Let's pretend that an 18-year-old male, out of his mind from recent use of PCP, was walking in the traffic lanes on a major city street and a citizen called 9-1-1 to report this to the authorities. Let's pretend that the police show up, remove the male from traffic, and direct him to sit on the curb while they figure out what to do next. Let's pretend that the male becomes aggressively combative, attacking the two police officers who responded to the incident report. After using tasers on the male and being unable to subdue him, another officer arrives on-scene and becomes involved in trying to subdue the person.
Let's pretend that shots are fired, bullets that have no effect on stopping the male from his continued attacks on the officers, two of whom are on the ground and now unable to defend themselves. Let's pretend that 3 of the shots hit the male, 2 in the body and 1 in the head. An ambulance is called and the victim is rushed to the hospital in critical condition. The 2 injured officers are also transported to the hospital so their injuries can be accessed and attended.
Okay, there's the scenario. Your response would be:
1. if you are the parents, call an attorney before you rush to the hospital to see if your child is still alive.
2. if you are a passer-by, contact the media so you can be interviewed on camera as the authority on what happened, who was involved, and who is more at fault: the rogue police officers or the innocent young man who was shot 3 times.
3. if you are a near-by neighbor, pick up the attacker's cell phone and start making calls to all the contacts on the phone, hysterically telling them that the police just shot this guy.
4. if you are even remotely connected to the attacker (uncle, aunt, g'parent, ex girlfriend, classmate, cousin, friend, neighbor), write blog entries on the local on-line newspaper website testifying that this is a "good boy" who made an indiscretion by using drugs, but he doesn't deserve to be shot in the head by the vicious cops.
5. raise the hue and cry about police violence in response to unarmed citizens they detain for questioning.
6. suggest that the cops should be trained to wound the attacker, not shoot him in the head.
7. criticize the cops for not being able to subdue the attacker without resorting to deadly force and call it an "over-kill" response.
8. say that the cops deserved to be hurt because they are so out of shape that they couldn't even stop one unarmed attacker.
If you live in my neck of the woods, all of the above appear to be appropriate responses to the scenario!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Finally, a Reality Check
There is an information processing problem with the CA mother of eight: her brain synapses don't fire the way other people's fire. I was entranced with the Dr. Phil interview: he would begin a sentence with 4-5 key words and she jumped in, finishing the question for him and providing her response. It was never a direct response, but a somewhat tangental mouthing of words that seemed almost scripted. There was no communication, but an endless stream of words, sort of like a religious zealot who relies on verbally forcing a listener to accept their vision of reality.
The little things, like no income, no provisions for the present 6 children, much less the hospitalized 8, the vow to return to school and get a "good job" so she can provide for the 14 children: none of it makes sense. When Dr. Phil pointed out that her potential entry-level income in her chosen field, counseling, may be about $35k annually, if she can find a job when she finally finishes her education, the response was a reference to teachers with whom she's spoken who have told her about positions that pay more. Who's going to care for the 14 children while she's at school? She wants to stay with her babies while they need her, and she'll go to school after they are all in school. And then off and running about how she knows she needs a good job to provide for her children, and she will do that because she has a plan, but first she has to bring the babies home and shower them with love, and then she'll go back to school and on and on and on. Oh, and by the way, she needs a van that will accommodate 14 car seats.
To say that she's out of touch with reality is generous, and her parents just sat there, amazement on their faces at the continual stream of generalizations, justifications, assurances that spewed from her mouth. What about the pending foreclosure? Yes, I have to find a home. What about the necessity for approximately 50 people per week to help her care for the total of 14 children? Yes, I will have to find volunteers. What about the current condition of the inadequate housing? Yes, I have to clean it and make it safe for all of my babies. What about diapers and food and on-going care for the 6 children already at home ... I have a plan. I have thought about that. I will take care of this. I love my children. These are my babies.
The birth of these 8 children is not a reality show, and the lives of 14 children are at stake. I believe that the Department of Social Services must step in and find foster homes for each of the octuplets, homes to which the children will go directly from the hospital because it is obvious that their mother cannot either provide for them or care for them, which endangers them in a way that can not be permitted. I was relieved to hear on last night's news that these children will not be released to their mother until their care is assured, which paves the path for the state to come into the picture actively.
The little things, like no income, no provisions for the present 6 children, much less the hospitalized 8, the vow to return to school and get a "good job" so she can provide for the 14 children: none of it makes sense. When Dr. Phil pointed out that her potential entry-level income in her chosen field, counseling, may be about $35k annually, if she can find a job when she finally finishes her education, the response was a reference to teachers with whom she's spoken who have told her about positions that pay more. Who's going to care for the 14 children while she's at school? She wants to stay with her babies while they need her, and she'll go to school after they are all in school. And then off and running about how she knows she needs a good job to provide for her children, and she will do that because she has a plan, but first she has to bring the babies home and shower them with love, and then she'll go back to school and on and on and on. Oh, and by the way, she needs a van that will accommodate 14 car seats.
To say that she's out of touch with reality is generous, and her parents just sat there, amazement on their faces at the continual stream of generalizations, justifications, assurances that spewed from her mouth. What about the pending foreclosure? Yes, I have to find a home. What about the necessity for approximately 50 people per week to help her care for the total of 14 children? Yes, I will have to find volunteers. What about the current condition of the inadequate housing? Yes, I have to clean it and make it safe for all of my babies. What about diapers and food and on-going care for the 6 children already at home ... I have a plan. I have thought about that. I will take care of this. I love my children. These are my babies.
The birth of these 8 children is not a reality show, and the lives of 14 children are at stake. I believe that the Department of Social Services must step in and find foster homes for each of the octuplets, homes to which the children will go directly from the hospital because it is obvious that their mother cannot either provide for them or care for them, which endangers them in a way that can not be permitted. I was relieved to hear on last night's news that these children will not be released to their mother until their care is assured, which paves the path for the state to come into the picture actively.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Another Good Idea Poorly Executed
I called my friend and told her not to bring her dog: I'm going out with the Round-Up and spraying weeds in all the landscaped areas. I waited for the sun to rise, as the directions remind the user to be sure it's "warm" before applying the spray. Gloved, gowned, and determined, I set off for the backyard, warning Mia to stand clear.
It took about 5 minutes before my head was throbbing so badly that I had to put down the sprayer, go inside, and pray that the cranium would not explode and leave brain matter all over the kitchen. Then, it dawned on me: I had not eaten anything since 6 pm last night, when I had a roll with cheese in the car on my way to the second class of the day. "Ah-ha," says I, "I'll just eat something and I will be fine."
Why aren't simply solutions the answer? I did eat, I hydrated, I regloved, and determinedly retook the sprayer into the back yard and within minutes had the same excruciating, pounding headache. "What the what the?" I thought, as I once again headed inside.
Okay, so something wasn't working; perhaps, I had not waited long enough for the food to metabolize, the water to hydrate, yada yada yada. After half an hour and another bottle of water, I decided to head for the front yard, where I could both pull some single, significant weeds and spray the spreading patches lower to the ground. I pulled a few, then sprayed where I had pulled, then relocated, pulled some more big weeds, sprayed again -- and almost keeled over, grabbing my head and actually moaning out loud at the sudden excruciating pain.
Well, you know how thick-headed Scandinavians are reported to be? While most of the time I disagree, preferring to think that we are simply committed to our ideas and opinions, I suddenly had the thought that should have been obvious a long time before that the weed poison and I were not compatible!
It wasn't the lack of food, it wasn't the bending over, it wasn't the warming sun: it was the poison.
I went back inside, showered and changed my clothes, drank another bottle of water, took some aspirin, and gave my body time to regroup. The headache receded, the dripping sweat stopped falling from my scalp, and I felt that I would survive the experience. This becomes yet another of my many normal maintenance tasks that I am going to have to hire done by someone else as it appears that which has never affected me in the past has now become a major health hazard.
Yeah, I'm loving it, this retirement and all the time to do all those kinds of things I enjoy doing, like household projects and landscape maintenance. As my dotter always tells me, if it doesn't kill me, it makes me stronger. Or sick?
It took about 5 minutes before my head was throbbing so badly that I had to put down the sprayer, go inside, and pray that the cranium would not explode and leave brain matter all over the kitchen. Then, it dawned on me: I had not eaten anything since 6 pm last night, when I had a roll with cheese in the car on my way to the second class of the day. "Ah-ha," says I, "I'll just eat something and I will be fine."
Why aren't simply solutions the answer? I did eat, I hydrated, I regloved, and determinedly retook the sprayer into the back yard and within minutes had the same excruciating, pounding headache. "What the what the?" I thought, as I once again headed inside.
Okay, so something wasn't working; perhaps, I had not waited long enough for the food to metabolize, the water to hydrate, yada yada yada. After half an hour and another bottle of water, I decided to head for the front yard, where I could both pull some single, significant weeds and spray the spreading patches lower to the ground. I pulled a few, then sprayed where I had pulled, then relocated, pulled some more big weeds, sprayed again -- and almost keeled over, grabbing my head and actually moaning out loud at the sudden excruciating pain.
Well, you know how thick-headed Scandinavians are reported to be? While most of the time I disagree, preferring to think that we are simply committed to our ideas and opinions, I suddenly had the thought that should have been obvious a long time before that the weed poison and I were not compatible!
It wasn't the lack of food, it wasn't the bending over, it wasn't the warming sun: it was the poison.
I went back inside, showered and changed my clothes, drank another bottle of water, took some aspirin, and gave my body time to regroup. The headache receded, the dripping sweat stopped falling from my scalp, and I felt that I would survive the experience. This becomes yet another of my many normal maintenance tasks that I am going to have to hire done by someone else as it appears that which has never affected me in the past has now become a major health hazard.
Yeah, I'm loving it, this retirement and all the time to do all those kinds of things I enjoy doing, like household projects and landscape maintenance. As my dotter always tells me, if it doesn't kill me, it makes me stronger. Or sick?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Silver Threads Among the Gold
My dad used to sing "Darling, we are growing old, silver threads among the gold," to my mom, which made them both laugh. Since he had just celebrated his 50th birthday before he died, I now realize that neither he nor my mom were old at that time, but there were, indeed, grey hairs on both their heads.
Quite cockily, I've always been a blonde -- sort of. There have been cycles when my previously very white blonde hair no longer seemed so bright, and others when the sun highlighted the strands after a summer of working outside. With the recent haircut, I am no longer blonde, nor can I pretend to be anything other than a greying senior citizen. My hairdresser kindly added some blonde highlights to the brownish grey, so I now share the "silver threads among the gold," but it's more grey than any other color.
So be it. We all have to learn to accept the natural aging process and move on.
Today, I moved on to the appointment with the eye doctor, who assured me after an extensive exam that my prescription does not need to be adjusted, even though I really cannot see well. You know the little strip of copy that runs along the bottom of a TV set? I cannot read it: it's a blur. I have to set my glasses just exactly right on my face to read a book, and signs across a room are blurry. When I put transparencies on the overhead, I have to hold a printed copy in my hand as I wander the room because I cannot read what's on the screen. Using the computer requires me to adjust my head so I can see through the bottom of my bifocals. It's annoying and stressful not to see well, so my hope this morning was that a new pair of glasses would have me seeing clearly again.
Not going to happen as there is no change in my prescription; however, I am now scheduled for a visit to an opthamalic plastic surgeon, who is going to determine how much vision improvement I will enjoy after lifting my eyelids off my eyeballs. Really. The vision in my right eye is "significantly impaired" from the sagging eyelid and can be dangerous. My left eyelid is heading south, too, just not as rapidly, perhaps because I had ambliopia (lazy eye) in my right eye, along with acute astigmatism. When you don't use your eye, it has a tendency toward the muscles becoming lax, which is exacerbated by age. To correct the problem and restore a full range of vision, the eye institute employs an eye doctor who specializes in surgical realignment of the eyelids, an eye lift.
Hopefully, he does both eyes at the same time, rather than fixing one and leaving the other to droop more before fixing it, too. I'd look like a perpetual wink if he only fixes the right eyelid!
The good news is that my insurance will cover the procedure to the extent that any insurance covers any procedure. I find out by the end of March whether it's going to happen or other issues, such as the tyrigium removal centuries ago, the incredible attack of iritis decades ago, and continuous dry eye sydrome, a common desert malady, will prohbit me from a successful surgery.
Quite cockily, I've always been a blonde -- sort of. There have been cycles when my previously very white blonde hair no longer seemed so bright, and others when the sun highlighted the strands after a summer of working outside. With the recent haircut, I am no longer blonde, nor can I pretend to be anything other than a greying senior citizen. My hairdresser kindly added some blonde highlights to the brownish grey, so I now share the "silver threads among the gold," but it's more grey than any other color.
So be it. We all have to learn to accept the natural aging process and move on.
Today, I moved on to the appointment with the eye doctor, who assured me after an extensive exam that my prescription does not need to be adjusted, even though I really cannot see well. You know the little strip of copy that runs along the bottom of a TV set? I cannot read it: it's a blur. I have to set my glasses just exactly right on my face to read a book, and signs across a room are blurry. When I put transparencies on the overhead, I have to hold a printed copy in my hand as I wander the room because I cannot read what's on the screen. Using the computer requires me to adjust my head so I can see through the bottom of my bifocals. It's annoying and stressful not to see well, so my hope this morning was that a new pair of glasses would have me seeing clearly again.
Not going to happen as there is no change in my prescription; however, I am now scheduled for a visit to an opthamalic plastic surgeon, who is going to determine how much vision improvement I will enjoy after lifting my eyelids off my eyeballs. Really. The vision in my right eye is "significantly impaired" from the sagging eyelid and can be dangerous. My left eyelid is heading south, too, just not as rapidly, perhaps because I had ambliopia (lazy eye) in my right eye, along with acute astigmatism. When you don't use your eye, it has a tendency toward the muscles becoming lax, which is exacerbated by age. To correct the problem and restore a full range of vision, the eye institute employs an eye doctor who specializes in surgical realignment of the eyelids, an eye lift.
Hopefully, he does both eyes at the same time, rather than fixing one and leaving the other to droop more before fixing it, too. I'd look like a perpetual wink if he only fixes the right eyelid!
The good news is that my insurance will cover the procedure to the extent that any insurance covers any procedure. I find out by the end of March whether it's going to happen or other issues, such as the tyrigium removal centuries ago, the incredible attack of iritis decades ago, and continuous dry eye sydrome, a common desert malady, will prohbit me from a successful surgery.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Some Thing Fishy
Mark and Brian in the morning has to be the funniest talk radio show in existence. When I am driving and listening to their patter, I have to choose between wetting my pants from laughing too hard or changing to another station to avoid said accident. Sometimes, they become too graphic for my taste and I change the station, but, for the most part, these guys are hilarious.
This morning, I listened to the guys on my way to b'fast: it is Friday, after all. The staff was paying their punishments for not winning the Super Bowl pool, and one of the guys chose as his punishment cleaning a fish. He thought it would be no big deal, so he covered himself in a huge apron and big blue rubber kitchen gloves, prepared to complete the task in a matter of fact way, guy style. He balked from the git-go, which made the whole skit even funnier.
First direction: take off the gloves. Part of the punishment is handling a dead slimy fish, so no gloves, which pretty much made the guy wish he had taken any other option as he could barely force himself to touch the fish. Then it was finding the "poop hole," as a kind listener had said to cut the fish open from poop hole to mouth, then scoop out the innards. Well, he finally managed to cut open the fish, but when he forced himself to reach inside and pull out the guts, one of the staff members observing the guy started throwing up behind a car in the parking lot.
Long story short: it was hilarious and took me from my driveway to the restaurant, laughing all the way.
When I'm home, I put the boys on in the morning, too, especially so I can play along with the 10-question quizzes they do daily. I'll admit that I usually score a few points, but their players are great. Seldom does the entire question have to be read before someone has an answer. The callers who dial in to play with the station crew are seldom very good at it, which shows that it's easier to play in one's home than it is via the phone.
All in all, I can't think of many better ways to get from the 6-10 am morning slot than with Mark and Brian!
This morning, I listened to the guys on my way to b'fast: it is Friday, after all. The staff was paying their punishments for not winning the Super Bowl pool, and one of the guys chose as his punishment cleaning a fish. He thought it would be no big deal, so he covered himself in a huge apron and big blue rubber kitchen gloves, prepared to complete the task in a matter of fact way, guy style. He balked from the git-go, which made the whole skit even funnier.
First direction: take off the gloves. Part of the punishment is handling a dead slimy fish, so no gloves, which pretty much made the guy wish he had taken any other option as he could barely force himself to touch the fish. Then it was finding the "poop hole," as a kind listener had said to cut the fish open from poop hole to mouth, then scoop out the innards. Well, he finally managed to cut open the fish, but when he forced himself to reach inside and pull out the guts, one of the staff members observing the guy started throwing up behind a car in the parking lot.
Long story short: it was hilarious and took me from my driveway to the restaurant, laughing all the way.
When I'm home, I put the boys on in the morning, too, especially so I can play along with the 10-question quizzes they do daily. I'll admit that I usually score a few points, but their players are great. Seldom does the entire question have to be read before someone has an answer. The callers who dial in to play with the station crew are seldom very good at it, which shows that it's easier to play in one's home than it is via the phone.
All in all, I can't think of many better ways to get from the 6-10 am morning slot than with Mark and Brian!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Unring the Bell?
John McCain has declined a reappearance on The View. The ladies of the program would like to be more hospitable and defend their actions during his appearance as a candidate. Not likely: there is no defence for either the rudeness or the arrogance with which the panelists dismissed the Republican candidate for President. They did what they did how they did it, and the bell cannot be unrung.
President Obama has publicly backed off from the movement to reinstate the Fairness Doctrine, perhaps because it was pointed out to him that the media bias blatantly shown during his recent campaign would be tempered by "fairness" if that measure is put back on the table. For instance, rather than being interviewed by the three most pro network news anchors to the exclusion of all others, a more "fair" representation would be required, including interviewers who did not favor his candidacy. Rather than singing his own song, the candidate would be forced to defend his campaign rhetoric on the spot in response to challenging questions from the other side of his position, a task that was not part of his campaign strategy, nor a bell he wants ringing for the rest of his term of office.
The local newspaper (I continue to read it why?) has another of its one-way polls this morning: mark yes or no. Do you think Obama’s housing plan will achieve its goal of 'rescuing families who acted responsibly'? Before providing a response, don't responders first need to know what "housing plan," then why "families who acted responsibly" need rescuing? If what I have heard from the media is accurate, that 90% of all mortgages are current and not headed for default, is the "housing plan" going to give money to that high-performing majority or to the 10% who walked away from their obligations? Throwing good money after bad doesn't solve a problem, it exacerbates it, and once that bell is rung, it cannot be unrung.
Finally, it's slowly seeping into the media that a more probable cause for the commuter plane crash outside Buffalo, NY is "pilot error," based on the conclusion that none of the other pilots flying in that area had a problem, so there must have been no weather issue. This bell is rung far too often as it's the expedient cause when no other single cause can be determined. However, what about the crash resulting from a confluence of causes because it's never just one factor that is responsible for tragedy. Think tsunami: did the ocean really cause all those deaths, or is it a confluence of causes that begins with Mother Nature and ends with man's responsibility for decisions to live in harm's way? Think Hurricane Katrina: is the weather solely responsible for the deaths and destruction, or is it a chain of causes that includes mankind's decision to fill the ocean with debris, construct levee walls for protection, build in the bowl, and then pray for the best when the worst happens? Once the bell of single cause is rung, there is no undoing the media coverage and legal consequences.
Ditto once government assumes the responsibility for the financial failure of the system. Bail out one corporation/financial institution once and the precedence is set to bail out all corporations anytime they ring that bell. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were among the first to ring the "we can't fail" bell, but months later the people are listening to the "tintintabulation of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells" (Edgar Allan Poe).
_______________________________________________
Addendum: John Grisham's latest novel, The Associate, is set against a backdrop of the manipulation of the system by corporate law firms. Interestingly, the protagonist is a young college graduate, a mere 25 years of age, who realizes the ethical implications of his involvement in the dishonesty to his fledgling legal career. As he realizes in chapter 19, "With monthly billings ... averaging $5.5 million, why push the case to a conclusion?"
President Obama has publicly backed off from the movement to reinstate the Fairness Doctrine, perhaps because it was pointed out to him that the media bias blatantly shown during his recent campaign would be tempered by "fairness" if that measure is put back on the table. For instance, rather than being interviewed by the three most pro network news anchors to the exclusion of all others, a more "fair" representation would be required, including interviewers who did not favor his candidacy. Rather than singing his own song, the candidate would be forced to defend his campaign rhetoric on the spot in response to challenging questions from the other side of his position, a task that was not part of his campaign strategy, nor a bell he wants ringing for the rest of his term of office.
The local newspaper (I continue to read it why?) has another of its one-way polls this morning: mark yes or no. Do you think Obama’s housing plan will achieve its goal of 'rescuing families who acted responsibly'? Before providing a response, don't responders first need to know what "housing plan," then why "families who acted responsibly" need rescuing? If what I have heard from the media is accurate, that 90% of all mortgages are current and not headed for default, is the "housing plan" going to give money to that high-performing majority or to the 10% who walked away from their obligations? Throwing good money after bad doesn't solve a problem, it exacerbates it, and once that bell is rung, it cannot be unrung.
Finally, it's slowly seeping into the media that a more probable cause for the commuter plane crash outside Buffalo, NY is "pilot error," based on the conclusion that none of the other pilots flying in that area had a problem, so there must have been no weather issue. This bell is rung far too often as it's the expedient cause when no other single cause can be determined. However, what about the crash resulting from a confluence of causes because it's never just one factor that is responsible for tragedy. Think tsunami: did the ocean really cause all those deaths, or is it a confluence of causes that begins with Mother Nature and ends with man's responsibility for decisions to live in harm's way? Think Hurricane Katrina: is the weather solely responsible for the deaths and destruction, or is it a chain of causes that includes mankind's decision to fill the ocean with debris, construct levee walls for protection, build in the bowl, and then pray for the best when the worst happens? Once the bell of single cause is rung, there is no undoing the media coverage and legal consequences.
Ditto once government assumes the responsibility for the financial failure of the system. Bail out one corporation/financial institution once and the precedence is set to bail out all corporations anytime they ring that bell. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were among the first to ring the "we can't fail" bell, but months later the people are listening to the "tintintabulation of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells" (Edgar Allan Poe).
_______________________________________________
Addendum: John Grisham's latest novel, The Associate, is set against a backdrop of the manipulation of the system by corporate law firms. Interestingly, the protagonist is a young college graduate, a mere 25 years of age, who realizes the ethical implications of his involvement in the dishonesty to his fledgling legal career. As he realizes in chapter 19, "With monthly billings ... averaging $5.5 million, why push the case to a conclusion?"
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Ahh, Come On!
A parade of full-figured women proudly announce that they aren't happy until their "girls" are happy. Patting themselves securely once they are strapped into a new bra designed to do just that, big smiles light their faces so everyone knows that the "girls" are happy, happy, happy.
Men talk about their "boys" when referring to their private parts, and, lately, there are jokes about men's stimulus packages being all ready to sign, seal and deliver.
I don't want to have this conversation via the TV. I don't want to know how actors feel about their "boys" or realize that a major screen star has to make her "girls" happy before appearing in public. I also don't want comedians to refer to a woman's private parts as the "nasty place," whether it's a female or a male comedian making the remark. Nor do I want to know about erections that last until you are both ready!
As a matter of fact, there are simply some topics that I'd rather not discuss in a public venue, and certainly not while I'm sipping my 9 am coffee and watching Regis and Kelly. Sure, it's probably cute and clever and all those other "today" words that show how totally open we are about everything in our lives, but ... I'd rather not.
The problem is that I no longer have a choice. If I want to watch a comedian perform, chances are good that the topic of the comedy will be blatantly sexual. If I want to listen to a talk show, the topic will either be sexual function or sexual dysfunction. If I want to watch a variety show, there will be one segment involving sex. And when we cut to the commercial, it's almost certain that there will be commercials for sex products, performance enhancers, and personal hygiene products that are pretty darned graphic.
I don't need to see the happy parents of three great kids wave their tube of feel good sex enhancer as they strip off their clothes and grab a quickie! If it's after 10 at night, okay, but these commercials are all day every day, and twice as often during prime time. Sure, I can always turn the TV off, but why do I have to miss a favorite show because I don't want to be offended by part of it and/or the commercials?
I remember attending a weekend university extension class during which the Spike Lee film about pizzas and the neighborhood was shown. The language was filthy; if the "f" word had been removed from the dialog, none of the characters would have said more than a dozen words total. I was offended, so I stood up and walked out. The professor came after me and wanted to know what I was doing, so I told him I was offended by the film and would not watch it. He assured me that I would not receive credit for the course if I didn't view the film, which was integral to the course content. I asked him to explain exactly how this particular film made the course content relevant to my life, and he spewed something about the setting being in a black neighborhood and reflecting "real life."
I assured him that in my "real life," I would also walk away from this kind of offensive language, to which he, of course, commented about my lack of tolerance.
I suggested he could practice the tolerance he preaches by understanding that there was no way I was going to view the film, so either allow me to complete the course sans this offensive piece of film or provide me with an alternative assignment. Not going to happen was the response, so I contacted the office, submitted a complaint about the content and language of the film and the lack of an alternative educational option for those of us who were offended by the content of the course.
I received a full refund for the course and took something else in its stead.
The bottom line for me is why do I have to accept that which I find unacceptable? There is no ratings guideline for commercials, so they are becoming racier and more explicit with each new offering. I can use the ratings guide to avoid shows that have questionable content, but I don't always get off the couch and raid the 'fridge, so I see the commercials whether I want to or not.
I was taught the concept of raising the bar, not lowering it. I was taught that our private parts are ... private ... and we don't discuss them in public. Maybe I am uptight, straight-laced, and prudish, but you'll have to explain to me again why that's a bad thing. From where I stand, it might be a better idea to return to saving some topics for the private sector of one's life.
Men talk about their "boys" when referring to their private parts, and, lately, there are jokes about men's stimulus packages being all ready to sign, seal and deliver.
I don't want to have this conversation via the TV. I don't want to know how actors feel about their "boys" or realize that a major screen star has to make her "girls" happy before appearing in public. I also don't want comedians to refer to a woman's private parts as the "nasty place," whether it's a female or a male comedian making the remark. Nor do I want to know about erections that last until you are both ready!
As a matter of fact, there are simply some topics that I'd rather not discuss in a public venue, and certainly not while I'm sipping my 9 am coffee and watching Regis and Kelly. Sure, it's probably cute and clever and all those other "today" words that show how totally open we are about everything in our lives, but ... I'd rather not.
The problem is that I no longer have a choice. If I want to watch a comedian perform, chances are good that the topic of the comedy will be blatantly sexual. If I want to listen to a talk show, the topic will either be sexual function or sexual dysfunction. If I want to watch a variety show, there will be one segment involving sex. And when we cut to the commercial, it's almost certain that there will be commercials for sex products, performance enhancers, and personal hygiene products that are pretty darned graphic.
I don't need to see the happy parents of three great kids wave their tube of feel good sex enhancer as they strip off their clothes and grab a quickie! If it's after 10 at night, okay, but these commercials are all day every day, and twice as often during prime time. Sure, I can always turn the TV off, but why do I have to miss a favorite show because I don't want to be offended by part of it and/or the commercials?
I remember attending a weekend university extension class during which the Spike Lee film about pizzas and the neighborhood was shown. The language was filthy; if the "f" word had been removed from the dialog, none of the characters would have said more than a dozen words total. I was offended, so I stood up and walked out. The professor came after me and wanted to know what I was doing, so I told him I was offended by the film and would not watch it. He assured me that I would not receive credit for the course if I didn't view the film, which was integral to the course content. I asked him to explain exactly how this particular film made the course content relevant to my life, and he spewed something about the setting being in a black neighborhood and reflecting "real life."
I assured him that in my "real life," I would also walk away from this kind of offensive language, to which he, of course, commented about my lack of tolerance.
I suggested he could practice the tolerance he preaches by understanding that there was no way I was going to view the film, so either allow me to complete the course sans this offensive piece of film or provide me with an alternative assignment. Not going to happen was the response, so I contacted the office, submitted a complaint about the content and language of the film and the lack of an alternative educational option for those of us who were offended by the content of the course.
I received a full refund for the course and took something else in its stead.
The bottom line for me is why do I have to accept that which I find unacceptable? There is no ratings guideline for commercials, so they are becoming racier and more explicit with each new offering. I can use the ratings guide to avoid shows that have questionable content, but I don't always get off the couch and raid the 'fridge, so I see the commercials whether I want to or not.
I was taught the concept of raising the bar, not lowering it. I was taught that our private parts are ... private ... and we don't discuss them in public. Maybe I am uptight, straight-laced, and prudish, but you'll have to explain to me again why that's a bad thing. From where I stand, it might be a better idea to return to saving some topics for the private sector of one's life.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Dizzy; I'm so Dizzy!
Note: this is a blog I wrote before the final vote was taken on the "stimulus package."
The spin is revolving at such a supersonic speed that it runs one after the other into mumbled garbage, justified with the urgent plea to do something now as there is no time left.
What's that old saying: there's never time to do it right, but we always have to make the time to do it over.
Or the other one: act in haste; repent in leisure.
Nancy Pelosi comes across as a bumbling idiot who gives all women a "bad blonde" image: uh, if we, uh, don't act, uh NOW, we're losing 500 million jobs each and every month! Will someone please tell "just do it" Pelosi that the US population is a mere 300 million, and many of us are, uh, still, uh, employed? I can see getting it wrong once, question getting it wrong twice, but anyone strikes out when there's a third time! As a spokesperson for the new administration, she needs to be better informed about the constituency she alleges to represent.
The President came to Washington on what he sees as a mandate for change, but he is walking the same path those who have come before have walked and is stumbling into the same credibility pits they stumbled into. If we don't learn from history, are we doomed to repeat it?
I haven't seen any change, much less change I can believe in.
The spin is revolving at such a supersonic speed that it runs one after the other into mumbled garbage, justified with the urgent plea to do something now as there is no time left.
What's that old saying: there's never time to do it right, but we always have to make the time to do it over.
Or the other one: act in haste; repent in leisure.
Nancy Pelosi comes across as a bumbling idiot who gives all women a "bad blonde" image: uh, if we, uh, don't act, uh NOW, we're losing 500 million jobs each and every month! Will someone please tell "just do it" Pelosi that the US population is a mere 300 million, and many of us are, uh, still, uh, employed? I can see getting it wrong once, question getting it wrong twice, but anyone strikes out when there's a third time! As a spokesperson for the new administration, she needs to be better informed about the constituency she alleges to represent.
The President came to Washington on what he sees as a mandate for change, but he is walking the same path those who have come before have walked and is stumbling into the same credibility pits they stumbled into. If we don't learn from history, are we doomed to repeat it?
I haven't seen any change, much less change I can believe in.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Excellence vs. Commonplace
Recently, I have enjoyed several excellent films, including Angelina Jolie in The Changeling, Frank Langella in Frost/Nixon, Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler, and the entire country of Indian in Slumdog Millionaire. I did walk out on The Reader, but my reaction prepared my movie buddy for staying the course. She said that although she understood why that scene is included, she wishes, too, that the blatant nude sex scene between the older woman and the teenaged boy had been omitted. I laughed my way through New in Town, with Harry Connick and Rene Z, which had great comedic scenes that reminded me of my Scandinavian ancestors and tapioca, which is still one of my favorite desserts.
However, sitting through He's Just Not That Into You creates a stark contrast to the films in the excellent category, with pretty people acting the all-too-common roles of what passes for today's work force, wasting endless business hours each day with personal issues, hooking up with happy hour bar people on the quest to find Mr/Ms Right, and skimming superficially through serious life issues. Every stereotype imaginable is included, even the girlfriend hiding in the closet while the married man has sex with his wife on his office desk.
My mind wandered as the too pat plot moved ponderously toward the end, and I was struck by how "old" the female stars looked: Drew Barrymore needed the same face she wears in the camo cosmetic ads currently showing on TV because the make-up artist on this film did her no favors. Jennifer Connolly seemed to be wearing an unattractively plain face that was pinched and angry-looking. It was easy to see why the "husband" in the film preferred the youthful and overtly attractive Scarlett Whatever her last name is with whom he has an affair.
Truth be told, the story wasn't even that funny, although there were some 20-somethings down the row who laughed that high-pitched girly giggle that is the phoniest sound on the planet these days. The book IS funny because each reader creates his/her own cast of characters, perhaps filling in with people already in their lives, which adds to the humor. The film, however, just doesn't work on any level.
My admiration goes to the two men who accompanied their womenfolk to the morning showing, affirming their manhood by sitting through a total chick-flick that did not especially portray men in a favorable light. These guys are just so into their women on Valentine's weekend!
However, sitting through He's Just Not That Into You creates a stark contrast to the films in the excellent category, with pretty people acting the all-too-common roles of what passes for today's work force, wasting endless business hours each day with personal issues, hooking up with happy hour bar people on the quest to find Mr/Ms Right, and skimming superficially through serious life issues. Every stereotype imaginable is included, even the girlfriend hiding in the closet while the married man has sex with his wife on his office desk.
My mind wandered as the too pat plot moved ponderously toward the end, and I was struck by how "old" the female stars looked: Drew Barrymore needed the same face she wears in the camo cosmetic ads currently showing on TV because the make-up artist on this film did her no favors. Jennifer Connolly seemed to be wearing an unattractively plain face that was pinched and angry-looking. It was easy to see why the "husband" in the film preferred the youthful and overtly attractive Scarlett Whatever her last name is with whom he has an affair.
Truth be told, the story wasn't even that funny, although there were some 20-somethings down the row who laughed that high-pitched girly giggle that is the phoniest sound on the planet these days. The book IS funny because each reader creates his/her own cast of characters, perhaps filling in with people already in their lives, which adds to the humor. The film, however, just doesn't work on any level.
My admiration goes to the two men who accompanied their womenfolk to the morning showing, affirming their manhood by sitting through a total chick-flick that did not especially portray men in a favorable light. These guys are just so into their women on Valentine's weekend!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Turning Tragedy into Trash
Wednesday night, after watching a movie at a local theater, a young woman and her boyfriend left the theater to cross the street to a bus stop for the return trip home. She was 18 and pregnant, and also the mother of a one-year-old child, not yet married but walking with the father of her children. She died at the scene, the victim of a hit-and-run driver whose car was later impounded at the home of its owner, a woman whose husband works in the district attorney's office.
This is such a tragic story, especially since the woman was so young, already a mother, and due to give birth next week. Her children's father witnessed the accident and now has to learn to accept the death of his future wife and unborn child, along with the images of their death. The woman's family is overcome with grief at this sudden loss of their two loved ones, as well as the actions of the female driver who sped away from the scene.
Can anyone explain to me how this tragic story has devolved into name-calling on the local newspaper's website in an ongoing argument about gay rights? Of course, the racial slurs and stereotypes came first: unwed minority woman with one child at home and another in utero. "Figures," said the bigots who always berate anyone who is not white, hetero, and socially acceptable. But these racial slurs quickly became a pissing contest between gays and non-gays, factions that are besmirching the honesty of the grief of the families of the victims of the original crime by accusing bloggers of bias based on their sexual orientation.
Do people not realize that this is not about their personal agendas, but about the deaths of two people run down in the street by a woman who fled the scene, rather than stopping and call 9-1-1? The driver was located by the description of her vehicle and partial plate provided by witnesses to her crime. Would she have come forward had she not been run to ground by the police? Her car was damaged in the accident and she must have known that she hit "something," so why not stop? You aren't arrested for stopping, but you are arrested for fleeing the scene, especially when your actions result in the deaths of two people. Has her husband become an accessory after the fact, helping her to cover up whether she had been drinking before getting behind the wheel? At best, she has committed involuntary manslaughter and will have to account for her criminal actions before a judge, but none of this has anything to do with anyone's sexual preferences!
The driver is out on $25k bail, which seems inadequate for what she has done and, perhaps, deserves commentary. Does anyone need to read comments posted by gay readers who think this is about violating their rights (http://www.mydesert.com)?
This is such a tragic story, especially since the woman was so young, already a mother, and due to give birth next week. Her children's father witnessed the accident and now has to learn to accept the death of his future wife and unborn child, along with the images of their death. The woman's family is overcome with grief at this sudden loss of their two loved ones, as well as the actions of the female driver who sped away from the scene.
Can anyone explain to me how this tragic story has devolved into name-calling on the local newspaper's website in an ongoing argument about gay rights? Of course, the racial slurs and stereotypes came first: unwed minority woman with one child at home and another in utero. "Figures," said the bigots who always berate anyone who is not white, hetero, and socially acceptable. But these racial slurs quickly became a pissing contest between gays and non-gays, factions that are besmirching the honesty of the grief of the families of the victims of the original crime by accusing bloggers of bias based on their sexual orientation.
Do people not realize that this is not about their personal agendas, but about the deaths of two people run down in the street by a woman who fled the scene, rather than stopping and call 9-1-1? The driver was located by the description of her vehicle and partial plate provided by witnesses to her crime. Would she have come forward had she not been run to ground by the police? Her car was damaged in the accident and she must have known that she hit "something," so why not stop? You aren't arrested for stopping, but you are arrested for fleeing the scene, especially when your actions result in the deaths of two people. Has her husband become an accessory after the fact, helping her to cover up whether she had been drinking before getting behind the wheel? At best, she has committed involuntary manslaughter and will have to account for her criminal actions before a judge, but none of this has anything to do with anyone's sexual preferences!
The driver is out on $25k bail, which seems inadequate for what she has done and, perhaps, deserves commentary. Does anyone need to read comments posted by gay readers who think this is about violating their rights (http://www.mydesert.com)?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
'bout Time
Note: this is a blog I wrote last week.
Because I've been waking up between 3 and 6 am, I've been turning on the TV to catch the east coast news programs before they go into repeats for the west coast audience. Today's offering on Morning Joe was something I've been saying for at least a year, if not longer:
We are all to blame for the economy! It's not just the bankers sitting in a row facing the congressional committees: it is also the congressional committee members sitting in a row and facing the bankers, as well as every single consumer who accepted the deal and signed the loan docs. Caveat emptor: let the buyer beware. It's our job to know what the deal is before we agree to it. If you cannot repay the loan, don't sign the docs.
The congressional committees were in an uproar when executives flew to the first Washington meeting in their private jets, but no one mentions how many congressional members are regularly flying to and from their home states to Washington DC, including Nancy Pelosi, who resides in Cally-fone-ya. Do you REALLY think that she is picking up the tab for those trips to commute to work? Not. Those trips are paid for by our taxes, along with all the wining and dining that goes along with the positional power.
Do as I say, not as I do seems to be the prevailing paradigm these days.
There are a lot of public people living in glass houses, making a very public display of their displeasure with the way business has been conducted. Well, they need to make those houses out of two-way mirrors and take a look at the decision-making process in which they have participated before they throw the first stone. We've already seen, in the first two weeks of the new president's term of office, that many of the upper-eschelon politicians push the boundary between doing the right thing and doing it only when they are caught not doing it, the old situational ethics stronger than it has ever been.
My remedy: remove the term "bail out" and all its synonyms from the political lexicon. If you run a company into the ground or don't pay your taxes or default on a loan, deal with it in the courts, not the court of public opinion. The sorry excuse has worn thin: it's time for everyone, not just the CEO's, to be held accountable for their actions.
Because I've been waking up between 3 and 6 am, I've been turning on the TV to catch the east coast news programs before they go into repeats for the west coast audience. Today's offering on Morning Joe was something I've been saying for at least a year, if not longer:
We are all to blame for the economy! It's not just the bankers sitting in a row facing the congressional committees: it is also the congressional committee members sitting in a row and facing the bankers, as well as every single consumer who accepted the deal and signed the loan docs. Caveat emptor: let the buyer beware. It's our job to know what the deal is before we agree to it. If you cannot repay the loan, don't sign the docs.
The congressional committees were in an uproar when executives flew to the first Washington meeting in their private jets, but no one mentions how many congressional members are regularly flying to and from their home states to Washington DC, including Nancy Pelosi, who resides in Cally-fone-ya. Do you REALLY think that she is picking up the tab for those trips to commute to work? Not. Those trips are paid for by our taxes, along with all the wining and dining that goes along with the positional power.
Do as I say, not as I do seems to be the prevailing paradigm these days.
There are a lot of public people living in glass houses, making a very public display of their displeasure with the way business has been conducted. Well, they need to make those houses out of two-way mirrors and take a look at the decision-making process in which they have participated before they throw the first stone. We've already seen, in the first two weeks of the new president's term of office, that many of the upper-eschelon politicians push the boundary between doing the right thing and doing it only when they are caught not doing it, the old situational ethics stronger than it has ever been.
My remedy: remove the term "bail out" and all its synonyms from the political lexicon. If you run a company into the ground or don't pay your taxes or default on a loan, deal with it in the courts, not the court of public opinion. The sorry excuse has worn thin: it's time for everyone, not just the CEO's, to be held accountable for their actions.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Winter: Week 2
We had a week of winter around the Christmas holidays, then enjoyed temps consistently in the 70s during the day, with some warm-ups into the 80s. The weeds are growing, the vegetation is greening, and life is looking good.
However, it began raining last Thursday and has continued to rain off and on since, some of it fairly heavy, too. Today, as I looked toward the West, all I could see was a solid black bank of nastiness hovering over the mountains and clogging the pass between. It snowed yesterday and last night, so the local mountains are heavily covered, including the mountains that come right across the highway I take to work.
I called the campus; no answer. I called the highway patrol; no adverse road conditions. I checked the weather on-line; severe storm warnings/rain. With no concrete information upon which to make a decision, I packed the truck and headed up the hill.
The first snowflakes began pelting the windshield in Morongo Valley, and then became rain until the Yucca Grade, where real snow began falling. By the time I topped the grade, it was significantly snowing, so I pulled off the road, called and left a message to cancel my class, turned around and drove back home. Although the snow isn't sticking now, it will as that weather front isn't going to blow through any time soon. Worse than snow, however, is black ice on the two major downgrades between my class and my home.
I'm not going to be stuck on the road when I leave class at 9 pm, so call me a weather wuss if you must, but I'm home, snug as a bug in a rug, and we'll have to figure out how we're going to workaround three Monday holidays and now a weather closure.
However, it began raining last Thursday and has continued to rain off and on since, some of it fairly heavy, too. Today, as I looked toward the West, all I could see was a solid black bank of nastiness hovering over the mountains and clogging the pass between. It snowed yesterday and last night, so the local mountains are heavily covered, including the mountains that come right across the highway I take to work.
I called the campus; no answer. I called the highway patrol; no adverse road conditions. I checked the weather on-line; severe storm warnings/rain. With no concrete information upon which to make a decision, I packed the truck and headed up the hill.
The first snowflakes began pelting the windshield in Morongo Valley, and then became rain until the Yucca Grade, where real snow began falling. By the time I topped the grade, it was significantly snowing, so I pulled off the road, called and left a message to cancel my class, turned around and drove back home. Although the snow isn't sticking now, it will as that weather front isn't going to blow through any time soon. Worse than snow, however, is black ice on the two major downgrades between my class and my home.
I'm not going to be stuck on the road when I leave class at 9 pm, so call me a weather wuss if you must, but I'm home, snug as a bug in a rug, and we'll have to figure out how we're going to workaround three Monday holidays and now a weather closure.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Mickey Who?
Perhaps the last film on my to-do list should have been first: Mickey O'Rourke should be standing on the stage, giving his Oscar acceptance speech, in a short couple of weeks. If he isn't the winner for Best Actor, I will be beyond disappointed. The Wrestler is an outstanding film, and Mickey's portrayal is rock solid, but it's more than that.
The film is powerful because it is our story, the story of those of us who have had a career, whether atop the ladder or hanging onto one of the rungs. We've been there, done that, and some days it's all we can do to roll out of bed, pull on our tights, and step back into the ring. It's not just the physical punishment, although there is that, too, in the film, but it's the erosion of who we are into who we used to be while we're still pretending to live our lives.
It is said that O'Rourke did most of his own stunts, which in itself would have been brutal, but more importantly, reliving his personal triumphs and failures through the character had to be wrenching. The tears that came to his eyes, but did not fall, captured so much of what it's like to still have the burning desire within, but not being able to pull it off this time.
Where do you turn when there is nowhere to turn? You go back to the only life you know, the life that has failed you so many times before and makes no promises about this time.
Marisa Tomei's character definitely sits second chair, but she, too, becomes The Ram's failure: he can't even pick up a stripper in a strip club. Tomei is no Pretty Woman, she's a mother masquerading as a stripper, and as long as she has a costume to wear and an act to perform, she can get through another day on her way to tomorrow. These two find each other, sort of, but don't really connect, don't really have anything together because neither one is capable of that. The Ram tries, but it isn't there for him any more than anything else in his life is there for him.
The script isn't pretty, it's ugly, but so is life for most of us. We spend our days deluding ourselves that we matter, but at night, there is nowhere to hide from the truth, a reality that O'Rourke captures perfectly. I doubt that there is another actor who could have pulled off this role because in order to do it for the camera, he had to have already lived it, and in that area of expertise O'Rourke stands alone.
It's raw, it's O'Rourke, and it's real Oscar.
The film is powerful because it is our story, the story of those of us who have had a career, whether atop the ladder or hanging onto one of the rungs. We've been there, done that, and some days it's all we can do to roll out of bed, pull on our tights, and step back into the ring. It's not just the physical punishment, although there is that, too, in the film, but it's the erosion of who we are into who we used to be while we're still pretending to live our lives.
It is said that O'Rourke did most of his own stunts, which in itself would have been brutal, but more importantly, reliving his personal triumphs and failures through the character had to be wrenching. The tears that came to his eyes, but did not fall, captured so much of what it's like to still have the burning desire within, but not being able to pull it off this time.
Where do you turn when there is nowhere to turn? You go back to the only life you know, the life that has failed you so many times before and makes no promises about this time.
Marisa Tomei's character definitely sits second chair, but she, too, becomes The Ram's failure: he can't even pick up a stripper in a strip club. Tomei is no Pretty Woman, she's a mother masquerading as a stripper, and as long as she has a costume to wear and an act to perform, she can get through another day on her way to tomorrow. These two find each other, sort of, but don't really connect, don't really have anything together because neither one is capable of that. The Ram tries, but it isn't there for him any more than anything else in his life is there for him.
The script isn't pretty, it's ugly, but so is life for most of us. We spend our days deluding ourselves that we matter, but at night, there is nowhere to hide from the truth, a reality that O'Rourke captures perfectly. I doubt that there is another actor who could have pulled off this role because in order to do it for the camera, he had to have already lived it, and in that area of expertise O'Rourke stands alone.
It's raw, it's O'Rourke, and it's real Oscar.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Quick Shot
A student wrote her blog on the Starbuck's isn't the best coffee controversy, and confessed, "So I went in myself to see what all the ingenzo was about."
Yeah! Extra credit for using the crazy authentication words in her writing and believing the lecture about language as a dynamic expression of today's world.
Yeah! Extra credit for using the crazy authentication words in her writing and believing the lecture about language as a dynamic expression of today's world.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Word Play
I was reading blogs today and had to type in an authorization word every time I wrote a comment. Here's the list of words so you can create a meaning for them by using them either in sentences or in a paragraph or short story. Ready?
kingeed ingenzo gultinom charle materve shushola sumbi
messacks graclc evostrip esesses drunwiz hatect
Nah, you don't need to use all of them, but it could be messacks to drunwiz a sumbi with a shushola!
UPDATING: We had fun in today's class using these words as both subjects and verbs in a grammar review. Once the students substituted these made-up words, the exercise became less threatening, and then they had to translate their sentences to the rest of the students so the implied meaning became clear. Made the time fly by, which was good, because when I left for the drive home, it was pounding icy cold rain all the way! The storm was due in about 2 o'clock tomorrow morning, but it's already arrived.
kingeed ingenzo gultinom charle materve shushola sumbi
messacks graclc evostrip esesses drunwiz hatect
Nah, you don't need to use all of them, but it could be messacks to drunwiz a sumbi with a shushola!
UPDATING: We had fun in today's class using these words as both subjects and verbs in a grammar review. Once the students substituted these made-up words, the exercise became less threatening, and then they had to translate their sentences to the rest of the students so the implied meaning became clear. Made the time fly by, which was good, because when I left for the drive home, it was pounding icy cold rain all the way! The storm was due in about 2 o'clock tomorrow morning, but it's already arrived.
Hammered
Yesterday, students were sharing sentences with the word "you" in them, which is a no-no in college writing. Our goal was to revise the sentence to remove the use of you. The sentence began, "Sometimes you are hammered and sometimes you are nailed," and from the back of the room came the male voice complaining, "and I haven't been neither lately."
After the uproar of laughter, he bragged, "And I didn't use you!"
Well done, son, well done.
After the uproar of laughter, he bragged, "And I didn't use you!"
Well done, son, well done.
Spinnin' Bullshit Into Believability?
How far will we go to make caviar out of crap?
The new buzz is that President Obama is nominating these high-profile politicos so they can be exposed and disgraced by the media and removed from their positions of power in government.
The new buzz is that President Obama is nominating these high-profile politicos so they can be exposed and disgraced by the media and removed from their positions of power in government.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Just Sayin' ...
That was a great Super Bowl: it showed that teams win games, even in the last 5 seconds. No kudos to Santonio, though, for making it all about himself and bragging that he told the QB to give him the ball and he'd win the game. Get over yourself.
Don't understand why The Boss is being dissed: his show was just right for a half-time and raised the bar after some much weaker, less entertaining performances in the past. I liked his sliding on his bent legs to the end of the stage! I liked his constant smile and total energy. I couldn't hear the sound very well, but that may be my TV, which seems to be having some sound fading issues these days. Okay, I will admit that I didn't understand the gospel choir being on stage for 2 minutes: bring 'em on and leave 'em on -- or leave 'em off.
And why doesn't P'burg have cheerleaders? They could have a guy squad in tool belts and hard hats, if they're worried about being too girly.
I'm glad to see that change is headed our way, especially a change in the intense personal scrutiny applied to our elected/appointed officials, who used to be held to a much higher standard than the Average Joe. Geithner and now Daschle have committed what used to be criminal offenses, but the accountability bar has been lowered to "sorry" as being enough said. Wow. Bet Martha Stewart wishes Obama was the President when she had to go to jail: she could have been appointed to head the stock exchange, instead of serving time. Bet the stock exchange would be a lot better off than it is, too, with Martha at the helm.
The temps are fluctuating about 40 degrees a day, with the 80s during the day and the 40s during the night. For me, layering means adding a sweat shirt over my t-shirt and wearing shoes with socks, rather than my Birks barefoot. My yards are both growing like weeds, as well as adding weeds, so I've been outside during the day pulling out what doesn't belong and trimming back what does. I turned the watering system back on, but need to have my plumber come by and make sure everything is copecetic. After learning that my water bill is set to increase by 42%, the next area I cut back is use of the bathroom toilet, sink, and shower. I already do dishes once a day out of a dishpan and throw the water into the yard, but it seems that isn't going to be adequate for me to personally fund all the upgrades to service that the water district has planned ... for the other side of town.
I'd like to feel sorry for the postal service and its lack of revenue, but until they dismantle the little gift shops and open more windows to handle the people who want postal services, they are SOL. I also get 3 copies of the throw-away mailers each week, for reasons unknown to me at this time. I used to carry them home and then toss them away; however, I now add them to the huge trash barrels full of flyers in the post office lobby. Within 5 miles of my home is a tiny post office, with an older woman the sole employee. She handles things just fine without the gift shop to distract her and gets customers through the line efficiently. If she can do it, so can the bigger postal outlets. There are ways to cut costs without cutting service, but government entities are more concerned with job security than they are with service.
Grady's here to spend the day with Mia and me (he seems to like to follow me around and sleep with his head on my foot). Grady also finds all the little pieces of kibble that Mia strews around the house when she's pawing her dish and looking for something special at the bottom of it. I also am forced to empty all the trash containers when G is here as he's scavenges like no dog I've ever seen. And, after having 2 dogs for a week, there's that much more poop for me to scoop, an added exercise benefit I could do without.
Today is office hours, as well as night class, so I have to prepare my materials, pack up the truck, and get into my "professor" role. In spite of how many times I've directed the students to simply call me Ms., they find comfort in addressing their college teachers as "professor," so I've given up. It does make me turn around, however, to see who has come through the door when they only use the "professor" and don't add a name to it.
Finally, I did talk to my investment guy, who assures me that I am far better off than most people he knows because I quit while I was ahead. What this means is that while my account has lost 1/3 of its cash value, I had frozen it at its highest point. Beginning when I turn 65, I can withdraw a set amount for 20 years guaranteed. Of course I asked him how that will happen if the bottom drops out of the world economy, but you know how investment people are: that will never happen. If the State of Cally-phone-ya is issuing IOUs to its employees and tax-payers, what makes him think it won't happen?
The bad news? If I withdraw all the money, I only get what's actually there (I asked). If I die before I withdraw all the money, my children only inherit what's actually left in the account (I asked). Guess I'd better hope that either I live a long life so I can spend the money or die soon so my kids get something.
Don't understand why The Boss is being dissed: his show was just right for a half-time and raised the bar after some much weaker, less entertaining performances in the past. I liked his sliding on his bent legs to the end of the stage! I liked his constant smile and total energy. I couldn't hear the sound very well, but that may be my TV, which seems to be having some sound fading issues these days. Okay, I will admit that I didn't understand the gospel choir being on stage for 2 minutes: bring 'em on and leave 'em on -- or leave 'em off.
And why doesn't P'burg have cheerleaders? They could have a guy squad in tool belts and hard hats, if they're worried about being too girly.
I'm glad to see that change is headed our way, especially a change in the intense personal scrutiny applied to our elected/appointed officials, who used to be held to a much higher standard than the Average Joe. Geithner and now Daschle have committed what used to be criminal offenses, but the accountability bar has been lowered to "sorry" as being enough said. Wow. Bet Martha Stewart wishes Obama was the President when she had to go to jail: she could have been appointed to head the stock exchange, instead of serving time. Bet the stock exchange would be a lot better off than it is, too, with Martha at the helm.
The temps are fluctuating about 40 degrees a day, with the 80s during the day and the 40s during the night. For me, layering means adding a sweat shirt over my t-shirt and wearing shoes with socks, rather than my Birks barefoot. My yards are both growing like weeds, as well as adding weeds, so I've been outside during the day pulling out what doesn't belong and trimming back what does. I turned the watering system back on, but need to have my plumber come by and make sure everything is copecetic. After learning that my water bill is set to increase by 42%, the next area I cut back is use of the bathroom toilet, sink, and shower. I already do dishes once a day out of a dishpan and throw the water into the yard, but it seems that isn't going to be adequate for me to personally fund all the upgrades to service that the water district has planned ... for the other side of town.
I'd like to feel sorry for the postal service and its lack of revenue, but until they dismantle the little gift shops and open more windows to handle the people who want postal services, they are SOL. I also get 3 copies of the throw-away mailers each week, for reasons unknown to me at this time. I used to carry them home and then toss them away; however, I now add them to the huge trash barrels full of flyers in the post office lobby. Within 5 miles of my home is a tiny post office, with an older woman the sole employee. She handles things just fine without the gift shop to distract her and gets customers through the line efficiently. If she can do it, so can the bigger postal outlets. There are ways to cut costs without cutting service, but government entities are more concerned with job security than they are with service.
Grady's here to spend the day with Mia and me (he seems to like to follow me around and sleep with his head on my foot). Grady also finds all the little pieces of kibble that Mia strews around the house when she's pawing her dish and looking for something special at the bottom of it. I also am forced to empty all the trash containers when G is here as he's scavenges like no dog I've ever seen. And, after having 2 dogs for a week, there's that much more poop for me to scoop, an added exercise benefit I could do without.
Today is office hours, as well as night class, so I have to prepare my materials, pack up the truck, and get into my "professor" role. In spite of how many times I've directed the students to simply call me Ms., they find comfort in addressing their college teachers as "professor," so I've given up. It does make me turn around, however, to see who has come through the door when they only use the "professor" and don't add a name to it.
Finally, I did talk to my investment guy, who assures me that I am far better off than most people he knows because I quit while I was ahead. What this means is that while my account has lost 1/3 of its cash value, I had frozen it at its highest point. Beginning when I turn 65, I can withdraw a set amount for 20 years guaranteed. Of course I asked him how that will happen if the bottom drops out of the world economy, but you know how investment people are: that will never happen. If the State of Cally-phone-ya is issuing IOUs to its employees and tax-payers, what makes him think it won't happen?
The bad news? If I withdraw all the money, I only get what's actually there (I asked). If I die before I withdraw all the money, my children only inherit what's actually left in the account (I asked). Guess I'd better hope that either I live a long life so I can spend the money or die soon so my kids get something.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
My Reality
"It's a journey of discovery to learn whether I am my job or the person who lives inside my soul," it says on this very blog, and I've been about the journey for quite some time. The answer has been elusive, but I think I have come to some conclusions that have been waiting for me just out of reach. The saying about perception being people's reality has always been applied to other people: I've not been allowed to have my perception, but have been forced to accept their reality. It's time that I become my own reality and stop accepting that their perceptions are correct and my reality is wrong, a world view that has changed my life more than once and left me wondering who am I.
My reality is that I am a fundamentally flawed person. Whereas, when I was younger, I pretended that my flaws didn't matter, as I grow older, they matter more. I was abused by my mother literally from the moment of birth, an event she related in agonizing detail annually when she called to wish me a happy birthday. When my mother died a few years ago, my family turned on me like a pack of dogs, needing to assign blame for my mother's cruel actions during her lifetime to someone else so none of them had to accept them as real. I became the scapegoat and somehow, all that cruelty and abuse was my fault. My mother was, herself, raised in a dysfunctional family and abused by her father, so what she did to me was ... what she did to me because, somehow, I had it coming. My mother emotionally scarred me, and wounds that I thought were long healed had simply scabbed over, waiting for the day that the scab would be ripped off and the wound re-exposed to the elements. When family members who participated in the abuse wipe it out of the family memory and then accuse the victim of making it all up, it is time for the paradigm to shift. I cut my family out of my life so I could go on, which seemed at the time and continues to be the best action I could take to protect myself against their actions.
I have learned that my survival depends on what I do, not what others do to me, the result of a culminative disassociative break over a decade ago, the first of November 1997, in an incident that sent me reeling into a mental state from which I thank God every day I was able to recover. Because the event involved friends who had shared my life for decades, it was particularly cruel and debilitating. I lost my job, my home, and my career, but more than that, I lost myself. I am here now, I have a home, I have a job, and I have parts of myself, but my life has never been the same as it was before that betrayal. I used to enjoy life; I used to love going out with friends; I used to make social calls and have parties in my home; I used to love being with people and volunteering and doing whatever I could to enhance the quality of life around me. I do nothing now, nothing, because everything that I loved about being me and living my life was shattered. If I have nothing, I have less to lose if it happens to me again. Life goes on, but I am the first one to admit that it is an empty shell of what it once was and that is going to have to be okay as that's what it is.
Several events have combined during recent months that have again exposed my vulnerability to the people in my life who call me friend, but do not treat me in a friendly manner. I have not yet decided how I am going to handle them this time around, but I do know that I am not going to allow myself to be abused in the name of friendship. It's taken me two weeks to acknowledge and accept how much hurt there is, so it may take me a bit more time to figure out how I am going to dress the wound. It hurts when strangers treat me with disrespect, but it cuts deeply when friends do that, especially when their language reveals that what they show to me is not what they believe about me.
I am much better at being my job than I am at being me, a realization I came to while watching the Dustin Hoffman movie, Last Chance Harvey. Harvey goes for it, but I'm not sure what "it" is, so I don't know yet whether I'll go for it or not, but my life needs another direction: the path I'm on is not working for me. If I can do my job well, then I can relax in that arena and develop myself so I can do me as well as I do my job. If I don't get a grip on how to be me, who am I going to be when I no longer work at all?
I have never much liked myself, perhaps because most of my life I have been told that there isn't much for anyone to like, and my life experiences have pretty much borne that out. There is trust involved in both a family and a friendship that makes a person vulnerable to the ones who share an inner circle of life. When I finally let my guard down and stop waiting for the gotcha, that's when it happens both in my family and in my friendships. I don't want to live my life in isolation, but I also don't want to live it all the while waiting for yet another person to rip off the scabs of the worst times of my life and then stand back and watch me hemmorhage.
Perhaps because I was abused during my formative years, I've allowed the people in my life to abuse me too, maybe in different ways and to different degrees, but to the same end. I go out of my way to keep my mouth shut, rather than confront people who hurt me, because I know what happens when I talk back, but even that coping mechanism has blown up in my face more than once. While no one else in the world has even a moment's hestitation about letting me have it no holds barred, I walk away, rather than confront, because I hear the words, "Don't you talk back to me, young lady!" being screamed at me, and the open hand coming at my face. When I defend myself and say, "But I never said that," I see another smug face telling me, "I know you didn't say it, but I know what you would have said if you had said it." I can stand up for myself where people who don't know me treat me with lies and disrespect, but I don't ever want to give anyone I know a reason to smack me down because I tell them no or disagree with their perception. Been there; done that; worn out the t-shirt.
Don't get me wrong: I'm sure I've given as much as I've received, but I have come to a point in my life when I cannot do either any longer. I'd rather not be around people than have to accept their verbal abuse and false friendships. Anyone who would treat me that way needs not to have me as their target one more minute.
My reality is that I am a fundamentally flawed person. Whereas, when I was younger, I pretended that my flaws didn't matter, as I grow older, they matter more. I was abused by my mother literally from the moment of birth, an event she related in agonizing detail annually when she called to wish me a happy birthday. When my mother died a few years ago, my family turned on me like a pack of dogs, needing to assign blame for my mother's cruel actions during her lifetime to someone else so none of them had to accept them as real. I became the scapegoat and somehow, all that cruelty and abuse was my fault. My mother was, herself, raised in a dysfunctional family and abused by her father, so what she did to me was ... what she did to me because, somehow, I had it coming. My mother emotionally scarred me, and wounds that I thought were long healed had simply scabbed over, waiting for the day that the scab would be ripped off and the wound re-exposed to the elements. When family members who participated in the abuse wipe it out of the family memory and then accuse the victim of making it all up, it is time for the paradigm to shift. I cut my family out of my life so I could go on, which seemed at the time and continues to be the best action I could take to protect myself against their actions.
I have learned that my survival depends on what I do, not what others do to me, the result of a culminative disassociative break over a decade ago, the first of November 1997, in an incident that sent me reeling into a mental state from which I thank God every day I was able to recover. Because the event involved friends who had shared my life for decades, it was particularly cruel and debilitating. I lost my job, my home, and my career, but more than that, I lost myself. I am here now, I have a home, I have a job, and I have parts of myself, but my life has never been the same as it was before that betrayal. I used to enjoy life; I used to love going out with friends; I used to make social calls and have parties in my home; I used to love being with people and volunteering and doing whatever I could to enhance the quality of life around me. I do nothing now, nothing, because everything that I loved about being me and living my life was shattered. If I have nothing, I have less to lose if it happens to me again. Life goes on, but I am the first one to admit that it is an empty shell of what it once was and that is going to have to be okay as that's what it is.
Several events have combined during recent months that have again exposed my vulnerability to the people in my life who call me friend, but do not treat me in a friendly manner. I have not yet decided how I am going to handle them this time around, but I do know that I am not going to allow myself to be abused in the name of friendship. It's taken me two weeks to acknowledge and accept how much hurt there is, so it may take me a bit more time to figure out how I am going to dress the wound. It hurts when strangers treat me with disrespect, but it cuts deeply when friends do that, especially when their language reveals that what they show to me is not what they believe about me.
I am much better at being my job than I am at being me, a realization I came to while watching the Dustin Hoffman movie, Last Chance Harvey. Harvey goes for it, but I'm not sure what "it" is, so I don't know yet whether I'll go for it or not, but my life needs another direction: the path I'm on is not working for me. If I can do my job well, then I can relax in that arena and develop myself so I can do me as well as I do my job. If I don't get a grip on how to be me, who am I going to be when I no longer work at all?
I have never much liked myself, perhaps because most of my life I have been told that there isn't much for anyone to like, and my life experiences have pretty much borne that out. There is trust involved in both a family and a friendship that makes a person vulnerable to the ones who share an inner circle of life. When I finally let my guard down and stop waiting for the gotcha, that's when it happens both in my family and in my friendships. I don't want to live my life in isolation, but I also don't want to live it all the while waiting for yet another person to rip off the scabs of the worst times of my life and then stand back and watch me hemmorhage.
Perhaps because I was abused during my formative years, I've allowed the people in my life to abuse me too, maybe in different ways and to different degrees, but to the same end. I go out of my way to keep my mouth shut, rather than confront people who hurt me, because I know what happens when I talk back, but even that coping mechanism has blown up in my face more than once. While no one else in the world has even a moment's hestitation about letting me have it no holds barred, I walk away, rather than confront, because I hear the words, "Don't you talk back to me, young lady!" being screamed at me, and the open hand coming at my face. When I defend myself and say, "But I never said that," I see another smug face telling me, "I know you didn't say it, but I know what you would have said if you had said it." I can stand up for myself where people who don't know me treat me with lies and disrespect, but I don't ever want to give anyone I know a reason to smack me down because I tell them no or disagree with their perception. Been there; done that; worn out the t-shirt.
Don't get me wrong: I'm sure I've given as much as I've received, but I have come to a point in my life when I cannot do either any longer. I'd rather not be around people than have to accept their verbal abuse and false friendships. Anyone who would treat me that way needs not to have me as their target one more minute.
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