Tell, Don't Ask?

Is the local media misinterpreting the President's concern re: Prop 8? According to local media outlets, the President "tells" the Supreme Court to over-turn the California ban on same-sex marriage.

Really? The presidential reach is that far and that firm? I thought, silly me, that politicians serve at the will of the people, and the people in California upheld the ban. I remember the LBGT community lamenting that the people of California did not over-turn the first vote on the issue of same sex marriage, optomistically predicting that "we'll get the law changed next time," but it has not happened. Not yet; maybe next time; maybe, not ever. It depends on the people's vote.

The Supreme Court can visit the concept of same-sex marriage and examine it in terms of the Constitution, but until that process is complete and a ruling determined and issued, no one can "tell" the Supreme Court what to do. As a matter of fact, it is the Court that determines which cases it considers, not the President--unless he made overturning Prop 8 a condition of his appointments to the court? Methinks all the visits to Hollywood, all the support from the LBGT community during the re-election process came with a price tag: get gay marriage legal in all 50 states and do it ... now.

I am neither for nor against gay marriage: I am against the supposition that it's the President's decision to make. We, the people. Remember?

Proof of the Pudding

If I understand the noon news today, the President is going to meet with a "select committee" of Republicans to discuss the financial issues at hand, but I have no idea how those select few are chosen and what the conversation is going to be. If, on the other hand, the President were to talk to the entire Congress at the same time and in the same place, perhaps we'd have an actual give and take of ideas, agreement on key issues and disagreements on other key issues.

I like the idea of the President striding into Congress to speak his piece and answer his questioners face-to-face, like a Town Hall meeting or a campaign debate. No selecting out nay-sayers and/or loading the deck with yes-sayers, nor the common approach of sending a message via a political sycophant. At least we'd have a better chance of actually knowing the 3 main positions in our economic issue: the President's, the Democrats', and the Republicans' stances. Let's hear for ourselves who agrees and why, as well as who disagrees and why. No third party translation of what anyone thinks anyone else believes or supports or disagrees with: we hear it from their very lips.

The President has said that he's talked to "the Republican and/or Democratic leadership," but he's never talked to "the Republicans and/or the Democrats." He talks to his inner circle, who then talk to the upper eschelons, who then filter the discussion and send it out to the minions. The classic game of telephone tells us as early as kindergarten that an endless chain of interpretation changes the original message, often to the point that the original message is no longer recognizable.

English Lesson

When, exactly, is as of yet?

What is wrong with this exchange: When do you plan on going? I am not sure as of yet, but I'm planning on going later.

Better: When do you plan to leave? I am not sure, but later.

Best: When will you leave? Later.

Also, it's either/or, neither/nor. NOT neither/or, or either/nor.

What Goes Around

One of my favorite TV shows is Cake Boss, starring Buddy Valastro, who spun off a second show, The Next Great Baker last year, the winner of which is still working at the bakery. As I watched the several weeks of the competition this season, I was frustrated and angry at the way some contestants “played the game.” Lots of tears stood in place of good, solid talent, and everyone who landed in the bottom had a teary tale to tell about why their personal life qualified them for a professional win. Two of the worst bakers, but the best tear-jerkers, were Paul and Gretl-Ann, both of whom rode the coattails of other, better bakers, to the semi-finals. Thankfully, Paul was knocked out in the semi-finals, but Gretl-Ann made it to the final three bakers, one of whom would win both a job at Carlo’s Bakery and $100,000, not by being the best baker, but by "selling" the most baked goods at a sell-off competition in Las Vegas.

What upset me most about Paul and Gretl-Ann is that they wailed and bemoaned how much they needed the money to save themselves and their lifestyles, while ignoring the fact that their ability to bake was mediocre at best. The title of the show was not Who Needs the Money Most, but The Next Great Baker; hence, if you aren’t a great baker, you shouldn’t win the baking contest. In spite of her lack of baking ability, G-A went to Las Vegas as one of the Final Three. There, in an unscrupulous effort to win, she hid baking pans from her competitors and also turned up the oven temps so their baked goods had to be thrown away. She smirked to the cameras when she justified her actions by saying, “Hey, it’s a competition and I'm playing to win.”

Yeah: a BAKING competition, which by definition means being a better baker!!

G-A made it to the final two by out-selling the third baker in the finals, and was pretty smug in her potential to win until Buddy told the audience that the former competitors would vote on the winner. At this time, G-A lost her smug smirk and tearfully admitted that she had “pissed off” almost every other baker with dirty tricks, shabby work, and lies, so it was “not fair” that they would be allowed to vote because, probably, no one would vote for her. And, she was correct: 8 of the 10 former bakers voted for her opponent, Ashley, who was clearly the superior baker from week one.

Ashley nearly lost the title of Next Great Baker when she went off on Paul, who demanded that she, a “25-year-old kid,” justify why she should win the contest. He ignored her endless string of weekly challenge wins and attacked her personally, so Ashley lost it: she delivered a profanity-laced comeback that may have been accurate, but was totally inappropriate, and easily could have cost her the title, as well as the cash prize and job that came with it.

G-A is still convinced that she should have won because she was the only competitor who deliberately set about knocking out other bakers not based on baking skill, but by using dirty tactics to undermine their efforts. The good news is that what goes around comes around, and her loss should provide her with tearful stories to tell in a “poor me” pity party.

ROTF&LMAO

We're in the "between" time in the desert, when one day it'll be 80 and the next barely break 60. Today, we added rain to the dreary mix that arrived overnight, which was reason enough to go to the movies. My movie buddy and I have seen all the serious offerings, including Les Mis, Argo, Lincoln, The Quartet and other titles I cannot remember, so it was time to cut loose and have some fun.

Enter Identity Thief. OMG is it funny!

There is nothing about the movie that hasn't been done before, but it's all thrown together in this rollicking comedy that barely allows the viewer to stop laughing at one ridiculous scene before the next one comes in. Of course, what makes it work is the casting, supported with a hilarious script that had me wondering how on Earth the actors could keep a straight face while delivering the lines. You forget that Melissa McCarthy is a very generously-sized woman as she cavorts and guffaws as if a size-2 sexpot! She tells you that men are attracted to her like bees to honey, which gets a laugh until the men are attracted to her like bees to honey, in which scenario she's the whole hive! There is the "obligatory sex scene" that is totally hilarious, especially when Justin Bateman, whose identity has been stolen, hides from the goings-on in a motel bathroom. Justin Bateman is the perfect foil for Melissa McCarthy: somber, almost rigidly so, but with facial expressions and verbal comebacks that keep the whole train wreck barreling toward the ending. And, it's a good ending.

Honest to Pete, I laughed myself silly after finding it impossible to stifle my glee. It's not art; it's not great theatre; but it sure is just the thing to brighten a gloomy, rainy day in the desert.

No Good Deed

Being neighborly is a vague concept that depends on who the neighbor is and what they need from other neighbors. My next-door neighbor is a single mother (never married, but has contact with her Baby Daddy) and she drinks. When she doesn’t drink, I can be a good neighbor for her, but when she drinks, my stomach roils and my head starts to throb.
A week ago, she had been drinking and told me that if I see the police pull up to her front door, I should know that she has hurt her daughter. She described the daughter in “devil” terms, calling her heart black, and telling me that her daughter is evil and soulless. She told me that the Devil lives inside her daughter and she’s going to have to fight her and will hurt her.

Yesterday, the police pulled up to her front door.

My doorbell rang and it was the neighbor, drunk, and who told me the story of her “evil daughter,” who came home from school and locked her mother out of the house because she had been drinking. As forewarned, I walked over to the house to see if the daughter was okay. I briefly talked to the police officer about the previous weeks’ conversation, and then told the officer that there is a gun in the home. He talked to the daughter, who was unharmed and unarmed, and then asked me if there was a “safe place” for the daughter to go until her mother sobered up; if not, he could either arrest the mother for public intoxication or take the girl to Juvenile Hall – or both.

I asked the daughter if she would feel comfortable staying at my house for a while or overnight, and she agreed. I asked her mother if having the daughter stay at my house was okay with her, and she agreed that it was a good idea. This was all accomplished with a long drunken narrative about her daughter and life in general, punctuated with the loud wailing that only truly drunk people seem able to maintain and still converse. I told the police officer that I would take the daughter to my house, as well as the gun, and he relayed that message to the mother and escorted her to the front door to sleep off the drunk.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The daughter and I had gone to the home before gettting ready for bed to see if the mother was all right, as well as to ask if she wanted the daughter to come home for the night, but the mother refused to talk to either of us, so I set up my bathroom for her to shower and made up a sleeping area on the living room couch. We were just settling in for the night when the doorbell rang: 2 family members from a city 100 miles from here had been called by the drunken mother, who must have told them quite a story for them to hop into a car and drive all the way out here to rescue … someone from something. Although we had gone to the home to ask about the daughter coming back for the night and she was adamant that she didn't want her daughter in the house, the mother sent the young boys to the house to tell the daughter she was to come home. I asked the daughter if that was okay with her, she agreed to go back home with them, and I washed my hands of the entire situation. This is just not what I want in my life … .

An hour later, my phone rang: the mother was on the phone telling me how this was all the daughter’s fault, and then, out of nowhere, wanted to know why I had her gun. I was stunned as I had told the daughter that the police officer thought it would be best to remove the gun from the home until the mother sobered up, and I told the daughter a couple of times NOT to tell her mother that I had the gun. I assured her that I would return it to the mother after she sobered up, and there was no way I would return it to her in her present condition. I told the mother that yes, I had the gun – and I would return it to her the next day, but I was not going to have a conversation with her about any of the days’ events at this late hour of the night.

I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, wishing I simply had refused to get drawn into the family feud next door. I wished that I could not care that the mother has been drinking a lot lately because her life has turned to shit in the past two weeks: her car was repo’d; the owner of her home sent a collection agency to collect back rent; she was fired from her job; and her daughter has about a thimbleful of sympathy and used that up a long time ago. I’ve been a taxi service in the past, so made it clear that I would take the mom grocery shopping (as I did yesterday morning, which is where the alcohol came into play), dropping her off at the local market and picking her up when she was done. But, I am not going to be driving hither and yon: they can ride the city bus.

This morning, I’m totally out of sorts, both pissed off and upset at the same time. I took the puppy to the vet to be spayed – and I had tears running down my face when I had to leave her there! I came home, got the gun and took it next door and told my neighbor I’m done. My priority for my life has to be … me and my life … and not refereeing the ongoing drama at her house! I know that 16-year-old girls can be a handful, but they are still “little” girls, not grown women, so you don’t put all of your adult issues onto those young shoulders and expect the girl to make it all better for you.

And you don’t make the whole mess your neighbor’s responsibility simply because she did a kindness in a troubled time.

I’m done. The ship is sinking with me still on it, and it’s not my ship, so I don’t have to stay aboard and try to save it from the inevitable outcome. If I hear severe domestic disturbances emanating from the house, I’ll call the police; if I hear gunshots, I’ll call the police. I’m done.

As a friend always used to say, "Not my life; not my wife."

Idle Hands

I have boxes and boxes of yarn, much of which is multiples of the same yarn, but a lot of the skeins are “one of’s.” My goal is to use up some of my stock, so I’ve been using the one of’s first, leaving the multiple skeins for next year’s busy-ness.

I made a knit log cabin design for my sister-in-law, who was recently diagnosed with Multiple Scelerosis. I figured she needed her very own blankie to help her through a tough time, and she was thrilled when she opened the box I sent her. I forgot, however, to take a photo of it, although I try to remember to take photos of most of what I make.

Then, I crocheted a log cabin piece blanket because I liked the knit one so much; and, not to be repetitious, I embarked on rambling colored squares. I enjoy the making, but hate this time between when I haven’t started the next project, but already completed the last one.

Now, it's time to come up with yet another project to use up the one of's because I STILL have far too many partially used skeins of yarn -- and the boxes filled with multiples. Perhaps I'll have to find a yard sale and make a donation. ...