A mormon, a movie star, and an American Idol walk into the RNC--
The punchline? The mormon comes out on top.
I didn't actually watch much of the RNC--I tried--but I did enjoy the MST3K send-up of the event, courtesy of Current TV. Without them, and a few shining moments from the pundits at MSNBC, I couldn't have watched at all.
Nikki Haley was nauseating, Ann Romney was just plain weird, and Paul Ryan dealt only in lies. I have a zero-tolerance policy toward bullies, so I didn't tune in for what I'm told was a very nasty address by Chris Christie. (That from the Big Guy with "Christ" in his name, nearly twice!) I ignored the "prophets and the profiteers" (the bishops and Bain), but I did live to see another Bush brother bash education: this time by comparing it to milk.
After nearly a week of the obligatory walk-outs, act-ups, and media bashing--literally, and with peanuts--Romney took to the stage. His speech wasn't awful therefore it was pretty good. He even made nice for the better part of it, until he didn't. Until he mocked the rise of sea levels when just a couple of states over folks were dealing with flooded streets and homes. Until he lied about taxes and healthcare. Until he laid out his five-point "plan" to include: raping the Earth for oil and coal, eviscerating the public school system, taking away that healthcare, cutting those onerous taxes (and regulations) on the wealthy, and "revising" (even more outsourcing?)--the mind boggles--our trade policies with other nations. Oh, and speaking of...can we have some new wars, please?
People may remember his speech for awhile, but not as long as they'll recall an 82-year-old man talking smack to a chair. The visuals that went along with that--well, if you didn't see it, I don't want to burden you. Suffice to say there was about as much respect shown for the invisible occupant of that chair--we refer to him as Mr. President--as there was for the Hurricane Isaac victims. But I quibble.
Current TV's coverage was by far the best thing to come out of the elephants' truncated week, and I look forward to joining my pretend television friends again next week for the donkeys' kick of it. Current has become my respite, my Air America circa 2004, though this time the outcome must be different. I can now imagine Clint communing with furniture, but what I cannot fathom is Mitt Romney sitting in the Commander-in-Chief's seat. I've seen what happens when boys with Daddy issues play war and it ain't pretty.
So can we please not rearrange the furniture just yet. From where I'm sitting, it looks much better on the Left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And in a related story: the top three movies in the running for some fake award ceremony obviously taking place somewhere in the bad alley of some offbeat furniture warehouse:
1. Chair Riots of Ire
2. 84 Chair I'm Cross Road
3. Up in the Chair (eh, Clooney's on the O-Team)
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Club for SMART Growth
Wendell Cox, an "analyst" concerning himself with growth patterns and suburbanization, joined the panel this morning on MSNBC's "Up with Chris Hayes". Currently onboard with something called the "Reason Foundation", Cox has also been active with both the Heartland Institute and ALEC.
Cox thinks it's a grand idea to repeal Smart Growth plans in cities. Why is this, you might ask? He says that "if you draw a line around cities you drive up housing costs". I say it's because he wants to keep his fossil fuel pals in business by keeping us automobile dependent. Cox tried to belittle Tampa Mayor Bob Buckhorn, a Democrat, when he spoke to the hope of aligning his city with a future that will bring in the "Creative Class" with its mobile intellectual property. Cox accused the mayor of favoring fountains over jobs. When Buckhorn came to his own defense, brilliantly, he reminded his detractor that the jobs of the future will not be found solely in mills, plants, and assembly lines but in technology and innovation.
So when exactly did it become okay to want to continue to kill the planet? I'll try REAL hard not to make assumptions here, but I did come up in the South and grew up in an era of "white flight" and "forced bussing", so there's my full disclosure. And I know, living in a rural area, that there are those--ALEC love 'em--who want to live out in No Covenant Land where they can shoot off their guns whenever they choose. But looking beyond those--let us hope--extremes, why must our ideological choice as it impacts this issue be between living in the dirty, industrial 1900s or in the progressive future President Jimmy Carter tried to help us find in the 1970s? Are we really so black-and-white on this issue that we have only two boxes on our interior landscape form from which to decide to place our check: David Koch or Al Gore?
I don't want to tell anyone how or where to live, but I also understand that as a society we can choose to have one nation or 312,780,968 mini-nations. We have to learn to live together so that all can express their individuality in a way that does not negatively impact the others. Unlike the Tea Party Lady I told you about earlier this weekend, I do not want 312,780,968 little sidewalks, 312,780,968 little schools, 312,780,968 little fire hydrants, 312,780,968 little streets, and 312,780,968 little hospitals. My town is tiny, but you cannot enter it from any direction without discovering that it has won numerous awards/grants for being a Tree City USA and for implementing Smart Growth. If we can do it in a very Republican town of less than 10,000 people, in a very Republican county of less than twice that number without a revolt, can it be such a Communist or Socialist boondoggle?
I recall those Republican Primary Debate folks cheering death-by-no-insurance and the death penalty itself, and booing an American Hero who just happens to be gay and I wonder why there aren't obvious places where we can come together as human beings. My dogs love their chewies, but just this morning one of the bigger dogs took the remainder of a chew he'd made softer and dropped it at the feet of one of the smaller dogs. He might have been full, but he was still creating doggie community.
So I would ask Mr. Cox how many of us will indeed "win" when our planet decides our living patterns rather than our own notions such as Smart Growth. How many of us will have a choice of job types and housing locations when we're just trying to breathe without coughing and drink the water without lighting it on fire? How in this wonderful world can we continue to be reactive rather than proactive? When will we ever abandon the false security of the short-term fix for the long-term solution?
Sometimes we have to make an upfront investment in times of great need or great change and this is one of those times. The government is not desirous of taking over our lives, and we should not want to take over the government in an effort to split it into 312,780,968 people-states with 312,780,968 flags. Corporations have their place, Unions have their place, Government has its place, and so should all of us. There's no me in success, but there sure is an "us".
And no, Fox Bidness, our President is not planning on the cities taking over the suburbs. But if the empty buildings are in the cities, then we should use those already-built resources for good. Cox says we should just keep on building new houses to our liking and wherever we choose. Where he sees "freedom", I see "waste". But I'm a bleeding heart anti-hunting gal who'd just as soon buy the dead animals already in the grocery store...and the fraction of my heritage that is Native tells me to never forget the images of huge piles of the Great American Bison.
What's so wrong about considering others before deciding something for ourselves? Wasn't that the whole point of the Golden Rule? Of "I am my brother's keeper"? Of not drinking and driving? Some things we must decide as a collective: teachers need degrees, paramedics need training, restaurants need inspections, pilots need licenses. I really don't want to yank all the regulations that keep us alive day in and day out.
Can we please get the big money out of our political process so that we don't come down as members of the anti-Earth Party or the pro-Earth Party? I want GREEN to be the new BLACK, and that doesn't make me RED.
Cox thinks it's a grand idea to repeal Smart Growth plans in cities. Why is this, you might ask? He says that "if you draw a line around cities you drive up housing costs". I say it's because he wants to keep his fossil fuel pals in business by keeping us automobile dependent. Cox tried to belittle Tampa Mayor Bob Buckhorn, a Democrat, when he spoke to the hope of aligning his city with a future that will bring in the "Creative Class" with its mobile intellectual property. Cox accused the mayor of favoring fountains over jobs. When Buckhorn came to his own defense, brilliantly, he reminded his detractor that the jobs of the future will not be found solely in mills, plants, and assembly lines but in technology and innovation.
So when exactly did it become okay to want to continue to kill the planet? I'll try REAL hard not to make assumptions here, but I did come up in the South and grew up in an era of "white flight" and "forced bussing", so there's my full disclosure. And I know, living in a rural area, that there are those--ALEC love 'em--who want to live out in No Covenant Land where they can shoot off their guns whenever they choose. But looking beyond those--let us hope--extremes, why must our ideological choice as it impacts this issue be between living in the dirty, industrial 1900s or in the progressive future President Jimmy Carter tried to help us find in the 1970s? Are we really so black-and-white on this issue that we have only two boxes on our interior landscape form from which to decide to place our check: David Koch or Al Gore?
I don't want to tell anyone how or where to live, but I also understand that as a society we can choose to have one nation or 312,780,968 mini-nations. We have to learn to live together so that all can express their individuality in a way that does not negatively impact the others. Unlike the Tea Party Lady I told you about earlier this weekend, I do not want 312,780,968 little sidewalks, 312,780,968 little schools, 312,780,968 little fire hydrants, 312,780,968 little streets, and 312,780,968 little hospitals. My town is tiny, but you cannot enter it from any direction without discovering that it has won numerous awards/grants for being a Tree City USA and for implementing Smart Growth. If we can do it in a very Republican town of less than 10,000 people, in a very Republican county of less than twice that number without a revolt, can it be such a Communist or Socialist boondoggle?
I recall those Republican Primary Debate folks cheering death-by-no-insurance and the death penalty itself, and booing an American Hero who just happens to be gay and I wonder why there aren't obvious places where we can come together as human beings. My dogs love their chewies, but just this morning one of the bigger dogs took the remainder of a chew he'd made softer and dropped it at the feet of one of the smaller dogs. He might have been full, but he was still creating doggie community.
So I would ask Mr. Cox how many of us will indeed "win" when our planet decides our living patterns rather than our own notions such as Smart Growth. How many of us will have a choice of job types and housing locations when we're just trying to breathe without coughing and drink the water without lighting it on fire? How in this wonderful world can we continue to be reactive rather than proactive? When will we ever abandon the false security of the short-term fix for the long-term solution?
Sometimes we have to make an upfront investment in times of great need or great change and this is one of those times. The government is not desirous of taking over our lives, and we should not want to take over the government in an effort to split it into 312,780,968 people-states with 312,780,968 flags. Corporations have their place, Unions have their place, Government has its place, and so should all of us. There's no me in success, but there sure is an "us".
And no, Fox Bidness, our President is not planning on the cities taking over the suburbs. But if the empty buildings are in the cities, then we should use those already-built resources for good. Cox says we should just keep on building new houses to our liking and wherever we choose. Where he sees "freedom", I see "waste". But I'm a bleeding heart anti-hunting gal who'd just as soon buy the dead animals already in the grocery store...and the fraction of my heritage that is Native tells me to never forget the images of huge piles of the Great American Bison.
What's so wrong about considering others before deciding something for ourselves? Wasn't that the whole point of the Golden Rule? Of "I am my brother's keeper"? Of not drinking and driving? Some things we must decide as a collective: teachers need degrees, paramedics need training, restaurants need inspections, pilots need licenses. I really don't want to yank all the regulations that keep us alive day in and day out.
Can we please get the big money out of our political process so that we don't come down as members of the anti-Earth Party or the pro-Earth Party? I want GREEN to be the new BLACK, and that doesn't make me RED.
Friday, August 24, 2012
The Word is LOVE
You ever have one of those days where you find yourself just sitting and "processing" for quite a while afterwards?
Well that's me right now. I spent five hours today out in public--trying enough on my frayed mental and social nerves--three-and-a-half of which found me seated behind an Obama for America table offering voter registration services. (See, I'm so taxed I'm using passive voice.)
This could be seen as a good deed or a death wish, depending upon where you live. I happen to live in death wish territory and those of you in similar circumstances know exactly what I mean and probably have felt at one time or another how I feel. For the most part, it was a very positive experience. I only had a "confrontation conversation" with one Tea Party Lady who chose to engage me twice: as she walked down the street and then on the return trip. I remained calm, made my points (though not all of them) whenever I could get a word in edgewise, and listened to her birther talk and Communism claims with feigned interest after which I defended our President as best I could muster while flustered. The only time I "got onto her" was when she attempted to bring my 13-year-old son into her conversation which I quickly shut down with the Mama Bear warning: "Leave my son out of this." Sure, he was there to support his Mom and his President, but I would not have her talk directly to him with her negativity. He did pipe up from behind me, "Oh, I have my own ideas. No one tells me how to think." So that was a proud moment.
And before she left me the second time with her cascade of "He (PBO) doesn't care" and "He's gonna lose", I praised her for being as passionate about her country as I was and asked her to shake my hand, which she did. I even told her that I loved my community and loved her as well, which went unmet with a rejoinder and fell silent at the sidewalk by her "FREEDOM-ROBBERS"(or some similar nonsense) sign-adorned baby stroller. And the scowl never left her face.
But I did manage to register some folks and reminded more about our new "voter purge scheme"--if you didn't vote in the 2010 midterm in Colorado, you ain't votin' in November, honey--and I got to spend some quality time with LOTS of happy-clappy liberals, some friends, neighbors, teachers, and out-of-state visitors who support President. One man did say, "Don't vote for him," as he passed and another gave me a thumbs-down, but beyond that, all was civil and even congenial. But I tend to start conversations with such things as: "Great hat for the rain", "What a cute puppy", "Keep that baby dry", "Well, you know how to make an entrance" (when a lady stumbled and laughed at herself), "I love that color" (of a teenaged girl's scarf), "Got some good food there", "How'd you get the husband to carry that", "Good to see you", or "Doing great now that it's not raining, aren't we". And that is what I like to do; I like to talk WITH people. I don't care what they think and in many cases I don't even want to know, but if they can carry a conversation, have a good laugh, and tell a nice story them I'm in.
After my shift was done, I met up with my 11-year-old daughter who was at the end of the block selling lemonade with a friend. She told me that as she and the other girl were standing there, a man came up, stared at her "Obama" button, and placed a Romney sign on her table as he explained, "So people know to vote the RIGHT way." I'm glad I wasn't there because a grown man coming up to two little girls like that smacks of many nasty things to me and I might have gone off on the dude. I found out later he did the same thing to my 22-year-old Obama field organizer for our county which, oddly, made me feel better. At least he wasn't just picking on the yet-to-ovulate women. But--and here's another proud moment--my young daughter grabbed the sign, ripped it to shreds, and threw it in the trashcan.
I'd say a hell of a lot more good came out of the day than bad. (Hopefully the same holds true for tomorrow when the three-hour table shift will be aimed at collecting donations for the local charity which helps the economically-disadvantaged in our county keep and feed their pets.) But even with the emotional balance sheet coming out black instead of red, I still know that most of the help I give the campaign will have to be done in a behind-the-scenes capacity. I do love my town and I will always maintain that the vast majority of our citizens are wonderful, good people. I choose to believe that if I needed help, they'd give it. And even though the back of my car is plastered in positive Democratic bumperstickers, not once have I endured a comment about them. This is the West where people just stay out of other folks' business, as a rule. My neighbor on the right manned the Obama table with me, and when my neighbor on the left walked by, right-neighbor and I both knew they did not share our slant so we talked about other things. No problem.
Just now I had to raise the window as my son was knocking on it and wanted to impart some tidbit to me. He said he'd be with his sister down the street at their friends' for a bit longer, then the boy who's friends with my son will be spending the night with us. I said, "Okay, cool" and I really meant it. I adore this family and we are always in touch with each other and I do not know if they vote or how, nor do I want to. You Northern Exposure fans will recall the episode when Joel had to act as the town's psychiatrist. He sat outside The Brick on the bench and told Maggie (who happens to be the same Janine Turner you'll now find on Fox News), "I don't want to know these things about people." I'm glad I "didn't know these things" about Ms. Turner at the time, but I'd like to think I would have loved the show just the same.
So now it's election season and the trenches on all sides are deep and narrow, but I'm counting on my community to fall back on its pioneer heritage (sans the Indian relocation and buffalo slaughters) and its inherent instincts, despite the spite.
Call it the high prairie version of live and let live or the mountain method of minding your own business. Say it's the Golden Rule or espouse that "I am my brother's keeper."
In short, it's empathy. It's caring about the village, connecting with the community.
In a word, it's LOVE.
Well that's me right now. I spent five hours today out in public--trying enough on my frayed mental and social nerves--three-and-a-half of which found me seated behind an Obama for America table offering voter registration services. (See, I'm so taxed I'm using passive voice.)
This could be seen as a good deed or a death wish, depending upon where you live. I happen to live in death wish territory and those of you in similar circumstances know exactly what I mean and probably have felt at one time or another how I feel. For the most part, it was a very positive experience. I only had a "confrontation conversation" with one Tea Party Lady who chose to engage me twice: as she walked down the street and then on the return trip. I remained calm, made my points (though not all of them) whenever I could get a word in edgewise, and listened to her birther talk and Communism claims with feigned interest after which I defended our President as best I could muster while flustered. The only time I "got onto her" was when she attempted to bring my 13-year-old son into her conversation which I quickly shut down with the Mama Bear warning: "Leave my son out of this." Sure, he was there to support his Mom and his President, but I would not have her talk directly to him with her negativity. He did pipe up from behind me, "Oh, I have my own ideas. No one tells me how to think." So that was a proud moment.
And before she left me the second time with her cascade of "He (PBO) doesn't care" and "He's gonna lose", I praised her for being as passionate about her country as I was and asked her to shake my hand, which she did. I even told her that I loved my community and loved her as well, which went unmet with a rejoinder and fell silent at the sidewalk by her "FREEDOM-ROBBERS"(or some similar nonsense) sign-adorned baby stroller. And the scowl never left her face.
But I did manage to register some folks and reminded more about our new "voter purge scheme"--if you didn't vote in the 2010 midterm in Colorado, you ain't votin' in November, honey--and I got to spend some quality time with LOTS of happy-clappy liberals, some friends, neighbors, teachers, and out-of-state visitors who support President. One man did say, "Don't vote for him," as he passed and another gave me a thumbs-down, but beyond that, all was civil and even congenial. But I tend to start conversations with such things as: "Great hat for the rain", "What a cute puppy", "Keep that baby dry", "Well, you know how to make an entrance" (when a lady stumbled and laughed at herself), "I love that color" (of a teenaged girl's scarf), "Got some good food there", "How'd you get the husband to carry that", "Good to see you", or "Doing great now that it's not raining, aren't we". And that is what I like to do; I like to talk WITH people. I don't care what they think and in many cases I don't even want to know, but if they can carry a conversation, have a good laugh, and tell a nice story them I'm in.
After my shift was done, I met up with my 11-year-old daughter who was at the end of the block selling lemonade with a friend. She told me that as she and the other girl were standing there, a man came up, stared at her "Obama" button, and placed a Romney sign on her table as he explained, "So people know to vote the RIGHT way." I'm glad I wasn't there because a grown man coming up to two little girls like that smacks of many nasty things to me and I might have gone off on the dude. I found out later he did the same thing to my 22-year-old Obama field organizer for our county which, oddly, made me feel better. At least he wasn't just picking on the yet-to-ovulate women. But--and here's another proud moment--my young daughter grabbed the sign, ripped it to shreds, and threw it in the trashcan.
I'd say a hell of a lot more good came out of the day than bad. (Hopefully the same holds true for tomorrow when the three-hour table shift will be aimed at collecting donations for the local charity which helps the economically-disadvantaged in our county keep and feed their pets.) But even with the emotional balance sheet coming out black instead of red, I still know that most of the help I give the campaign will have to be done in a behind-the-scenes capacity. I do love my town and I will always maintain that the vast majority of our citizens are wonderful, good people. I choose to believe that if I needed help, they'd give it. And even though the back of my car is plastered in positive Democratic bumperstickers, not once have I endured a comment about them. This is the West where people just stay out of other folks' business, as a rule. My neighbor on the right manned the Obama table with me, and when my neighbor on the left walked by, right-neighbor and I both knew they did not share our slant so we talked about other things. No problem.
Just now I had to raise the window as my son was knocking on it and wanted to impart some tidbit to me. He said he'd be with his sister down the street at their friends' for a bit longer, then the boy who's friends with my son will be spending the night with us. I said, "Okay, cool" and I really meant it. I adore this family and we are always in touch with each other and I do not know if they vote or how, nor do I want to. You Northern Exposure fans will recall the episode when Joel had to act as the town's psychiatrist. He sat outside The Brick on the bench and told Maggie (who happens to be the same Janine Turner you'll now find on Fox News), "I don't want to know these things about people." I'm glad I "didn't know these things" about Ms. Turner at the time, but I'd like to think I would have loved the show just the same.
So now it's election season and the trenches on all sides are deep and narrow, but I'm counting on my community to fall back on its pioneer heritage (sans the Indian relocation and buffalo slaughters) and its inherent instincts, despite the spite.
Call it the high prairie version of live and let live or the mountain method of minding your own business. Say it's the Golden Rule or espouse that "I am my brother's keeper."
In short, it's empathy. It's caring about the village, connecting with the community.
In a word, it's LOVE.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Girl, You Made Dad a Woman Now
The National Review's Kevin D. Williamson has managed to bring criticism of the President up a notch at least by NOT being overtly racist.
Williamson's theory is that since Mitt has fathered all boys and the President all girls, it is obvious that Mitt is the more virile of the two. The writer even offered to cough up some fallopian tubes for our Commander in Chief. Not literally I would imagine, but I'll have to consult Representative Todd Akin (R-MO) for more biological facts.
This notion of course flies in the face of the assumed sexual prowess of men of color. Though size is not the issue here, just the lousy genetics of having "gulp" GIRLS for children, we can take some comfort for the racial reprieve so often evident in characterizations of our President.
Somehow I am reminded of China: Not sure if it's the whole distaste for female children thing or the prodigious outsourcing which Mitt also fathered over the years at Bain. And I'm pretty sure I'm offended as a woman who, though the nurses got the crib label wrong for my first few days on the planet, was finally verified to be a girl. My dad wanted a girl and didn't seem to feel he was any the less manly for that desire. He proudly passed around my baby pictures daring any man at his business luncheons to produce evidence of a more beautiful child. He says they could not. True or no, I know I made him proud.
I'll admit I've wondered a time or two if the sex of children signified any strength of a certain partner in a relationship, but I've never used that curiosity as a judgment of the parents. This assumes, of course, these were children born to heterosexual parents without the assistance of another party. The plethora of other parental situations wouldn't apply in this conversation--a surrogate is not in the relationship and same-sex couples don't have to worry about such nonsense in the first place! Perhaps it's human nature to ask oneself such things in some vain attempt to guess the sex of a soon-to-be-released new album as it were, but in the end what does it really matter? If I were to assert that you can tell who's the boss in the relationship based on the gender of the offspring, I'd sound just as stupid as Williamson. (But I am relieved that for my own relationship we have one of each. You know, just in case "the crazy" is right. Knock wood, don't walk under ladders, carry a rabbit's foot, throw the baby out with the bathwater over your LEFT shoulder.)
As is my way, I would like to mention a caller to Stephanie Miller's show this morning. (If you aren't watching on Current or listening on XM, you're not living by the way.) She asked Steph a very interesting question: Since three of the Romney boys have had kids by invitro fertilization and since extra zygotes must be produced for that process to arrive at success, what happened to Mitt's other grandchildren? Zygotes are people, my friend. Careful when you stand atop that Republican platform next week, Mittens. You might just fall through a crack called "hypocrisy".
I believe the children are our future, so perhaps Mr. Williamson should concern himself more with the horns of granddad's dilemma rather than the horniness of dad's secretions. Or maybe he should check the dateline of his publication for a reminder of which century we're living in at present.
Either way, isn't putting more pressure on our kids exactly what we as parents should be doing? It is in line with the Republican's knack for blaming their situation on others however. You'll recall (according to Fox Nudes) that President Obama inherited a SURPLUS then squandered it on welfare Cadillacs and solar companies. And I'll just bet it was his girls that talked him into doing that too!
Kids...and women these days!
Williamson's theory is that since Mitt has fathered all boys and the President all girls, it is obvious that Mitt is the more virile of the two. The writer even offered to cough up some fallopian tubes for our Commander in Chief. Not literally I would imagine, but I'll have to consult Representative Todd Akin (R-MO) for more biological facts.
This notion of course flies in the face of the assumed sexual prowess of men of color. Though size is not the issue here, just the lousy genetics of having "gulp" GIRLS for children, we can take some comfort for the racial reprieve so often evident in characterizations of our President.
Somehow I am reminded of China: Not sure if it's the whole distaste for female children thing or the prodigious outsourcing which Mitt also fathered over the years at Bain. And I'm pretty sure I'm offended as a woman who, though the nurses got the crib label wrong for my first few days on the planet, was finally verified to be a girl. My dad wanted a girl and didn't seem to feel he was any the less manly for that desire. He proudly passed around my baby pictures daring any man at his business luncheons to produce evidence of a more beautiful child. He says they could not. True or no, I know I made him proud.
I'll admit I've wondered a time or two if the sex of children signified any strength of a certain partner in a relationship, but I've never used that curiosity as a judgment of the parents. This assumes, of course, these were children born to heterosexual parents without the assistance of another party. The plethora of other parental situations wouldn't apply in this conversation--a surrogate is not in the relationship and same-sex couples don't have to worry about such nonsense in the first place! Perhaps it's human nature to ask oneself such things in some vain attempt to guess the sex of a soon-to-be-released new album as it were, but in the end what does it really matter? If I were to assert that you can tell who's the boss in the relationship based on the gender of the offspring, I'd sound just as stupid as Williamson. (But I am relieved that for my own relationship we have one of each. You know, just in case "the crazy" is right. Knock wood, don't walk under ladders, carry a rabbit's foot, throw the baby out with the bathwater over your LEFT shoulder.)
As is my way, I would like to mention a caller to Stephanie Miller's show this morning. (If you aren't watching on Current or listening on XM, you're not living by the way.) She asked Steph a very interesting question: Since three of the Romney boys have had kids by invitro fertilization and since extra zygotes must be produced for that process to arrive at success, what happened to Mitt's other grandchildren? Zygotes are people, my friend. Careful when you stand atop that Republican platform next week, Mittens. You might just fall through a crack called "hypocrisy".
I believe the children are our future, so perhaps Mr. Williamson should concern himself more with the horns of granddad's dilemma rather than the horniness of dad's secretions. Or maybe he should check the dateline of his publication for a reminder of which century we're living in at present.
Either way, isn't putting more pressure on our kids exactly what we as parents should be doing? It is in line with the Republican's knack for blaming their situation on others however. You'll recall (according to Fox Nudes) that President Obama inherited a SURPLUS then squandered it on welfare Cadillacs and solar companies. And I'll just bet it was his girls that talked him into doing that too!
Kids...and women these days!
Monday, August 20, 2012
Grilling Akin
Boys, we've gotta have a talk. I know these are words that turn your scrotums into prunes, but this time I'm not kidding: We have a serious problem.
I have a few "house rules" if you will for the men in my orbit:
1. You have to respect women, mainly me
2. I'm not your mommie (unless we're talking about my son), and
3. You can have an opinion on abortion when you can have a baby
I have no idea what the rules may be for the women in Missouri Congressman
Todd Akin's life--nor of those in the throngs of (pick your goofy label) his fellow travelers in stupidity, but I do know what it takes to have a decent relationship with another person. It takes respect. And while perfection is never a goal nor an option, I can say that hubby and I have managed 30 years this month of being reasonable and mostly respectful.
I haven't had the chance to talk with him about this issue, but I know exactly what he'd say: "Idiot!" And I hope that Akin and my husband never have to face the reality of living with the horror of a loved one's "legitimate rape". It's easy to dismiss--in Akin's case--the question whenever it doesn't apply to our dear ones, as you'll no doubt recall from Michael Dukakis' answer to the question in a debate.
But let's set aside the painful lack of empathy implied in Mr. Akin's (and those of his stripe's) litany and just concern ourselves with his ignorance. The man claims he actually thinks that women's hoo-hoos have an off switch. I suppose when you don't "just lay back and enjoy it" the "juices don't flow" in such a way that the egg gets the idea to make nice with an incoming onslaught of sperm. Dear god. Dear science! Oh, and REALLY?! Tell that fanciful notion to the 32,000 women who get pregnant from rape each year in our country. Dumb ass fallible eggs? I think not.
And when we press beyond the meanness and the ignorance, we come to the crappy characteristic of pious baloney righteousness that pisses me off no end about this entire episode: Put plainly, who gives you the futher mucking right to dictate your brand of garbage to any woman, much less a woman going through the worst thing likely ever to happen to her which then leaves her with a new horror upon discovering the legacy of her assault? What a dick!
Mr. Akin, you are an imbecile who obviously feels that women are to be regulated in a way you wouldn't think of bringing imposition to, say, corporations or Wall Street bankers. You would have women who aren't intelligent enough to make a choice raise a child. And you wouldn't stop at blaming the victim (remember that word, "legitimate") or her faulty magic plumbing, you would then punish her into reliving the vile experience every day for the rest of her life by forcing her to give birth and insisting upon her dearly cherishing this ill-gotten child. Do you also counsel our wounded warriors that they should relish in their wounds? Do you ask survivors to go to the roadside scene of their family's peril to give thanks for their accidental deaths?
Can't you just see Mr. Akin giving those women or the women in his life an employee evaluation to insure that they are indeed being good mothers. I mean it's obvious, at least to Akin and his fellow Cro-magnons, that we need a man to show us the way. (And if there's no man around of course the government should step in--literally--with their magic transvaginal wands to check our progress.) Funny, I don't hear of any anal probes for a Viagra prescription, that is unless the little green men have stockpiled all the little blue pills.
And of course if every egg is sacred, then so must be every sperm. No strangling the skin flute for you, Congressman Akin. No sex without baby-making either. How many kids do you have, by the way? And how long have you been married...
As I said at the outset, I have no knowledge of the rules--if any--imposed by the women in Todd Akin's life, but I do offer up a suggestion. If I were to have an abandoned luncheonette somewhere and found myself without a fry cook, I would want to interview grill masters who had an intimate knowledge of eggs. You do go through a lot of eggs in a diner, you know. And ladies, if he doesn't know shit about the eggs, for science's sake, keep him away from your firey, hot grill!
I have a few "house rules" if you will for the men in my orbit:
1. You have to respect women, mainly me
2. I'm not your mommie (unless we're talking about my son), and
3. You can have an opinion on abortion when you can have a baby
I have no idea what the rules may be for the women in Missouri Congressman
Todd Akin's life--nor of those in the throngs of (pick your goofy label) his fellow travelers in stupidity, but I do know what it takes to have a decent relationship with another person. It takes respect. And while perfection is never a goal nor an option, I can say that hubby and I have managed 30 years this month of being reasonable and mostly respectful.
I haven't had the chance to talk with him about this issue, but I know exactly what he'd say: "Idiot!" And I hope that Akin and my husband never have to face the reality of living with the horror of a loved one's "legitimate rape". It's easy to dismiss--in Akin's case--the question whenever it doesn't apply to our dear ones, as you'll no doubt recall from Michael Dukakis' answer to the question in a debate.
But let's set aside the painful lack of empathy implied in Mr. Akin's (and those of his stripe's) litany and just concern ourselves with his ignorance. The man claims he actually thinks that women's hoo-hoos have an off switch. I suppose when you don't "just lay back and enjoy it" the "juices don't flow" in such a way that the egg gets the idea to make nice with an incoming onslaught of sperm. Dear god. Dear science! Oh, and REALLY?! Tell that fanciful notion to the 32,000 women who get pregnant from rape each year in our country. Dumb ass fallible eggs? I think not.
And when we press beyond the meanness and the ignorance, we come to the crappy characteristic of pious baloney righteousness that pisses me off no end about this entire episode: Put plainly, who gives you the futher mucking right to dictate your brand of garbage to any woman, much less a woman going through the worst thing likely ever to happen to her which then leaves her with a new horror upon discovering the legacy of her assault? What a dick!
Mr. Akin, you are an imbecile who obviously feels that women are to be regulated in a way you wouldn't think of bringing imposition to, say, corporations or Wall Street bankers. You would have women who aren't intelligent enough to make a choice raise a child. And you wouldn't stop at blaming the victim (remember that word, "legitimate") or her faulty magic plumbing, you would then punish her into reliving the vile experience every day for the rest of her life by forcing her to give birth and insisting upon her dearly cherishing this ill-gotten child. Do you also counsel our wounded warriors that they should relish in their wounds? Do you ask survivors to go to the roadside scene of their family's peril to give thanks for their accidental deaths?
Can't you just see Mr. Akin giving those women or the women in his life an employee evaluation to insure that they are indeed being good mothers. I mean it's obvious, at least to Akin and his fellow Cro-magnons, that we need a man to show us the way. (And if there's no man around of course the government should step in--literally--with their magic transvaginal wands to check our progress.) Funny, I don't hear of any anal probes for a Viagra prescription, that is unless the little green men have stockpiled all the little blue pills.
And of course if every egg is sacred, then so must be every sperm. No strangling the skin flute for you, Congressman Akin. No sex without baby-making either. How many kids do you have, by the way? And how long have you been married...
As I said at the outset, I have no knowledge of the rules--if any--imposed by the women in Todd Akin's life, but I do offer up a suggestion. If I were to have an abandoned luncheonette somewhere and found myself without a fry cook, I would want to interview grill masters who had an intimate knowledge of eggs. You do go through a lot of eggs in a diner, you know. And ladies, if he doesn't know shit about the eggs, for science's sake, keep him away from your firey, hot grill!
Friday, August 17, 2012
Around the Bend in 80 Days
Please be sure to check your state's rules--many have changed--NOW before it's too late to cast your precious vote. Sure, I'd like to encourage everyone to vote for Dems up one side of the ballot and down the other, but the point is this: You have the right and the duty to have a say in the organization of your society, your government.
I cannot promise that your vote will be counted, but do not take that to mean that your vote doesn't count: In Colorado in 2008 President Obama won by an average of one vote per precinct. One vote. Your vote. It matters.
Get in touch with your county clerk and be sure you know how and where to cast your ballot. Here in our state, the Repugnantcan Secretary of misStatement decided that if you didn't vote in the midterm you don't need that mail-in ballot and maybe you should just be considered "inactive". Lovely. And a lot of Coloradans are unaware of the change.
Find out about ID requirements, changes of precinct hours/days/locations, and if you need to, re-register now before your local deadlines to do so occur. If your clerk has no website or you don't feel confident in their site, go to GottaVote.org or check in with your local party headquarters: they'll be glad to register you. It's easy, quick, and will give you peace of mind come November.
And watch out for shenanigans: false info in robocalls, business cards promising to register you online with the swipe of a barcode (full of lies and dirty tricks), last minute changes, and poll irregularities. Deal with an agency you know and trust, and demand your rights at the polls. If you're in line before the polls close, they have to let you vote. If they run out of ballots, they have to provide you with an acceptable substitute that they won't throw out on election night.
Educate yourself now so that you'll be prepared come Election Day. And remember who these characters are who are attempting to disenfranchise you whenever they come up for election again.
You never know when YOUR vote is that one per precinct game-changer.
I cannot promise that your vote will be counted, but do not take that to mean that your vote doesn't count: In Colorado in 2008 President Obama won by an average of one vote per precinct. One vote. Your vote. It matters.
Get in touch with your county clerk and be sure you know how and where to cast your ballot. Here in our state, the Repugnantcan Secretary of misStatement decided that if you didn't vote in the midterm you don't need that mail-in ballot and maybe you should just be considered "inactive". Lovely. And a lot of Coloradans are unaware of the change.
Find out about ID requirements, changes of precinct hours/days/locations, and if you need to, re-register now before your local deadlines to do so occur. If your clerk has no website or you don't feel confident in their site, go to GottaVote.org or check in with your local party headquarters: they'll be glad to register you. It's easy, quick, and will give you peace of mind come November.
And watch out for shenanigans: false info in robocalls, business cards promising to register you online with the swipe of a barcode (full of lies and dirty tricks), last minute changes, and poll irregularities. Deal with an agency you know and trust, and demand your rights at the polls. If you're in line before the polls close, they have to let you vote. If they run out of ballots, they have to provide you with an acceptable substitute that they won't throw out on election night.
Educate yourself now so that you'll be prepared come Election Day. And remember who these characters are who are attempting to disenfranchise you whenever they come up for election again.
You never know when YOUR vote is that one per precinct game-changer.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Everything Old is New Again
Seems a lot like the 1930s lately. Of course there's our continuing crawl out of the financial pit left to us by years of "trickle-down", bad decisions from both parties, and the outlandish spending and foolish frittering away of our surplus by George Bush. But by not attending to our planet's healthcare, we've managed to stir its ire and revisit another Depression era anomaly, the Dust Bowl.
If we were suddenly bereft of our technologies, our newspaper typesetters could leave the little characters spelling out "the worst since the 1930s" on the press without having to call in the copyeditors. This is the worst "economic downturn" or recession since that time and now the current drought has affected the most land since the Dirty Thirties.
Cue the Okies and send a reporter off to Route 66 to interview the Joads. Or just go to Texas or Louisiana where, if you make over a lofty $5,000 per year, you are too wealthy for Medicaid. Remember Romney's "self-deportation"? Seems it applies across state lines as well. They'll just smoke out those old people in nursing homes, those children with disabilities, those folks whose jobs have been outsourced and happen to think they deserve not to die from some disease; smoke 'em into a neighboring state foolish enough to think that $5,000 might be a monthly salary but certainly isn't a yearly one.
"I want to put a tag of shame on the greedy bastards responsible for this (Great Depression)," The Grapes of Wrath author John Steinbeck famously said of his intent with one of our great American novels. I think Steinbeck would have found his way to Zuccoti Park had he been amongst us last October. I wish we'd have listened to Jimmy Carter in the 1970s--or halftime in our little timeline here--and done as much to turn down the big thermostat as we did to reset the ones in our homes. And I know that all these concerns, catastrophes even, of the 1930s and the 20nows are people-powered perils. The historical farmers did not practice crop rotation and favored the short term bounty over the long term sustainability of the land. Topsoil was just that, and it self-deported to other states faster than a single mother raising her disabled child on the oil-rich Texas-Louisiana border running off to find a better life...anywhere. Add in the Great Depression's ongoing and punishing hardships and life went from crappy to impossible.
Today our "exceptional drought" and the slow climb out of the Great Recession seem set to mimic those of the not so good old days. We can blame big oil, gas, coal and such characters as the Koch Brothers for some of our environmental woes. Monsanto can line up for a good knuckle-rapping for giving us such anathemas as genetically modified seeds, hybridized plants, and of course the great non-equalizer, Round-Up, which works on the soil kind of like meth works on an addict: It poisons you for anything else but more of it. And we sure as hell can aim our evil eyes at Wall Street AGAIN for all things screwy financially. The greedy bastards are running the show, getting away with tiny little societal "murders" we never fully understand, and still they demand more. They want to be regulation-free to carry out their unhealthy practices, they want more tax cuts, they demand to keep their investable monies on the sidelines and on the beaches of foreign shores, oh...and for all this they want The White House.
If all those poor folks of the 1930s didn't know any better--though doubtless the non-poor did--then we cannot hold their mistakes against them. They, like some of today's foreclosed families who were prodded and misled into bad sub-prime mortgages, did not have the crucial facts at their disposal. But we've seen this movie before: Rose Of Sharon's baby is stillborn and eventually the floods come. We have the facts--and the inspiration of literary fiction--to guide us this time. We still (amazingly enough) have time to heal the planet, but we're talking triage then straight to the ER now. We must take care to sew up the holes in the social safety net and the best thread we have is sitting unused in the notions stores of Switzerland and the Caymans. And we need a cool drink of Glass-Stegal again to help save the greedy bastards from their worst addictions.
If the old adage of "the cure grows next to the poison" is true, then we possess, need even, to give farmers desperate for a source of income the infrastructure needed to grow consumables for green energy: algae, hemp, and other biofuel sources. Call it seed money or, as we say in wildfire country--which has greatly expanded in case you haven't noticed--ladder fuels: green fuels lead to green cars lead to green jobs lead to green energy exploration leads to green in people's pockets.
But before we can get to that fine day on planet Earth we have one more shortfall to remedy: Lack of empathy. I hope it's just greed and not lack of caring, but some of these (mainly) GOP policies are downright cruel. Do we really want the Ryan plan and the Romney tax scheme? Do the problem (not job) creators honestly need more rope with which to hang us all? Have the greedy bastards managed to turn poor-on-poor yet again?
In short, there's no welfare queen keeping you from living in a two-story mobile home, but you may need one without healthcare, Medicare, and Medicaid. You know, for when Ma and Pa have to leave the assisted living center and all the poorer relatives come calling with their troubles...and all their worldly goods piled atop the Model T-oyota. (Except for the family dog, of course. No one's THAT heartless.)
If we were suddenly bereft of our technologies, our newspaper typesetters could leave the little characters spelling out "the worst since the 1930s" on the press without having to call in the copyeditors. This is the worst "economic downturn" or recession since that time and now the current drought has affected the most land since the Dirty Thirties.
Cue the Okies and send a reporter off to Route 66 to interview the Joads. Or just go to Texas or Louisiana where, if you make over a lofty $5,000 per year, you are too wealthy for Medicaid. Remember Romney's "self-deportation"? Seems it applies across state lines as well. They'll just smoke out those old people in nursing homes, those children with disabilities, those folks whose jobs have been outsourced and happen to think they deserve not to die from some disease; smoke 'em into a neighboring state foolish enough to think that $5,000 might be a monthly salary but certainly isn't a yearly one.
"I want to put a tag of shame on the greedy bastards responsible for this (Great Depression)," The Grapes of Wrath author John Steinbeck famously said of his intent with one of our great American novels. I think Steinbeck would have found his way to Zuccoti Park had he been amongst us last October. I wish we'd have listened to Jimmy Carter in the 1970s--or halftime in our little timeline here--and done as much to turn down the big thermostat as we did to reset the ones in our homes. And I know that all these concerns, catastrophes even, of the 1930s and the 20nows are people-powered perils. The historical farmers did not practice crop rotation and favored the short term bounty over the long term sustainability of the land. Topsoil was just that, and it self-deported to other states faster than a single mother raising her disabled child on the oil-rich Texas-Louisiana border running off to find a better life...anywhere. Add in the Great Depression's ongoing and punishing hardships and life went from crappy to impossible.
Today our "exceptional drought" and the slow climb out of the Great Recession seem set to mimic those of the not so good old days. We can blame big oil, gas, coal and such characters as the Koch Brothers for some of our environmental woes. Monsanto can line up for a good knuckle-rapping for giving us such anathemas as genetically modified seeds, hybridized plants, and of course the great non-equalizer, Round-Up, which works on the soil kind of like meth works on an addict: It poisons you for anything else but more of it. And we sure as hell can aim our evil eyes at Wall Street AGAIN for all things screwy financially. The greedy bastards are running the show, getting away with tiny little societal "murders" we never fully understand, and still they demand more. They want to be regulation-free to carry out their unhealthy practices, they want more tax cuts, they demand to keep their investable monies on the sidelines and on the beaches of foreign shores, oh...and for all this they want The White House.
If all those poor folks of the 1930s didn't know any better--though doubtless the non-poor did--then we cannot hold their mistakes against them. They, like some of today's foreclosed families who were prodded and misled into bad sub-prime mortgages, did not have the crucial facts at their disposal. But we've seen this movie before: Rose Of Sharon's baby is stillborn and eventually the floods come. We have the facts--and the inspiration of literary fiction--to guide us this time. We still (amazingly enough) have time to heal the planet, but we're talking triage then straight to the ER now. We must take care to sew up the holes in the social safety net and the best thread we have is sitting unused in the notions stores of Switzerland and the Caymans. And we need a cool drink of Glass-Stegal again to help save the greedy bastards from their worst addictions.
If the old adage of "the cure grows next to the poison" is true, then we possess, need even, to give farmers desperate for a source of income the infrastructure needed to grow consumables for green energy: algae, hemp, and other biofuel sources. Call it seed money or, as we say in wildfire country--which has greatly expanded in case you haven't noticed--ladder fuels: green fuels lead to green cars lead to green jobs lead to green energy exploration leads to green in people's pockets.
But before we can get to that fine day on planet Earth we have one more shortfall to remedy: Lack of empathy. I hope it's just greed and not lack of caring, but some of these (mainly) GOP policies are downright cruel. Do we really want the Ryan plan and the Romney tax scheme? Do the problem (not job) creators honestly need more rope with which to hang us all? Have the greedy bastards managed to turn poor-on-poor yet again?
In short, there's no welfare queen keeping you from living in a two-story mobile home, but you may need one without healthcare, Medicare, and Medicaid. You know, for when Ma and Pa have to leave the assisted living center and all the poorer relatives come calling with their troubles...and all their worldly goods piled atop the Model T-oyota. (Except for the family dog, of course. No one's THAT heartless.)
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Once, Twice: Two Times a President
I had never had the opportunity, nor the desire, to see a President before this summer. Suddenly, I've been in the crowd twice, even volunteered to assist in today's rally in Colorado Springs.
I suppose it has a lot to do with being a valuable swing stater--all the attention--and with the luck of the draw: This was President's year to address the Air Force Academy's graduating class. But beyond all that, I really wanted to see Barack Obama.
Don't get me wrong, I loved presidents Carter and Clinton and I worked on Tom Harkin's presidential campaign. I was bitten by the politico bug many decades ago. I've had the honor of meeting several senators and house members as well as a cadre of local pols. (And I swear I saw Roslyn Carter on my 1977 White House tour.) But being in the same place, sharing space with the President of the United States of America is a pretty awesome thing to experience. It's overwhelming: Marine One swoops by and circles overhead (both my events were outdoors), big black limos drive into position, motorcycle cops stand at the ready, and Secret Service agents sprout up like grass after a rain. Then out he comes and you get your first glimpse of the man, the one you've seen time and again on television, the one you cried for on Election Night 2008, the one who signaled the end of the Bush years.
You can't help but squeal and your hands meet under your chin, clasped together as if to hold in the moment. And as the speech unfolds you cheer, sound out agreement, and smile at the fellow travelers gathered alongside you. You know you're in the most secure spot in the country at that moment, but what you feel is that you are in the middle of something big, something far too important not to be shared with thousands of other people. Just briefly you've stumbled onto the center of the political universe.
I can't recall everything President said any more than I can remember the names of the people I registered to vote today, but I do have pictures: Some on my phone and others in my memory. I can see the colorful hats around me, the plethora of campaign ephemera, the blue "Forward" placards at the podium and in the backdrop, that engaging way President has of dropping his head to one side when he smiles.
The soundtrack also remains: President's chuckle, his strong voice, the lady not too far behind me who referenced Mitt Romney's ads as "lies, lies, lies". And I know what I didn't hear in religious right territory, home of Focus on the Family and the Family Research Council, Colorado Springs: Not one protesting voice. There was a lady with a sign proclaiming that the Affordable Care Act (not the name she used) would take away her choice of a doctor. We passed her far from the event itself, across the street and standing by the truck of our local Fox affiliate. She stood in silence and though I considered approaching her, I did not. Seems a young man had already taken that route and was engaging in a civil conversation. I'm sure he did a better job than I would have.
On the drive home I was passed by a car with a "Defeat Obama" bumpersticker and another vehicle whose driver felt the need to impeach our President. I thought about my own bumperstickers: "Obama '08", "Obama 2012", "True Blue Proud Democrat", "DEMS", and "I (heart) equality". I was professing my opinions FOR something, the stickers on those two cars were touting their opposition. My stickers say something about me and demand nothing of others. Those two cars' stickers demanded that others take an action they believed to be the proper course. I find that preachy, whether I agree or--as in this case--I do not. I prefer to advertise not antagonize.
So I've decided that the "other side" is simply misinformed--well you know, the vast majority of the opposition who thankfully are not outright racists nor fearmongers. I've vowed to keep myself positive in public; I can shout obscenities all I want at the TV screen!
For what good does it do to attempt to catch those of an unlike mind or the undecideds with vinegar?
One of Stephanie Miller's callers today said that friends of 35 years and even some family members had kicked her out of their lives because of her pro-equality position. What a sad and terrible thing for her. The best gift we can give another person is to let them be themselves around us, to permit them to exist without subterfuge in all their unique glory. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I have wonderful neighbors and most of them do not share my politics. I have better relationships with some of them than I do with those I am told I must love, than some who share my leanings exactly.
I'm glad that both the captive audience at the Air Force Academy and those there by choice at today's rally were respectful of the others with whom they shared the experience, including the President. And I'm grateful that the one lady with the healthcare sign chose to express herself with quiet red words on plain white posterboard. She did what she felt compelled to do as did the thousands of us pouring out of the college quad. We all did what we came to do and no one was harmed, no one was "un-friended", and no one that I know of left with a broken heart like that poor caller.
Sometimes people surprise you even in a hotbed of "conservatism", whatever that is. Sometimes they stand peacefully in lines a mile long in 92 degree heat for hours and all they ask for is some shade here and there, an occasional breeze, and a little tepid water. In exchange they give enthusiasm, kind attention to us pestering volunteers, and they give thanks. I must've had a dozen or more people thank me "for my service" today, when all I was doing was spending a few hours talking about voter registration and volunteer opportunities and penetrating the thick crowd with cases of water bottles. And I probably didn't do the best job of that: Others turned in way more forms than did I, others continued to pass out water even as President spoke. But I had some wonderful conversations with people who really needed to talk about their personal situations, who wanted to give the campaign suggestions, who just wanted to be heard.
Maybe in some minuscule fashion I was able to empower them the way standing in the same field as the leader of the free world empowered me twice this summer.
I suppose it has a lot to do with being a valuable swing stater--all the attention--and with the luck of the draw: This was President's year to address the Air Force Academy's graduating class. But beyond all that, I really wanted to see Barack Obama.
Don't get me wrong, I loved presidents Carter and Clinton and I worked on Tom Harkin's presidential campaign. I was bitten by the politico bug many decades ago. I've had the honor of meeting several senators and house members as well as a cadre of local pols. (And I swear I saw Roslyn Carter on my 1977 White House tour.) But being in the same place, sharing space with the President of the United States of America is a pretty awesome thing to experience. It's overwhelming: Marine One swoops by and circles overhead (both my events were outdoors), big black limos drive into position, motorcycle cops stand at the ready, and Secret Service agents sprout up like grass after a rain. Then out he comes and you get your first glimpse of the man, the one you've seen time and again on television, the one you cried for on Election Night 2008, the one who signaled the end of the Bush years.
You can't help but squeal and your hands meet under your chin, clasped together as if to hold in the moment. And as the speech unfolds you cheer, sound out agreement, and smile at the fellow travelers gathered alongside you. You know you're in the most secure spot in the country at that moment, but what you feel is that you are in the middle of something big, something far too important not to be shared with thousands of other people. Just briefly you've stumbled onto the center of the political universe.
I can't recall everything President said any more than I can remember the names of the people I registered to vote today, but I do have pictures: Some on my phone and others in my memory. I can see the colorful hats around me, the plethora of campaign ephemera, the blue "Forward" placards at the podium and in the backdrop, that engaging way President has of dropping his head to one side when he smiles.
The soundtrack also remains: President's chuckle, his strong voice, the lady not too far behind me who referenced Mitt Romney's ads as "lies, lies, lies". And I know what I didn't hear in religious right territory, home of Focus on the Family and the Family Research Council, Colorado Springs: Not one protesting voice. There was a lady with a sign proclaiming that the Affordable Care Act (not the name she used) would take away her choice of a doctor. We passed her far from the event itself, across the street and standing by the truck of our local Fox affiliate. She stood in silence and though I considered approaching her, I did not. Seems a young man had already taken that route and was engaging in a civil conversation. I'm sure he did a better job than I would have.
On the drive home I was passed by a car with a "Defeat Obama" bumpersticker and another vehicle whose driver felt the need to impeach our President. I thought about my own bumperstickers: "Obama '08", "Obama 2012", "True Blue Proud Democrat", "DEMS", and "I (heart) equality". I was professing my opinions FOR something, the stickers on those two cars were touting their opposition. My stickers say something about me and demand nothing of others. Those two cars' stickers demanded that others take an action they believed to be the proper course. I find that preachy, whether I agree or--as in this case--I do not. I prefer to advertise not antagonize.
So I've decided that the "other side" is simply misinformed--well you know, the vast majority of the opposition who thankfully are not outright racists nor fearmongers. I've vowed to keep myself positive in public; I can shout obscenities all I want at the TV screen!
For what good does it do to attempt to catch those of an unlike mind or the undecideds with vinegar?
One of Stephanie Miller's callers today said that friends of 35 years and even some family members had kicked her out of their lives because of her pro-equality position. What a sad and terrible thing for her. The best gift we can give another person is to let them be themselves around us, to permit them to exist without subterfuge in all their unique glory. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I have wonderful neighbors and most of them do not share my politics. I have better relationships with some of them than I do with those I am told I must love, than some who share my leanings exactly.
I'm glad that both the captive audience at the Air Force Academy and those there by choice at today's rally were respectful of the others with whom they shared the experience, including the President. And I'm grateful that the one lady with the healthcare sign chose to express herself with quiet red words on plain white posterboard. She did what she felt compelled to do as did the thousands of us pouring out of the college quad. We all did what we came to do and no one was harmed, no one was "un-friended", and no one that I know of left with a broken heart like that poor caller.
Sometimes people surprise you even in a hotbed of "conservatism", whatever that is. Sometimes they stand peacefully in lines a mile long in 92 degree heat for hours and all they ask for is some shade here and there, an occasional breeze, and a little tepid water. In exchange they give enthusiasm, kind attention to us pestering volunteers, and they give thanks. I must've had a dozen or more people thank me "for my service" today, when all I was doing was spending a few hours talking about voter registration and volunteer opportunities and penetrating the thick crowd with cases of water bottles. And I probably didn't do the best job of that: Others turned in way more forms than did I, others continued to pass out water even as President spoke. But I had some wonderful conversations with people who really needed to talk about their personal situations, who wanted to give the campaign suggestions, who just wanted to be heard.
Maybe in some minuscule fashion I was able to empower them the way standing in the same field as the leader of the free world empowered me twice this summer.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Ev'ryday I'm Shufflin'
This week I was gifted with one of my kids' hand-me-down iPod Shuffles. And like Jimi Hendrix outside the pawn shop in Seattle, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Jimi saw a guitar in the window, I saw myself.
I adore my husband. He is "handsome and romantic" as Stephanie Miller would say in her puppy dog voice, sometimes breath-stoppingly romantic. But our tastes in music, though they meet at intersections here and there (hi, Robert Johnson!), are not the same, a reminder I got upon receiving this secondhand gift.
We both seem to harken back to the seventies--by and large--with him enjoying pop and beach and funk styles. All perfectly swell and fun to hear. But something was missing. So armed with my new toy and $22 bucks on the iTunes account, I set out to begin filling the musical pot with a stew of my own design.
And that's when it hit me like the sight of the clothes I can't wear (yet) in the back of my closet: I'd only forgotten who I was, but POTUS has no choice in what he shows us. He simply has to play it safe. No burnout tees without an undershirt, no shredded jeans with biker chain belts, no lapels unblemished by the holes of his American flag pin. There's no law when it comes to such things of course--the man isn't hiding any clothing in offshore closets after all--but there is a sense of what is proper and dignified. And then there's the added perception of what a black man must do to please us, to not offend our delicate sensibilities.
I've been to two Organizing For America events this summer and at both, the soundtrack was the same, safe set of R&B classics. There was Aretha and Al, Stevie W. and James B., but what if there had been Jimi Hendrix, Parliament Funkadelic, or Led Zeppelin for that matter? Maybe this other man in my life also has a "softer take" on the era than do I, and I love him anyway as well. But consider this: We'll let our President reach into the Fifth Dimension, but will we allow him to take a "Fantastic Voyage"? Probably not. You'll recall the fake uproar when he hugged a certain Harvard professor, 'fro and all.
I don't know what type of music George Bush listens to, but I do know that an alcoholic white man trumps a boogying black dude. The unwritten rules are quite clear on this. Maybe when we've finally cycled through an Hispanic President, a woman in charge, a gay or lesbian Commander in Chief, a transgendered top official, an Asian authority, a (gulp) Native American nominee...
Until that time arrives, I hope for President Obama that somewhere, sometime, somehow he gets to let his hair down and turn his music up. I hope that we can let him have whatever private notions he wants--much like a certain fried chicken purveyor--and that we can decide with our vote (or our dollar) whether or not we agree on what's important, remembering all the while that like those pesky tax rules, we do have EOE and anti-discrimination laws to bring to bear. If in letting your freak flag fly you infringe upon another, then we'll hold you to account. That's the line in the beach music sand.
But if it's merely a case of the music being a little too loud at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, we really should just tap on the door before we call out the goon squads.
Jimi saw a guitar in the window, I saw myself.
I adore my husband. He is "handsome and romantic" as Stephanie Miller would say in her puppy dog voice, sometimes breath-stoppingly romantic. But our tastes in music, though they meet at intersections here and there (hi, Robert Johnson!), are not the same, a reminder I got upon receiving this secondhand gift.
We both seem to harken back to the seventies--by and large--with him enjoying pop and beach and funk styles. All perfectly swell and fun to hear. But something was missing. So armed with my new toy and $22 bucks on the iTunes account, I set out to begin filling the musical pot with a stew of my own design.
And that's when it hit me like the sight of the clothes I can't wear (yet) in the back of my closet: I'd only forgotten who I was, but POTUS has no choice in what he shows us. He simply has to play it safe. No burnout tees without an undershirt, no shredded jeans with biker chain belts, no lapels unblemished by the holes of his American flag pin. There's no law when it comes to such things of course--the man isn't hiding any clothing in offshore closets after all--but there is a sense of what is proper and dignified. And then there's the added perception of what a black man must do to please us, to not offend our delicate sensibilities.
I've been to two Organizing For America events this summer and at both, the soundtrack was the same, safe set of R&B classics. There was Aretha and Al, Stevie W. and James B., but what if there had been Jimi Hendrix, Parliament Funkadelic, or Led Zeppelin for that matter? Maybe this other man in my life also has a "softer take" on the era than do I, and I love him anyway as well. But consider this: We'll let our President reach into the Fifth Dimension, but will we allow him to take a "Fantastic Voyage"? Probably not. You'll recall the fake uproar when he hugged a certain Harvard professor, 'fro and all.
I don't know what type of music George Bush listens to, but I do know that an alcoholic white man trumps a boogying black dude. The unwritten rules are quite clear on this. Maybe when we've finally cycled through an Hispanic President, a woman in charge, a gay or lesbian Commander in Chief, a transgendered top official, an Asian authority, a (gulp) Native American nominee...
Until that time arrives, I hope for President Obama that somewhere, sometime, somehow he gets to let his hair down and turn his music up. I hope that we can let him have whatever private notions he wants--much like a certain fried chicken purveyor--and that we can decide with our vote (or our dollar) whether or not we agree on what's important, remembering all the while that like those pesky tax rules, we do have EOE and anti-discrimination laws to bring to bear. If in letting your freak flag fly you infringe upon another, then we'll hold you to account. That's the line in the beach music sand.
But if it's merely a case of the music being a little too loud at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, we really should just tap on the door before we call out the goon squads.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)