.

Maybe Montana was just too much for me. Perhaps I’m not the redneck I’d always thought I was…We’re back in Oregon now and I sure do miss those skies and the live and let live philosophy; but I admit the chicken here is delightful and nobody holds my poultry preference against me… Well, you know, except vegans.

mln

On the Brevity of life and Water Toys…

2006-08-18T10:31:00.000-07:00

My family is relatively young. We’ve been through hardships, individually and together… and good times too. Most recently—like many Americans—we endured the lay-off experience (ugh) but now have arrived at some (however momentary) stability.

We are pragmatic and practical people. Our purchases are thought-out, we buy things on sale, we wear drab neutral-colored shoes (and clothes for that matter…they all go together that way. Of course we end up looking like depressed socialists.)… There is nothing flashy about us, nothing extravagant; just simple, middle class, public worker values.

However, we have one dream. One luxury we can no longer live without. We’ve decided it’s time for a boat.

We want a 2007 Yamaha SX230 High Output (bowrider/jet propulsion) and it’s luscious. The Yamaha folks aren’t releasing official information about it until 8/21 at 9:00AM PST—not that I’m paying attention, ahem… We’re told they’ve added a head (porta potty…but it’s way more fun to say “head”) compartment to the model which I—as a mother and a female—am quite giddy about. (Ok, there is still some shopping and research to do and a boat show to attend… but we’re strongly leaning toward this boat).

Here's the link to their website and the 2006 models:

http://www.yamaha-motor.com/boat/products/lifestylehome/home.aspx

And a link to the 2007 preview:

http://www.motorboating.com/motorboat/photogallery/article/0,26512,1224122-26,00.html

Now, we live in a land of kayak, canoe and sail boaters who develop this appalled look when I show them our dream. They insist upon the peace and quiet of their water toys and abhor the loud ruckus of the power boat… This is primarily because they are not in one at the time. But, I tell you what, I’ll put any one of them in the Yamaha, tell them to hold on, and I’ll tear it up. Watch the grins appear.

I’ve always wanted a power boat. My parents borrowed one for a summer and I fell in love. I recall sitting in the bow, fully underway, with my little boombox playing Dire Straits, Brothers in Arms… transported to another universe. My dad let me drive it and I stood in “Miami Vice” ecstasy… I knew then I must have one of my own someday.

Fortunately, I married a man with the same intense desire for boat utopia and we have our priorities straight. Essentially, should we buy one? Of course not. Is it a good financial investment? Nope. Would responsible people pour their money into an oversized water toy? Nah.

Do we care? Hell no. Here’s where we are. Life’s too damned short and there are no guarantees. We could be the most frugal people on earth, make all the wise financial investments, pay off our debts, never go out to eat and save save save… But you never know how much time you have and all that sacrifice and waiting just might not pay off. What good is all that financial investing and conserving if you end up folding before you get to any reward? I’m not willing to gamble our youth and enthusiasm on this ideal of total financial security when we are too old to enjoy it…I’ve learned that even if you play the game by all the “rules,” you can still end up on the bottom.

My child will be 8 in November. She adores us, she loves spending time with us, she’s a daredevil and she loves the water. Our boat is not a sound financial investment but it’s an investment in memories. When I’m 90 (assuming I make it that long), sitting on my back porch…worn out and used up. Am I going to reminisce about the property I bought and sold, or the bank account I plumped up, or the credit card I finally paid off? Or would my mind wander instead to Cassie bouncing on some ridiculous inflated toy…screaming her head off and my lovely husband at the helm.

The boat will be our waterfront property… Our parlor… our family therapy…our social director…our amusement park…our escape… We’ll watch Cassie grow up on it, bring her girlfriends…and her boyfriends on it… through it we’ll keep her engaged and get to know her. We’ll have an outlet for forming new friendships…something to invite new people to do. We’ll bring old friends on it and watch them laugh… Jim and I will take moonlight cruises together…let our stress and responsibilities float away…reconnect when “real life” gets out of hand.

We work hard, we’ve achieved things nobody thought we could. We don’t make a ton of money and we don’t expect to be rich and famous. However, of all the luxuries or creature comforts… this is what we want. Cars, fancy homes, trips to Paris, in-home theaters…? Nah.

We’ll be at the January boat show and with luck, next spring, you’ll find us on some patch of water…tearing it up or laying around like happy sea lions.

On Lightheartedness and Tupperware...

2006-08-11T12:15:00.000-07:00

I've been a blog grouch lately and feel it's time for some lighter fare.

On Tupperware…

There exists an unfortunate misconception that women actually enjoy Tupperware parties; or any “product-parties” for that matter. A woman can attend a “party” for anything: lingerie, candles, baby toys, small tropical lizards—it doesn’t matter—someone, somewhere, is giving a “party” for it and women are blindly ordering a half-dozen mauve geckos with a matching service tray.

Though these almost ritualistic gatherings carry the “party” moniker, they are frankly little more fun than experimenting with that home liposuction system you ordered from Candi of the shop-at-home network after staying up way too late eating Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby ice cream. Chubby Hubby, Chubby Hubby, Chubby Hubby…that’s just really fun to say… Chubby Hubby.

Theoretically, someone—a man—decided the word “party” would convince people—women—to crowd onto someone’s lumpy sectional, drink generic coffee, purchase overpriced plastic gizmos (all major credit cards accepted) and have “fun.” Though it worked for the first Tupperware fete; those pioneering women quickly realized, from the ditzy Tupperware Lady’s first ice-breaker torture activity, that they were in for hours of unadulterated hell.

Given that these gatherings are unpleasant, one might wonder why this method of marketing prevails. The primary reason is free stuff. When you attend these “parties” you are told that, if you then host a “party,” you’ll receive free stuff when your guests order products. This is how the product “party” survives. Other women, who want free stuff, sign up to be a future hostess in the hopes she’ll score piles of free stuff; or at least obtain the miniature sandwich saver keychain, offered by the desperate Tupperware Lady, to anyone who’ll agree to have a party--whether she has a home or not.

Now the gullible new hostess inherits the problem of coercing women (who have just incidentally attended the previous party) to attend her “party.” Several major research institutions have studied the process by which women are enticed to attend these events, but they could never pin it down; likely because men conducted the research and there’s no way a man could possibly understand this phenomenon.

Allow me to explain. Predictably, the first invitees are a hostess’s close friends and relatives because they are compelled to attend by an ancient sacred Code. Prehistoric women developed The Code long ago when a Rocks-That-Happen-To-Be-Shaped-Like-Bowls “Party” ended in a riot because the hostess’s sister no-showed (with some pathetic excuse like having her arm torn off by a saber-toothed tiger, or something). Somewhere near Duluth, one can visit the historical landmark where blood and coffee stains forever grace the cave walls.

The new hostess also invites some lesser-friends. While these women do not fall under The Code, they will likely attend to “be nice,” get away from the kids, and pick up that Effortless Egg-Cracker, introduced last month. Ms. Hostess knows the lesser-friends will invite their own close friends, or relatives—relying on The Code—to go to the shindig with them so they don’t have to be at a “party” where they “don’t know anyone.” Now, 10 to 100 women have agreed to gather in someone’s living room for an event from which everyone will leave with a headache the approximate size of Guatemala.

To be fair, I must note that one positive thing did transpire from my attendance at a “party.” I won a serrated grapefruit spoon in a drawing and it is excellent for eating kiwi fruits. Thus goes the first basic law of Tupperware: You never use the items for what they were originally intended. Like, if it is a Deviled Egg Caddy, you’ll use it to knead bread.

The second law is: Food will taste better if it is removed from its original container and stored in expensive plastic gizmos that’ll give your cupboard or fridge and “elegant yet functional sense of style.” For example, a Pickle-Keeper is offered in an attempt to keep you from making the grave mistake of leaving your sweet gherkins in the obsolete glass jar, whereby you may have to use a time-consuming fork to get them out.

The third basic law, and likely the most vital, is that Tupperware must be burped so that it doesn’t spit up before you put it down for a nap.

The sellers of Tupperware claim that it will restore order to your kitchen. In reality, everyone has one cupboard dedicated to the renegade polymer containers, where they are organized carefully via chaos theory. No one wants to venture into the recesses of the cabinet, so the most available unit is used for everything. A juice pitcher may serve as both an Egg Scrambler and a Chip-n-Dip tray. The other Tupperware is quite happy with this arrangement because it can hang out, play poker, and taunt the Rubbermaid.

On Meeting in the Middle...

2006-08-10T11:29:00.000-07:00

I’m afraid I’m scaring off my Liberal friends. I don’t mean to, but I live in a largely Liberal city with very Liberal ideals and I confess I’m not exactly Liberal myself. Apparently, non-Liberals are perceived by Liberals as being Conservative. Conversely, when I lived in Montana among Conservatives, they considered me Liberal because I am not Conservative.

Apparently it’s difficult to see a middle ground when one hangs out in extremes and is pushed by our two-party system (and a frenetic media) to embrace polarity. But I, like many other invisible Americans, hang out in the middle…on a patch of middle real estate. I’m a Moderate, or possibly a Libertarian—depending on the definitions.

Check these out—when you have some time to spare:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moderate

and

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Libertarianism

In a nutshell, I’m socially liberal and economically conservative. My political philosophy could be loosely summed up as “Live and Let Live.” I believe strongly in personal responsibility and my biggest frustration with Liberals and Conservatives is how both wish to control and judge others; while making the assumption that people can’t (or won’t) look after their own selves.

Another thing about Moderates; we don’t swallow every party line, every statistic, every news story as if they are absolute truths. We question everything. Everything. Yeah, even global warming, recycling, racism, and “One Nation Under God” are up for debate. Bring it on.

If I have any political mission, it’s to get people to think critically…not just blindly following the herd. If your position is sound and you stand by your beliefs, there should be no need for defensiveness, scorn, or avoidance. It should be OK to look at all angles.

My husband tells a story about a guy who couldn’t do this:

“I took an undergrad supply & logistics class at PSU and one of my group mates was from Yemen. He was Muslim and I remember that he also played Spanish guitar. Anyway, at some point we were discussing electives and philosophy class came up. He said that he signed up for philosophy class and enjoyed it for a while but then realized that it was causing him to question his religious beliefs and it made him uncomfortable so he dropped it…He didn’t want to expose himself to these other ways of thinking.”

How sad to be so threatened by information that one is afraid to even look at differing beliefs or challenging questions. How sad to be so caught up in one way of being that you simply can’t allow yourself to open up to other ways…or even to just understand them.

Aren’t you sick of polarity? Aren’t you sick of being the puppets of rich politicians and lobbyists who love to make you hate each other (Red vs Blue: The Uncivil War)? Don’t you think it benefits powerful people & businesses (including powerful foreign interests) to have you so divided into two opposite factions who rely on stereotypes and hearsay; rather than cold hard reason? Do you really believe half of the US is evil or stupid? Common… Stop being sheep, stop categorically hating each other, and start talking (and listening)… calmly, rationally, without defensiveness and name-calling.

The middle is messy. The middle does not have a clear purpose, agenda or assumptions. The middle takes energy and requires effort. The middle requires you to open up and explore...to believe in the good intentions of others and try to understand other points of view. Come roll around with me in the middle…get dirty and let go.

On Communes and Consumerism...

2006-07-31T11:32:00.000-07:00

Recently a dear friend conveyed via email, with much cynicism (I know this because he provided cynicism tone cueing, between < > marks), “But that is the American way, no? Doesn't matter if the community has something available that would fit the need at hand, we want to have one of our own regardless.”

His commentary arose from a joint camping trip where he, and his family, arrived less equipped than they’d have preferred and subsequently utilized our (and others’) resources to compensate. Afterwards, they went shopping and purchased their own related supplies—such as a camp stove and tent—though these things had been available through borrowing. (He later corrected me and suggested that the commentary also arose from other trips and borrowing...not just this one)

I’ve been pondering his commentary, my own views on sharing, and “The American Way.” My initial (and default) response to his sentiment was that perhaps we did not share as amiably as we should have… My husband and I are only children, after all, and sharing is not something that comes naturally to us. I interpreted it (through my window of guilt) as a suggestion that, since we had the items available, there should be no need to double up and we should be more giving.

Ideally, this is true and for the most part, we are happy to share (once we get past the primal, child-like, internal response of “Mine!”). Also, these friends are usually quite prepared and are very generous people, so it was no real burden to help them. I’m working to be more generous and altruistic…or at least at my façade of being so.

So, my guilt aside, is it The American Way to desire one’s own possessions even if, as he put it, the “community” has them available? Or is it more that we desire others to acquire their own possessions because we don’t want to have to share ours? What are the uniquely American values that contribute to this phenomenon?

Two primary ideals come to mind: self-sufficiency and fairness. Our country exists primarily due to self sufficiency. The initial colonists did not have a tax structure that provided human services, roadways, police protection, food boxes, disaster intervention, etc. I’m sure they were neighborly to an extent, but also had to have the ability to take care of themselves when isolated from others. The same is true of the Native Americans…communal in a sense, but also able to be self sufficient and also willing to contribute. Additionally, this need for self-sufficiency has been reinforced by our history… The Revolutionary War—cutting off our dependency on Brittan. The Civil War—dog eat dog nastiness that called upon the self-sufficiency of all Americans. The Great Depression…where Americans were provided (by Franklin D. Roosevelt) with the opportunity to work for their self-sufficiency.

As to fairness, I can imagine that the first time someone on the Oregon Trail asked their neighboring schooner mates to borrow some meat, meat was provided. The second time, meat was provided but with some grumbling… The third time, I’m sure a gun was offered with the advice, “Get your own damned meat.” Americans are willing to share to a point, as long as there is balance. You borrow eggs from me, I borrow sugar from you…Everyone is fine. You borrow eggs from me, then some sugar, then some flour, oil, a pan…my recipe book, oven, etc…. You’ll have a cake, but I no longer answer the door when you come over.

Yes, we are consumers, capitalists and materialists. Bad dog, no biscuit. However, we also—for the most part—do a pretty decent job of holding our own. In turn, we feel ownership which leads to willingness to protect what we’ve earned, which affords some stability.

OK, well, most Americans. Of course there is the growing demographic (and those sympathetic to them) who believe they should be taken care of…that it’s the government’s job to provide for all their needs, under all circumstances, and to their specifications. Folks who see all property as “community property,” who are unwilling to buck up and figure out how to contribute and who resent those who would rather not share with those who offer nothing in return. I used to think these were isolated, freak, people—and most social service money went to those who truly need and appreciate it. But now I see the enormous financial burden of supporting a population who not only takes and takes, but who complain and complain that they aren’t getting enough.

I’ve worked in social work and government too long, obviously. Where did my heart go? (looking around…sighing)

OK, so, right… The American Way. Let’s loose any expectations for Utopia… we’re human and so, full of flaws and quirks. There is no cosmic right-way of living or ordering ourselves. We are all just travelers and lucky to be here at all. I say, let’s be easy on ourselves…try to share when we can, borrow humbly when we need to, work for (and advocate for) self-sufficiency, and hope for the best. It’s OK to want your own things… to want to carve out your own way of navigating your world... In fact, I expect you to. The key is moderation.

But that’s rumination for another day…

On Career Development and Destiny...

2006-07-10T12:58:00.000-07:00

I’m a talented woman searching for a job title. Raised by a noble public servant and a fastidious housewife, who aspired for me to be a domestic deity with shiny sinks and a herd of angelic children, I had little encouragement for career. Yet, older, realized I’m not cut out for “housewife” (for me, this is the fastest way to crazy) and had this silly idea that my destiny lay in psychology. So I packed up my adjectives and headed to higher education and ultimately a masters in counseling—specifically marriage and family counseling. Neither of which, it turns out, particularly fulfill me.

I currently reside in the job comfort zone of public service. Don’t ask how I got here. Theoretically, it’s a noble career, but it’s not stimulating…and the organizational culture stinks like an incontinent grandpa on a summer’s day. Trust me; I know what those smell like. I’m a square peg amongst rhomboids… I’m wilting fast.

I have an excellent “transferable skill set” but my degree identifies me as a “counselor” and I’m not sure how to “transfer” myself into a new identity. Also, I confess, I’m not entirely sure what identity—if any—to choose. I’ve narrowed my array of options to 4 (well, 5 if you count being too chicken shit to leave one’s current job): Organizational Development Consultant, Communications/PR Person, Writer, or Community College Instructor. Admittedly, a few of those could combine into one diversified career.

However, I’m stymied by fears. Fear #1) I won’t like any career and will never be happy no matter what I do. Fear #2) Nobody will ever hire me to do anything outside of counseling/public services. Fear #3) Oh, man, lots of things…

So, I stand at a miserable crossroads, too afraid to stay put and too afraid to go forward. I mean to really go forward…not just speculate, dabble, throw out statements of intent.

Stay tuned for the metamorphosis.

On Making Memories...

2006-06-02T12:04:00.000-07:00

Mil and Fil brought this concept into my life and the older I get, the more I see the value of it.

I’m a creature of comfort or, more accurately, a comfort-addict. I gravitate toward soft perches, a full stomach, sleep and escape from the harsh realities of life. My Jim is even worse about this so together, we are the Lazy Duo. Give us a hard week at work, a night short on sleep or a head cold and you’ll find one or both of us situated in our TV room with a plate of pizza, a glass of wine, and the most unattractive (but comfy) clothing in our closets.

What I’ve come to realize, though, is how little significance my time spent in comfort mode will mean to our family over time. I’ve spend hundreds of evenings like this, and you know, I couldn’t tell you about one of them specifically… No amazing couch night ever registers with me as a profound life experience or makes any difference in my stress level or overall fulfillment. In the moment, I’m cozy but not enriched.

However, I do remember the camping trip where we hiked to the base of a mountain and took photos of a little lake there… then returned to our little RV to find it surrounded by bees. I remember the screaming and crying that ensued, the argument I had with Cassie about running through the bees to get in the camper, the decision to go home and give up… the bumpy drive back down the mountain…

At the time? Frustration and angst… but now, it’s a memory. But what I don’t remember…? That night, after going home… I don’t remember sitting on the couch or what we watched on TV. I know we did it, but it’s gone from my life’s collection… a blank.

I don’t want my life to be a vague memory of the TV room. I don’t want to be so dependent on “comfort” that I end up 90 yrs old, alone and without any sense that I’ve done anything…without many memories to give me a sense that my life was chocked full…

Can one live a full life on a couch? Or is it better to brave discomfort and have something to add to the collection…

Cassie will ride in the Starlight Rose Festival Parade tomorrow. She’ll need to wait 3 hours in the staging area with other 7-9 yr olds, under a poncho, in her red-white-and-blue uniform… she’ll get wet, she’ll get cold…she’ll be tired and she’ll have a breakdown, I’m sure. We’ll get stuck in traffic, we’ll get wet too…we’ll get home late and miss a night of pizza and TV. But we’ll also get to wave at Cassie, to take pictures of her princess wave… to see the National Guard Band and yell at Jesse the drummer and Johnny V.

Making memories…

On Work and Toys...

2006-06-01T18:30:00.000-07:00

It’s a crazy Thursday at work. One of those days that seems to involve some sort of lunar influence or mass intoxication of the public that results in weirdness not encountered on typical days. One of those days when just about every issue has to be run by a supervisor and the supervisor has to run it by her supervisor and, still, everyone is stumped.

But it’s 5:00 and I’m going home…

I bought a toy that is scheduled to arrive on 6/8. I'm kid again...

www.xootr.com

Now I can cruize with my 7 year old playmate. Wha Hooooo!

On Painting and Performace Reviews...

2006-05-30T16:55:00.000-07:00

I’m tired today… nearly falling asleep at my desk and I had coffee this morning. It’s post-Memorial Tuesday and I work to recover from a long weekend of house painting and a 1 year job performance review. Please tell me it’s 5:00…no? Sigh…

Painting was productive and fun, but we were probably too ambitious. Luckily our college student 30-something friend, Johnny, was able to help out… he’s a workhorse. Tonight, we’ll be doing some more work before the forecasted rain arrives… Summer in the NW doesn’t really start until after July 5th.

Performance review was OK…I’ve had them every 3 months for the year I’ve worked here. I love government.

Apparently most of my skills “exceed expectations,” none were “outstanding,” but I was given a “meets expectations” for my interpersonal skills. Gah! 1st of all, of all my skills, I’d sorta put “interpersonal skills” at the top… I mean, I have oodles of weaknesses but this had not traditionally been one of them. Yeah, I’m aware that it was not a bad rating… but for an overachiever like me? I know what “meets expectations” means.

Other than one incident where I took the initiative to suggest a tentative agenda for a bi-weekly team meeting and everyone couldn’t believe I did this without having a meeting with them first… I couldn’t think of any other reason why my interpersonal skills need work. Neither could my boss, ‘cause I actually argued about this and he ended up changing it to “exceeds…” I’ve never had to argue about my performance before.

I guess, in a cosmic sense, this is a good learning experience for me. I’m studying Organizational Development (The field of OD is concerned with the performance, development, and effectiveness of human organizations—Google definition) so this occurrence I’m having of not fitting with my current organizational culture lends some wisdom and empathy… yeah, that’s it.

Will my ego survive 2006? Tune in to find out…

On Black Gold and HP...

2006-05-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

There is an icon blinking in my systray. It sounds like a personal problem and it is one, but there is a solution. It’s time to change my printer’s colored ink cartridge (uh…ink cartridge of color). However, I have not done so, though it’s been blinking for three weeks.

I’ve grown sort of attached to it; like it’s a little friend, or hostage. It flashes from miniature picture of printer to miniature picture of the earth-next-to-a-yellow-caution-triangle. Who comes up with these icons? It’s hungry…hungry for color, and I deny it every day. No color, no color for you. Mwahahahaha! (evil laugh).

I’m procrastinating because printers are obnoxious. First of all, the ink is priced like it’s some sort of rare, non-renewable resource. It is excruciatingly painful to purchase an ink cartridge, especially one of color, because I can’t begin to imagine how ink can possibly be worth that much money. So I’ve become a printing miser; only allowing my friends and family to print using the “fast draft” option. They are only allowed to print when it’s absolutely necessary, and multiple paged documents must be printed 4 to a page. Hey, they can read it with a magnifying glass, ok? They’ll live.

Besides, when you go to the local Officey Mega-Depot-Max-Mart, the ink is kept behind the customer service desk. So you can’t shoplift it. If it wasn’t so expensive, nobody would even think of shoplifting ink. Instead, you have to grovel with the clerk to get just the right number for your particular printer and, HP forbid, you neglect to remember your printer name and number (which is usually something like the 45983D-Z~Printpro 500x.2 SuPerPhoToMax G12-1972abceasyas123.), because you’ll never figure out which cartridge number goes with it. The clerk gets all flustered and won’t share the look-up book with you, even though you know you could probably figure it out if you could only spend a moment flipping through the pictures to locate your bad-boy. The clerk gets all haughty, “Well is it a PrintPro or a Photopro? Jet or lazer? Did you read the instruction manual? Do you know anything?” And then I say something like, “I went to college minimum-wage boy, and if you’d hand over the stupid guide book, I’d be able to throw it at you.”

Eventually, I get the ink ingot home and it’s time to put it into my printer. However, I open up the font and it starts to have seizures; buzzing back and forth, blinking lights, the display reprimands “CAUTION PRINTER HOOD OPEN! MISSILES WILL LAUNCH IN 10 SECONDS, 9, 8, 7…” I reach for the empty unit, unlatch it and remove it, carefully, like I’m performing internal surgery. An attractive nurse dabs my forehead. I transplant the new cartridge in and all appears fine, until I close the hatch. Now the thing hums, stops and beeps long and hard. In the display it says, “PRINT CARTRIDGE INSERTED IMPROPERLY YOU MORON. WHY DON’T YOU READ THE MANUAL, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE.” So, I open the hood, remove the cartridge, shove it back in a few times, and close it up. It whimpers, but otherwise appears to be satisfied.

My computer pipes up next with an ultra helpful utility window that proudly announces, “A new printer cartridge has been installed!!” No, really? You don’t say! Then it asks, “Align printer cartridges?” It all seems so innocent and meaningful and I think, “Sure, I can see how that’s important;” but when I click OK the printer once again freaks out and then, to my horror, starts PRINTING! Printing a lot. Printing page after page of high quality colored dots, squares, Mona Lisa’s, numbers, letters, tildes, punctuation cussing….It won’t stop, it’s using all the ink I just bought for it…cancel, cancel, cancel…I’m frantically mousing the cancel button on my computer. I try the cancel button on the printer but it laughs at me…beep ha ha, beep ha ha. I turn it off, which stops it, but when I turn it on again, it keeps going! Ahhhhhhhhh. Then suddenly, it stops. I now have a booklet of fresh photo-quality colored gibberish and all is quiet. I cry.

So go ahead and blink at me. I know what you’re up to ambiguous icon, and I’m not falling for it, you ink vampire. I’ll change you when I’m darned tootin’ ready and not a minute sooner. Beep, ha ha.

mln

On annoying things about Portland…

2006-05-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

I live here because our jobs are here. I’d really rather be East of the Cascades or Montana or even Central Washington…my spirit is really more about pine trees, mountains and wide open spaces than coffee shops, concrete and traffic jams.

But apparently I also value money so we’re here…for better and worse.

Portland is a weird place. People actually have bumper stickers that say “Keep Portland Weird” as if there is some threat to weirdness… like the city is going to be littered with sanity and we’d better work to keep things as absurd as possible. Great.

The worse thing about Portland is how everyone takes themselves so seriously… I mean, Portlanders seriously need to get over themselves.

Bicyclists, for example. It’s not about just riding one’s bike for fun and fitness… now bicyclists behave as if they are a protected minority. They protest stuff. They especially like to be in the way of vehicles then they complain and get all haughty when they are hit by vehicles. I mean, I’ve been a rider of bikes since I was 6 and I learned early on to ride way to the side (THE RIGHT SIDE) of the road. I’ve always tried to stay out of the way of cars, silly me, and—gasp—use hand signals to indicate when I needed to stop and turn.

Portland bicyclists are rude and stupid. They ride slowly, in the middle of traffic lanes, and refuse to let vehicles pass them. They cut people off, ignore traffic rules, and create a danger to themselves and others. Is it so freakin’ difficult to stay to the side of the road and be courteous? I know there are drivers who are rude to cyclists but I’m pretty respectful of them and still I end up behind some jerkwad going 2 mph when he/she could simply move to the side and let me pass. My greatest fun is getting in front of them, going really slowly, and not letting them pass me.

Bikers want more “rights” and a city with more bike friendly features. Great, I’m all for this. However, when you have a freakin’ bike lane—USE IT. You want drivers to respect you but you fail to respect others or traffic laws. And, another thing, maybe we should license bicycles. My car registration fees help pay for the roads… maybe bike registrations could help pay for bike lanes…and force cyclists to follow traffic laws. Cyclists should be ticketed when they don’t follow the rules…hey another source of revenue to pay for our overpriced schools and “diversity” programs.

Portland pedestrians are jerks too. When I cross a street, I use the crosswalk and the signals and I hurry. Most Portlanders fail to do any of these things and saunter across the streets… deliberately trying to piss people off. The trouble is that some dunderhead politicians decided to give pedestrians the right of way no matter what… meaning, walking people do not have to follow any traffic laws and drivers are at fault anytime a walker is injured. Good grief.

Those bumper stickers might as well say “Keep Portland Rude.” What happened to common courtesy? My parents taught me to respect others… when I walk through the malls, I move aside for people… when somebody lets me change lanes, I wave… when it’s night-time, I turn down my music… I actually give people a friendly smile now and then…silly me.

Don’t even get me started about Portland’s absurd government, it’s fascination with political correctness and it’s judgmental liberals. I mean, I always thought being liberal meant tolerance and stuff… you know, being laid back. Portland libs are almost as obnoxious as fundamentalist conservatives. Fundies want to regulate my sex life, child bearing, and religion… PDX libs want to regulate my diet, transportation, shopping locations and reverence for “diversity.”

Common courtesy. Live and let live. Are those concepts so bloody impossible? Apparently… here in Portland… they are.

I’d really rather write humor… and I will but, man, sometimes I gotta just complain.

On American Idol and Validation...

2006-05-25T10:14:00.000-07:00

We were couch-side for every episode this season and I had my favorite picked from the beginning… Finally a singer I could relate to and one who makes the kind of music I like…and who has an interesting character to go along with it.

He’s certainly the whole package but not the one AI pushes every season and not the one record producers force feed us these days. I’d internalized my lack of congruence with pop music… thought I was square ‘cause I didn’t go ape doo over the wailing divas or the hip-hopsters. Every time I hear Mariah or Whitney or Celine… I want to kick a dog. And, I like dogs. Same goes for those insipid “boy” voices.

I’m old school. I like singer/songwriters who put pen to paper, fingers to strings, and sing about what they know… who maybe, you know, play an instrument or two and whose voices soothe me. I love AI but it really ought to be called American Karaoke…Everytime one of the judges tells a singer they sounded like karaoke, I think…duh, this is karaoke. It’s the biggest karaoke competition in the world. Worse, it seems to have a most limited song-book.

Yet, in spite of AI’s limited vision (don’t even get me started about the age restrictions); we Americans elected a mature, dorky, Southern white-boy who is about as far from the pop-skanks as one could get. I love the message this sends to record producers and music moguls. Guess what? We’re sick of the junk you’ve been throwing at us for years… sick of the Brittany’s and Timberlakes… sick of the “runs” that give us the runs.

I hope Taylor’s success signals a return to real music and real musicians…not prepackaged Johnny Bravo’s. I also hope Taylor gets to write his music…share some of himself rather than performing somebody else’s idea of “what America wants to hear.” His prepackaged single, “Do I Make You Proud,” is OK; largely ‘cause he has the talent to infuse something personal into it but I’d much rather hear the song he’d write about it all.

Personally, I feel validated. To all you jerks who made me feel ridiculous for liking my old-school music…to all you record people who think only bubblegum youngsters sell records…and to all you radio stations who play absolute crap… Two words: Taylor Hicks. America voted. Please pay attention.

Let my ruminating begin...

2006-05-24T12:37:00.000-07:00

So, blogging... Everyone's doing it. I mean, the Chief Meteorologist on Newschannel 8 does it. Who knew 'sunbreaks' could be blog worthy--but there it is and here I am.

I am one of those people who "should be writing"... you know, for money, but am instead a government employee doing a job largely unrelated to the masters degree I still owe oodles of money on. Of course, this means I need a distraction... something to fiddle with at work when I'm bored out of my mind.

Instead of writing for money, I'll be writing for amusement at taxpayer expense. Great. OK, OK, only on my breaks, Big Brother.

I write humor... well, I've written humor. I'd say about 8 humor columns total. I am not prolific, which is reason #1 why I am also not published. Reason #2 involves a lovely combination of lethargy and fear that outweigh my drive for marketing myself. Reason #3 would be my lack of ability to commit to a writing genre...columns, articles...novels?

Perhaps the act of writing regularly and sharing it will kick my tail into writing professionally. Blog = Magic Wand?

Aside from my work, parenthood, wifely duties... my primary hobby is rumination. I should learn guitar, golf more, take up tatting... but I mostly spend my time in my head worrying about, well, everything. Friends' romances, my parents' disapproval, politics, past behavior, American Idol...all there, all the time... churning about like, uh, things that churn... maybe butter. Nah, too cliche.

My blog is the written manifestation of my ruminations... for better and worse. I hope good can come of it... for me, for you...for the universe, really.

I'm different now. I blog.