The Real Tragedy of the Tiger Woods Drama

Unless you've been living under a rock, or in a country that actually has real news, you've heard about championship golfer, Tiger Woods' adulterous romps. The quick 411 is that this golf prodigy who sold the world on his clean, family guy image was banging porn stars, wannabe actresses, reality show contestants, and yes, even the waitress at the pancake house.

The news keeps assigning tragedy to the loss of his sponsorship endorsements, and somewhat to the pending demise of his marriage, but mostly to the possible percentage of fortune he will have to fork over when his wife finally does file papers. As mistress after mistress comes forward for her 15 minutes of fame, everyone seems to be missing the real tragedy of this situation.

For starters, I have seen a few interviews with these co-adulterers, not that I wanted to, but that is all the American news will carry. Not one of these women has expressed remorse about their part in aiding the destruction of a marriage and assisting a husband in committing the ultimate betrayal of his wife. They are plenty mad that they weren't his exclusive mistress, but none seemed to be phased in the least by the fact that they committed adultery. They seem to be justifying their part by claiming that the soon-to-be, former Mrs. Woods, "must have known what was going on."

My theory is that they also felt fine about participating in this betrayal, because Elin had the gonzo diamond ring, and Elin had the multiple mansions, and Elin had all the spending money a girl could ever want, so therefore, the expectation of fidelity in her marriage shouldn't have been Elin's priority.

This leads to the second tragedy in this situation; the idea that our society has about adultery being perfectly acceptable if you can afford it. I've heard all of the excuses from several people; Tiger is an athlete, Tiger has tons of money, Tiger is famous, Tiger gave his wife everything (well, except his word), but, did I mention that Tiger was a famous athlete who has tons of money.

Why should a man who makes $50,000 per year be required to be faithful to his wife and family, while a man who makes $50 million+ per year is exempt? What is the exact dollar amount that one has to make before he is relieved of his duty of trust that he vowed to give his wife? Also, if our society prides itself on morality, then why is it nearly expected that a wealthy man will have a mistress?

One of the arguments I've heard is that Americans are prudish, and that people in Europe are accepting of this sort of behavior. The assumption is that European society is so much more advanced and they don't have a problem with a man having someone in his bed other than his wife. However, this attitude perplexes me. Unless I'm missing something really obvious, wouldn't a European wife feel just as betrayed and heartbroken if her husband was cheating? The idea that European women are wired differently is ridiculous, but this has come up more than once, because Elin is Swedish. Apparently she didn't get the memo that her Swedish self should be okay with adultery.

The biggest tragedy of them all, is that Tiger, in fulfilling his carnal desires outside of his marriage, didn't just betray Elin, he betrayed his children. When a wife can no longer trust her husband to be an honorable person, then the family falls apart. Even if she decides to stay together for the kids, her lack of trust will not go unnoticed by the children, and will have a negative, long lasting impact.

This story isn't over yet. The "news" will be salivating over every illicit detail for at least the next few months. More women are likely to come forward for their ill-gotten fame, and Tiger will probably end up having to do an Oprah appearance before returning to professional golf. When all is said and done, I've heard people say that he will regain his status due to his talent. Right now, anyone will tell you that Tiger Woods is an amazing golfer, but as a person, he's an absolute scumbag, and no amount of green jackets or Oprah confessions will ever make that go away.

You're Not that Freakin' Important

If I could get my hands on Mark Burnett, I would beat the man with my shoes. He didn't start the whole reality television phenomenon, but his show, "Survivor", was the vehicle that made this ridiculous format populate like a pack of rabbits on Viagra.

Lately, there have been an obnoxious group of asshats who think they deserve their own shows. Here's a great barometer for whether or not you should be the "star" of a reality tv show; do you think you're important and special enough to have every moment of your life taped and broadcast? If so, then you don't deserve a reality show, you deserve a reality check, because you aren't that freakin' interesting or important.

Six years ago, it was hard for me to believe that someone would want to be dropped in a god forsaken remote location to survive on very little food, no shower facilities, and left with a group of people whose sole purpose was to betray you. However, I understood the draw, despite the fact that I have never followed "Survivor."

While Jeff was in business school getting his MBA, we watched "The Apprentice", because the business challenges were interesting (although we both wondered why anyone in their right mind would want to work for Donald Trump). We lost interest around Season 3 when the show became more about the arguments and in-fighting rather than the business contests.

Little did I know that in tuning out of one reality show meant I would have my prime time hijacked with a plethora of reality. There is a show for losing weight (The Biggest Loser) and praising those who gorge themselves (Man vs. Food), there is a show for people who want to make you look beautiful (Project Runway) and those who want to use Frankenstein techniques to make you look beautiful (Dr. 90210), there is a show for junkies (Intervention), dipshits (The Hills), whores (Rock of Love), more whores (For the Love of Ray Jay), pathetic whores (Flavor of Love), and assholes (Tool Academy).

The saddest part in all of this reality television is the shear lack of talent on the part of the "stars". What has Kim Kardashian done aside from a trashy sex tape and posing naked or half naked? More importantly, why the hell should we care about her narcissistic family. The same goes for the Lamas clan, Tori Spelling and her loser husband, that uterus with a bad 80s haircut and her 20 kids, and don't even get me started on Jon and Kate.

Normally, this cultural fad would be eye-rolling at best, but two adults disrupted air traffic in Denver, claiming that their son was in a weather balloon. Once it was discovered that the boy was okay, they made the child lie to the nation without a care in the world for their son's well being. They carried on the hoax despite the physical toll it took on their own kid. Their ultimate goal: to get their own reality show.

If these attention whores weren't bad enough, along comes the Salahis. Wanting to get a spot on "The Real Housewives of D.C.", this couple crashed the first state dinner held by the most threatened U.S. president in history. The failure was enormously the fault of the Secret Service, no question about that. However, the drive to gain fame at all costs has gone to ridiculous heights.

I remember the good ol' days when you had to have talent, ambition, and likability to be famous. It took years of practicing a craft of some sorts, and you had to pay your dues. A "star" is Meryl Streep, Johnny Depp, Madonna, Howard Stern, and the guys in Metallica, it isn't the latest young chick from Hicksville who thinks she can dance.

Now that fame mongers have committed a series of felonies in order to get their own shows, perhaps the American public should collectively start tuning in to sitcoms. Remember sitcoms; those great tv shows that we grew up with that had writers, actors, and sets. Remember gems such as "Night Court", "Family Ties", "The Jeffersons", even "Married with Children". Sitcoms were something to look forward to on a week night, and they won Emmys.

I've actually got nothing against legitimate talent shows such as "American Idol" and "America's Got Talent", it's just not my cup of tea. However, the winners and runner ups for these shows do not deserve an iota of the status and press that a seasoned performer has earned.

This scourge of television that represents the dumbing down of America isn't likely to disappear, because actors want to be paid, and reality show attention seekers are desperate to be famous for being famous, so they will make asses of themselves for free. Reality tv is the equivalent of digital meth; destructive, cliche, and a drain on all of us.

Five Years Ago and Forever

My mother always used to ask the same rhetorical question, "Why did I have children so young." She told us that she never regretted having us, she just wished she would have had me ten years later at 27 rather than 17. She also told me that everything happens for a reason, even though, at the time, we may not understand why. If my mother knew that she was only going to live to 49 years old, I wonder if she still would have asked that question.

She has been gone for five years now, and I've had five years come to grips with the beautiful memories of the woman I knew in childhood and the reality of who my mother really was.

My mother moved my sister and me out to Idaho before I started kindergarten. She said she did it, because she didn't think there was much of a future for us in our small Connecticut town. She was probably right about that. The family she took me away from who still reside in Connecticut don't have very nice things to say about my birthplace.

What I always took for a truth, and a wise decision was the first lie I learned about after she died. On a chilly night at my former home in the Northwest, my stepfather and I had a conversation, because I was dealing with a severe identity crisis. This is when he told me about my mother's motivation for moving West. She had gone to work at a local watering hole that happened to be owned by a guy who was connected, and I don't mean he was good at social networking. My mother always had a natural business acumen, so despite her community college education she ended up managing the club's finances. She told my stepfather that there was a raid on the club one night, she was arrested along with all of the other employees, and later released. At that moment she knew she had to pick up and leave.

From the age of five to age 12, we moved at least twice a year. We would have "sleep away nights" where we would go to some out-of-the-way motel in the middle of nowhere, get a bag of Cheetos and some Hershey's Kisses, and watch movies late into the night. When you're young, you take everything your parents say as law, and you don't question it at the time. Once my stepfather revealed that my mother spent several years on the run, all of the little nuances of abnormality surfaced, and I didn't know what about my past I could trust.

For the first year after my mother's death, I grieved her. For the next two years that followed, I would come to nearly hate her. I was angry at her, not for going on the run, but for separating me from my father with a web of lies. She spent most of my life telling me that my father didn't want me. This was the reason why he never sent birthday or holiday presents on time, and didn't call me on a regular basis. Once she was gone, and I had the conversation with my stepdad, I had a strong urge to reconnect with my father.

During one of our visits, we had a chance to talk about the past, and I asked him why he was never more involved in my life. He told me that during that stretch of my life where we moved twice a year, my mother would never tell him when we were moving or give him our new address. He used a local connection that he had at a state agency to find me, and would track me down every time. My mother would write to him, and tell him to go away, but he never would.

It is strange how this infuriating piece of news that my mother let me suffer emotionally in order to push my father away from me was also one of the happiest moments, because I found out that someone who I thought had abandoned me, had never given up on me.

During my teenage years and through my early 20s, my mother fought me on my ambitions to travel and work in the music industry. She said she didn't want me to turn out like my father who was unstable and shirked his responsibilities. What she really didn't want was for me to follow in her footsteps. She had a crazy wild streak, and had alienated herself from her family and friends through her thoughtless, selfish actions and behavior. Once she realized the consequences of her actions, she focused the rest of her life on creating the "perfect" family, having the "perfect" house, and constructing the "perfect" life. All the while forgetting, that there is no such thing as perfect, and even when you create the world in which everything is "perfect" it may be more prison than paradise.

Anger and hate settled into resentment. I took the picture of her down, and didn't speak of her. I wanted my mother to be nothing more than a memory that I was better off forgetting. I lit the candle of remembrance four years after her death more out of obligation than affection.

Forgiveness finally came to me through a dream. I was as I am today, but was back in the tiny house in my home town in Idaho. I came out of the bedroom that I shared with my sister, and walked into the country-themed living room decorated with the wallpaper Mom and I spent hours putting up late into a summer's night. I turned to walk into the kitchen and there she was, sitting at the table wearing her long, blue jean skirt, pink shirt, with her black hair hanging long in the hippie style she never abandoned. She was drinking bland, taupe-colored coffee out of a blue, gingham checkered mug featuring a cartoon duck wearing a bonnet. It was her favorite cup.

She asked me if I had my homework done, and I was speechless. I just walked up to her as fast as I could, wrapped my arms around her, and started crying, because I knew it was a dream and she was dead.

After that night I chose to remember my mother as the person I grew up with who was fun and loved to laugh. She never hesitated to help others, and was always someone that I could talk to about anything. I was glad she was by my side holding my hand when Rachael was born, and my heart ached terribly months later when I spent a lonely night in the hospital with my newborn, because she wasn't there.

Ultimately I chose to honor my mother's memory in Shayna's middle name, Michal. My mother might have told some devastating lies that had long term effects, but whether her demons were real or imagined, I hold on to the belief that my mother spent the better part of her life doing exactly what most mothers strive to do; their best.

My Bizarre Collection

My stepdad had a stamp and coin collection, my mother filled her shelves with English-style teapots, one of my sisters collects adorable frog figurines, the other has a wide assortment of Harry Potter t-shirts, my husband collects Hilton honors points (which I really love and benefit from), and as for me, I collect interesting human experiences.

It was no surprise that I gravitated to Mass Communications with an emphasis in Cultural Studies as my major of choice in college. Cultural Studies is a field which combines political economy, communication, sociology, social theory, literary theory, media studies, film/video studies, cultural anthropology, philosophy, and art history/criticism to study cultural phenomena in various societies. Basically, Cultural Studies helps explain why we do things the way we do, and how it fits into our society. Hence, my lifelong interest in collecting human experiences.

Some of my experiences have included sitting through a Mary Kay cosmetics sales and recruiting meeting, which seemed to put a lot of emphasis on socializing strictly for the purpose of selling makeup to supposedly "new friends", participating in a Native American sweat near Vancouver, British Columbia, where I sat around a very hot fire in a traditional tee-pee discussing my innermost thoughts to a group of strangers, while sweating like a pig. The upside came at the end of the two-hour sweat when I stepped out of the tee-pee and was doused by the tribal medicine carrier with a large bucket of cold water.

I've been a card-carrying member of both major political parties, and have attended their meetings. On the local and state level, both parties have good ideas and stand for something, unfortunately, as they start rising up to the national level the goodness evaporates and the void is filled by power hunger and monied lobbyists. I have encountered lesser known political parties during coffee with an ardent LaRouche Youth Movement activist, email correspondence with the head of the Democratic Socialists of America, and a shopping trip to the Revolutionary Communist bookstore in Seattle. Just as an FYI, the Communist bookstore doesn't take credit cards or checks.

After Rachael was born, I worried that submitting to a suburban "normal" lifestyle would lead to the end of my bizarre collection. After all, my belief was that you don't find anything interesting in the suburbs. Fortunately, I've discovered that one doesn't have to stop enjoying the peculiar just because the fates have chosen to put you in a life situation that June Cleaver would envy.

Since submitting to the suburb mom life, I have attended an Orthodox Jewish bris (ritual circumcision), which was an interesting pairing of an uncomfortable surgical procedure and fantastic buffet. I was a guest at a traditional Hindi housewarming celebration, which seemed a little uncomfortable at first, because both the man and woman of the house greeted us wearing silk sashes decorated with swastikas. Fortunately, my friend caught the look of concern in my eye and took the time to explain that Hitler totally jacked a beautiful, peaceful symbol of Indian culture and turned it into something evil. It's nice to know that Hindus hate him, too.

I have encountered a homophobic waitress at a Mongolian grill, hung out with two fabulous drag queens in hot pink, beehive wigs, met a famous Olympian at an enormous estate in Beverly Hills, and traveled to the much raved about Hamptons (for the record, I still don't see what's so great about that place).

Despite becoming a minivan-driving, soccer mom, I have no intention of ridding my life of my collection of interesting human experiences. In fact, I strive on a regular basis to continue collecting. The world is filled with bizarre humans, peculiar fringe groups, and situations that a truly normal person would find uncomfortable. I'll dive in with both feet, welcoming anything, except a Mac user group, because next to Scientologists, people who are militant Mac users make up the largest, nutjob cult in America, hands down.

Two Year Drought

Since I can remember, I've had this negative voice in the back of my head. If this voice had a human embodiment, it would look something like Faye Dunaway circa 'Mommy Dearest' without the extreme physical violence. She is pacing around an elegant, but claustrophobic room filled with gaudy, velvet-covered furniture and 1920s style lamps, smoking a cigarette in a long holder. Her voice is raspy, bitter, and constantly critical.

My Madame Negative usually only comes out in force when I'm looking at myself in a mirror or shopping for clothes. I go out determined to buy something to nice to wear. I have money in my pocket, and prep myself with positive reinforcements, yet come back with gifts for my husband and daughter, because Madame Negative reared her ugly voice and pointed out every physical inadequacy I have.

Fortunately, having lived with Madame Negative's criticism of my body since the age of 12, I've learned to turn her down. Perhaps in turning her down, I empowered her to regroup in a more damaging and vicious way.

There are two things in this world that I know how to do; one is produce non-profit auctions and the other is write. The auctions became an expertise gained after several years of practice, but writing was always second nature. I've never had to work at writing. I could whip out a flowing beautiful paper in no time flat. I used to fake rough drafts in school, because I never needed them. Writing was the one thing I could do well, and without effort.

Three years ago I began writing a book. For me, writing a book was a way to fill an unwritten expectation. In the 5th grade, at age 11, I had pledged to my class and my teacher, Mr. Gerhauser that I would write a book someday. My mother had always pleaded with me to write a book. I wrote 200 pages of a story about a very green entertainment journalist that enters into a toxic relationship with a rock star, and then it happened; Madame Negative read those 200 pages and told me that the story was cliche, and unreadable. She asked me how I could be a fan of George Orwell and Margaret Atwood and churn out such garbage. I abandoned my book.

For a short time I regrouped by writing essays, and blogging, but after doing draft upon draft of an article for a feminist magazine, I realized that for the first time in my life I was suffering severely from writer's block. This happened two years ago. I tried everything to break it, but the lack of confidence and the element of doubt haunted me in everything I wrote.

Despite my writer's block, everyone encouraged me to soldier on. My stepfather, on his deathbed, pleaded with me to continue writing the book. An old friend from high school, after hearing my dilemma, told me to basically 'get over it, stop wasting endless hours on computer games, and finish the damned book'. She now regularly brings it up, so I won't have any excuses.

I finally regained my confidence this week. A work-related project required that I write a tribute to a doctor we were honoring at our event. I was also asked to write a detailed script of the entire program. Since there was no one else to do it, I sat down at my computer and spent two days hammering out, what was to be, an amazing tribute and a detailed, spotless program script. Once again, I found a way to turn Madame Negative's voice down.

I don't know how long it will be before I revisit my book, but I think I've figured out a way to re-tool it. I've thought about making the characters a bit older, and far more interesting by making them equals. I can't say for sure how the book will turn out, but at least I'm writing again.

For those who have followed this blog, many apologies for the absence, especially in the past two years that had a monied and powerful American administration leaving office in shame, the election of the first black president (it's about time), and watching American society virtually collapse. Have no fear, I will address all of it with the candor and whit I thought I had lost to the angry, old crone and her death rattle voice.

Torture For Torture's Sake

I never thought I'd see a time in my country when reasonable people would be asking if it was okay to torture. When torture is mentioned, most people think the worst like pulling fingernails out with pliers or hooking electrodes up to testicles. In the U.S. we have been able, up to this point, to hold our heads high and proclaim to the rest of the barbaric world that we don't torture. However, in light of recent discoveries, we did torture, and now are in the midst of deciding whether to continue torturing, which is something I find deeply disturbing.

Torture doesn't work. It is just that simple. While the thought of getting one of those al Qaeda bastards under water and having him cry for his mommy might bring a smile to many people's faces, the info that guy will spew while believing he is drowning is totally useless. Over 60 years of research has proven that when human beings are in imminent fear of losing their lives or facing severe pain, they will say anything to make it stop. In other words, torture doesn't work.

Torture also becomes a slippery slope. It's kind of like an abusive relationship. The guy doesn't start out punching you in the face, instead he starts by slowly telling you what you can and can't do to see if he can get away with it. You begin justifying it in your mind, kind of like the people in this country are doing with waterboarding; 'sure they think they are drowning, but they really aren't, it's just like that bad pool experience you had in the 7th grade'.

Next thing you know the abusive boyfriend slaps you, and you're going to leave, but he begs you to stay, and you justify with the typical 'he really didn't mean to do it.' Like we are doing right now with not prosecuting the people who okayed the torture and are evaluating torture techniques to figure out if they are really torture.

Finally, the abusive boyfriend is beating the shit out of you on a nightly basis, and you feel pathetic and stupid for staying, but will still look at your black eye, swollen lip, and mess of a nose, and say 'he loves me, I know he does'. This is the point where waterboarding gives way to testicle electrodes and pliers to the fingernails, or that magical moment where every country operates like a South American junta or Iran. In other words, human beings can justify anything if they are given enough time to think about it, so torture becomes a slippery slope.

The fact is right now people in my country are acting like children. We know torture is wrong, and it's bad, but we want to do it, so we are trying to use logic and morality to justify our desires to string someone up by their neck, strip them naked, and beat them with an electrical cord, but in the end, there is no justifying that behavior.

During the Bush years, it was anything goes, but now that reason and sanity have returned, we have to grow up and realize that letting banking institutions sell crap loans to working people is wrong, allowing politicians to be bought by wealthy corporations to act in the corporate interest is wrong, invading and occupying another country that poses no real threat to us just to gain oil interests is wrong, and using torture to aid that war for oil is very wrong.

We are the United States and we don't torture, because we are better than that. End of story.

Are My Concert Going Days Over?

I love live music. From my first concert, which was Def Leppard at the BSU Pavilion, 20 years ago I loved the entire live experience. I spent two years working in live music where I took part promoting nearly 250 shows per year. I reveled in the energy of the performers and the crowds, and purely enjoyed the sound of the music in its more spontaneous, less studio produced form, which is why it pains me to say that I haven't been to a show in nearly two years.

I could blame the grueling job that consumed my life until I left it in October. I could blame the lack of a concert going buddy, but I'm sure if I asked around I could find at least one person in my social circle who might take in a show with me. I could also blame the fact that I'm 36 now, and I have a kid and another on the way, but a live music fan never stops loving the experience. No, the reason I haven't been to a show in two years is simple, it's Ticketmaster.

Ticketmaster is one of the entities that has ruined the live music experience. They hold a 98% monopoly on concert and event ticket sales in the United States. During the early '90s, the grunge band, Pearl Jam took on Ticketmaster and called them out for their practices. Unfortunately, Pearl Jam paved the way for another company or companies to come in and compete with Ticketmaster, but no one picked up that ball.

Back then people were just annoyed by the Ticketmaster surcharges little did we all know that under Ticketmaster's reign the issue ten years later wouldn't be the fees, it would be access. I didn't even think about the issue of access, mostly due to the fact that a lot of the shows I had been to around that time were smaller bands brought in by independent promoters, but upon waiting for tickets to go on sale to the, then new, musical "Wicked" I realized that Ticketmaster's brave new world was disastrous for live music lovers.

I had heard a rumor that "Wicked" was coming to the Paramount Theatre in Seattle in September 2006. I began checking Ticketmaster's website religiously at the beginning of 2006. I signed up for their weekly emails, and visited their site twice a week for nine months. I'll never forget the day that I went to the Ticketmaster site and found out all of the performances for "Wicked" were sold out. There wasn't one newspaper ad, no notice on their site, no radio ads, no mention anywhere, but between the Monday on-sale and Wednesday when I checked back every performance for the six week run was gone.

However, there were plenty of tickets to be had for extremely inflated prices from online ticket brokers. It occurred to me then that Ticketmaster had created a brilliant business. They would lock up every venue and promoter in the country, have an on-sale, and straight out of the gate sell all their tickets that included their inflated service fees to online ticket brokers. By doing this, they sell out the show immediately, therefore they can reduce the staff that they used to need to employ to continue selling tickets up until the date of the performance. They could basically collect a quick buck if they didn't mind screwing the concert going public, and obviously they didn't.

Metallica went on sale this morning, just eight hours earlier, for a show at the Honda Center in December. The Honda Center is huge and holds at least 10,000-15,000 people. The only seats left on Ticketmaster are in the nose bleed 400-level, but upon Googling 'Metallica - Honda Center - Tickets' I found several online brokers willing to sell me a mediocre-at-best seat for double the face value.

I ended up getting to see "Wicked" when my very persistent husband went to the theatre box office and demanded to speak with a manager. They sold him great seats, one behind the other, way to the left, but at least we saw it. I can't say the same for the upcoming Metallica show. I've got a good job, so money isn't the issue anymore, it's the fact that Ticketmaster is selling to scalpers. Scalpers who have a website and "legitimate" business offices, and call themselves "brokers", but are still just the same shady, piece of shit scalpers who used to stand outside of the arena and gouge you for double. Until that practice ends, I, like several of my fellow live music fans, will either find a way to get comp tickets or enjoy the music, as much as possible, from my satellite radio.

How We Got From There to Here

I've spent weeks listening to the corporate media talking heads blaming everything short of pets on this financial chaos that has taken over my country and extended its dour situation to the rest of the world. The conservatives blame liberal spending, the liberals blame conservative protection programs that favor the rich, but they're all wrong. This landslide to financial ruin began 30 years ago.

My stepfather, the consummate capitalist, is fond of the '80s. He was a Reganite, and believed that capitalism was the best way to run an economy. He hated regulation, paying taxes, and anything that held businessmen back from making money. His favorite quote was from the movie, "Wall Street" in which capitalist hero Gordon Gekko recites the mantra, 'Greed is good.'

This is the point where my country lost its way, and how we got to our current state. Prior to the 1980s, the U.S. had been a community-oriented society. Neighborhoods were safer, people were into spending time with their families, and national priorities were set more towards people rather than industry. Things weren't perfect; there was inequality amongst the sexes and racism to deal with. For the most part, however, no matter the place you live or the economic class you were in, you could find a community.

All of that changed in the 1980s. With the Gekko mantra, and Reganomics in place, we moved from a society of community to a society of self. We no longer cared about getting to know our neighbor, our new goal was to out-do them. If they had a 2,000 square foot house, ours needed to be 2,500 square feet. If they had a sedan, we needed an SUV. If they vacationed in Mexico, we had to take a holiday in Spain. If they had big, we needed to have bigger and better.

The problem with our new self-centered focus in terms of finances was that wages have been relatively stagnant over the years, so in order to afford our new, keeping up with the Joneses lifestyle, we began charging our faux success. To hell with volunteering on the weekends, we were in Valley Girl mode at the mall. Clothing and accessories labels became a new religion, and our tithe was millions upon millions to Visa, Mastercard, and American Express.

This new self-centered society generated consequences such as a rise in crime, drug use, and broken families. 30 years of having to accommodate an increasing prison population, fighting the losing War on Drugs, and providing emergency safety nets for broken families led to the nearly bankrupt state of counties, states and municipalities.

30 years, that is how long our self-centered focused society has lasted. Now, time's up. We are in economic ruin brought on by intense, selfish greed. A greed that comes from negating the value of community in favor of materialism.

We now have to finance our own rescue, but it comes at a tremendous cost. We are no longer able to focus on the self, and are forced to go back to the days where we were in it altogether. This re-focus has tremendous opposition. Capitalists have enjoyed 30 years of huge profits and they won't go down easily. They circulate the word "socialism" through their media outlets claiming that giving people healthcare and financial relief will take us from the freedom we've enjoyed to a Hitler-like fascism. Socialism is the boogie man that the wealthy and powerful have always used to keep the working and middle class voting against their own best interests.

Fortunately, a lot of people aren't buying the mainstream, corporate media's doom scenario. The citizens of this country have looked at other first-world countries, and we realize on some level that we've been jipped. While media outlets constantly show us the Canadian healthcare program's shortfalls, we can't help noticing that several European countries, and some of the second-world countries have gotten it really right.

We could let this situation pull us down, but we are Americans, and we have the type of grit that was earned by a melting pot of survivors and staunch individualists that left their homelands to make a life in this country. We have been side-tracked for 30 years by greed and materialism, but we are back on track now, focused on creating an America based on community where we all take care of each other, because we are, once again, all in this together.

Casualties of Bride Wars

If I went to Hollywood and made a movie about two uneducated black thugs living in a ghetto where every woman in the film was a pregnant teenager addicted to crack, and all they did each day was sit on their porch, listen to rap, shoot guns at passersby while eating watermelon and fried chicken my ass would be nailed to a cross on the cover of Ebony magazine.

However, Hollywood can shit out something as pathetic and degrading as Bride Wars, and entertainment media can't get enough of it. This movie is meant to show women at their worst while doing something that is supposedly strictly female centric (i.e. the wedding). Every negative female stereotype is on display in this film.

This movie is the story of two lifelong friends whose number one dream is to have a big wedding. Funny, in this day and age most women I know have a wedding as just one of their many dreams, and the wedding is rarely their biggest dream. The best friends end up having their weddings booked on the same day, which is weird considering that they are in New York City and we are supposed to believe that there is only one capable wedding planner for 25 million people.

The childhood friends engage in a brutal catfight to sabotage each other's special day. I've been in many a friendship and out of basic respect, no matter how disappointed, I would never even consider ruining something that meant so much to my friend. Also, in any friendship or relationship in general, there is a dominant and a submissive. We are supposed to believe in this film that the friend who has been the lifelong submissive suddenly becomes the Alpha female, which is also highly unlikely.

In the end the aggressive friend who is also a successful attorney has her wedding cancelled and loses her would be husband as punishment for her warlike behavior. While the traditionally submissive friend has the perfect wedding. This is yet another example of Hollywood telling women that you can be a little catty for fun, but winning any kind of war through aggression is strictly male territory.

Most would say that this is just a romantic comedy and it shouldn't be taken seriously, but how can I not be pissed when films like this that show women at their worst are a blatant slap in the face to women everywhere. It's bad enough that Hollywood rarely has a movie that portrays women as interesting and diverse, but it has taken the romantic comedy genre down to its most superficial basic.

I'll be skipping Bride Wars, Bridezilla, and any other form of "entertainment" that depicts women as selfish, catty shrews who are out to destroy each other for a man or an idealized ceremony. I like to live in a world where women have strength, depth, and ambition that isn't punished through abandonment or an over sprayed tan.

Here We Go Again!

I've been on the fence about expanding the family for quite awhile. Rachael is incredibly smart, very strong-willed, and has the energy of a gerbil on crack, so the idea of adding another child was an exhaustion I didn't want to experience.

I went back to work when Rachael was 18 months. The job was low-key and in my field. I wasn't in love with it, but I was content. We moved to California a year and a half later, and that is when I started with a company that consumed my life. I diluted myself into thinking that if I worked hard enough I could reach a point where I could put my family first again, but that never happened. The result was my near absence for 16 months, my daughter's increasing neediness, and my husband's extreme frustration at a schedule that didn't adequately reward me for all of the hours that I took away from them.

The good news is that I woke up and got my priorities straight before I lost everything that ever meant anything to me. In no time I was able to repair the damage done to my marriage, and guarantee Rachael that she would never take a backseat again. The only thing remaining from a year and a half of hell is the guilt I feel for having made a real dumbass decision, but life goes on.

I started a new job instantaneously that resembles the job I had in Seattle, less the dysfunction. I wanted to wait a bit more before we decided to have another child, once again, out of loyalty for my job, but this time Jeff was adamant. He had waited long enough, so here I am expecting our last child, because I agreed to two and only two.

There are vast differences between #1 and #2. I freaked out at six weeks along, because I was as large in my second month with Baby Two as I was in my fourth month with Rachael. I was convinced that my sudden girth meant I had more than one little sprout swimming around in there. Thankfully, my sister-in-law who has been a midwife for 20 years assured me it was just a second baby, and that your body basically has something called "muscle memory". This means that the moment you get pregnant with your second child your body says, "hey I remember this" and inflates like a damn blimp.

The nice thing about my sudden expansion is that it is basically all in my stomach and boobs. I can get into my jeans and pull them up my thighs and over my butt, I just can't zip or button them.

I'm tired as hell, and usually ready to pass out by 7:00pm, which puts the kibosh on exercise. Aside from that I've had very little morning sickness just like the first time. The only other difference is my cravings. With Rachael I hungered for spicy Thai food, large amounts of chocolate, root beer and KFC original recipe chicken. I gained 70 lbs. during my Rachael pregnancy, but that's not going to happen this time.

So far, chocolate gives me heartburn, and all I want is tart. No, not the yummy, cream filled fruit tarts, caper, olives, berries, and an assload of Craisins! Root beer is too sugary, so my drink of choice is ice water-lakes and rivers of ice water-which means between the kid sitting on my bladder and the insane amount of water I'm up peeing at least five times a night. I just see it as nature's way of getting me ready for the every two hours feedings, and also very annoying.

I am excited about having a new little one to cuddle. Rachael has no trace of baby left in her, in fact she has already informed me that she will be changing all of the pee pee diapers and I can change the poopy ones (her dad made the same deal with me when she was the baby). So I guess I welcome 2009 with enthusiasm for a new president, a new place of employment, and a new little punk to unleash on the world. Here we go again!

Waaahhh Fucking Waaaahhh!

Imagine that you are standing in the checkout line with a basket full of groceries. There is a guy behind you who keeps pushing his basket into your back. There is only one checkout line, so moving isn't an option. After several minutes of rudeness you turn to him and ask him politely to quit poking you in the back. He stops for a few minutes, but then continues to poke you. Now you are getting pissed, so you turn to him again asking him to stop. He refuses and tells you that he wants to you leave the line, but you need your groceries, so you're not leaving. After several minutes of poking, and demanding that you leave, you finally lose it and turn around, punch the asshole dead in the face, and dump the contents of his basket over the top of his bleeding head. Did you overact? Maybe, but how much bullshit and abuse is one supposed to take before they finally lose it?

This is the one question that no one seems to be asking over the past two weeks during Israel's latest move to fulfill its obligations to its citizens and defend them against a terrorist organization. This, and why the U.N. didn't bother issuing a ceasefire against Hamas' attacks prior to this whole situation.

If this seems harsh let me make it clear that I'm not heartless. Once upon a time I felt bad for the Palestinians. I thought that Israel's actions were too heavy handed and that if given the chance Palestinians would reject the terrorist organizations dragging them down and opt for moderates who would engage in honest negotiations for peace and a two state solution. Then they elected Hamas into leadership, and all my respect for them went straight out the window.

Now I'm just annoyed with their constant fucking whining, and the way they paint themselves as victims. Like I said I could feel sorry for them if they were making an effort, but they don't. Instead of spending money on rockets, can't they use the money to set up an infrastructure or an education system? The answer is "no", because it's much easier to blame Israel for all of your problems. Setting up an infrastructure is difficult and requires educated minds who are willing to negotiate with others to achieve a goal. Rousing hate in ignorants is way simpler.

The truth is that everyone can fall back on bad shit that happened in their lives and be victims, but most people I know who have been through life's worst (i.e. violent rape, the loss of a child, cancer, etc.), they spend some time in a dark place, then rebound into survivors. In fact, I know so many survivors that I just don't have time and patience for victims, and constant victims are just assholes who don't want to better their lives.

I know the situation in the Middle East is a tough one, but until the Palestinians are willing to see themselves as more than the small kid who is always picked on they will continue taking cheap shots, electing self-serving terrorists to represent them, and will never have a good quality of life, until of course, civil war ensues. When that day comes and they are spending every moment killing each other, it will be interesting to see how they blame Israel for that, too.