Barack Obama belongs to a church that has a pastor who said that America's fucked up foreign relations policies brought on the 9/11 attacks. This is why my country is in the state it's in right now; stupid wedge issues.
George W. went all over the U.S. proclaiming his love for Jesus, and that won him the election the second time. In the past four years, "Jesus' candidate" has nearly bankrupted our country, gotten us further into a financially devastating war, helped create circumstances that have led to a world-wide food shortage, and sold our oil market out to cronies causing millions of Americans to delve further into poverty. Even Fox News would be hard pressed to point to why the presidency of "Jesus' candidate" should be praised.
Along with the whole Jesus' candidate bullshit was the 'let's stop the gays from marrying' wedge issue that got Republicans into absolute power. All my life all I heard from the Republican party was "if we had complete control, we would make the country better". You had your chance, and not only did you fail miserably, but you brought us into the worst economy since the depression.
Before Democrats get on a high-horse, let me say that the great opposition party that the Democrats were supposed to be ended up being nothing more than a group of spineless, image-conscious weaklings. Democratic kowtowing to Republicans is patently unacceptable especially in a time where the daily lives of the people who trusted them are getting worse. If the Republicans are assholes and block every bill that the Democrats propose, then Democratic politicians should let them be assholes, but get on every news station and let the American people know exactly what is happening. Instead Democrats are trying to play nicey-nice with a group of capitalist shills who don't give two fucks who suffers as long as their corporate buddies make their profit margins.
Barack Obama could have the most racist creep of a pastor that I've ever heard, but I'm still voting for him. Rev. Jeremiah Wright is finally being allowed to stand up and speak about his remarks, and the news media is already screaming that based on an interview that hasn't even happened yet, Obama will be finished. At least that's what they're hoping. If I've learned one thing in the past few weeks, it's that the corporate owned media would rather take the millionth tour of some wingnut Texas cult's compound than talk about international food riots, or the enormous protest that happened in Washington D.C. on tax day. That's right, a half million people gathered in our nation's capital on tax day to protest, but you didn't hear about it. However, the unibrow chick in the prairie costume showed you the dorm style rooms where women and children live on the FLDS "ranch" in Texas over and over again.
I want everyone to join with me this year, and every time a wedge issue comes up, write media sources, both political parties, and whoever else is promoting the wedge issue and speak out against the trivialization of the election process. We can't let a racist pastor keep us from the one candidate who isn't feeding from the corporate trough and might actually make some changes in this country.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Wrong One Got the Tumor
I have an amazing friend who is one of those fun people you always look forward to talking to. We met in a new mom support group after I had Rachael and she had her son. Two years ago, she had twins who were born with issues. She is one of the strongest people I know, because having three children under the age of 3 with two of them being sick would absolutely break me. She slept on the floor of the twins' room for nearly the entire first year of their lives to make sure she would be there if one of them stopped breathing in the middle of the night.
Unfortunately, I haven't gotten to the worse part yet. My dear friend gets through the first grueling year and a half with her twins, and manages to line up the treatment they need to improve. Her husband begins opting for more out-of-town projects for work, and one day comes home after three weeks in Barcelona (which got him out of a week of three kids with croup), and tells her he's had an Epiphany. He says his life hasn't been too much fun, and he's decided to start enjoying himself more. He joined a role playing club, a wine/dinner party group, and got himself a text message buddy. He travels three weeks a month, and doesn't call home for days. He holds my friend financially hostage and lives in a state where the divorce laws would leave her with next to nothing.
On top of everything, my friend is having surgery tomorrow morning to remove a tumor at the base of her brain. My mother died of a brain tumor, so this is hitting me very hard. I think due to the location and the fact that it's a completely different tumor, my friend will be okay, but I hate the idea of her having to record birthday messages to her children in case she doesn't make it. I hate it even worse that she is recording those messages alone, because her piece of shit husband is out gallivanting with some other chick having a fun life and not giving a fuck about his wife or three kids.
Where is the justice in a situation that holds a sick woman hostage in a mentally and financially abusive marriage? I'm glad I no longer live in the same state, because I'm not a violent person, but I would have beat the living crap out of her bastard husband by now, or at least helped her cut the brakes to his car or some other Soprano-like action that would rid her of him, yet leave her with benefits and insurance money.
It may be wrong of me to say, and something bad will probably happen to me, because of it, but I'm going to say it anyways, because it's the truth: the wrong person got the brain tumor. Now I'm going to go try to call my friend, give her some comforting words, and pray like hell as soon as I hang up the phone that I'm talking to her again by next week.
Unfortunately, I haven't gotten to the worse part yet. My dear friend gets through the first grueling year and a half with her twins, and manages to line up the treatment they need to improve. Her husband begins opting for more out-of-town projects for work, and one day comes home after three weeks in Barcelona (which got him out of a week of three kids with croup), and tells her he's had an Epiphany. He says his life hasn't been too much fun, and he's decided to start enjoying himself more. He joined a role playing club, a wine/dinner party group, and got himself a text message buddy. He travels three weeks a month, and doesn't call home for days. He holds my friend financially hostage and lives in a state where the divorce laws would leave her with next to nothing.
On top of everything, my friend is having surgery tomorrow morning to remove a tumor at the base of her brain. My mother died of a brain tumor, so this is hitting me very hard. I think due to the location and the fact that it's a completely different tumor, my friend will be okay, but I hate the idea of her having to record birthday messages to her children in case she doesn't make it. I hate it even worse that she is recording those messages alone, because her piece of shit husband is out gallivanting with some other chick having a fun life and not giving a fuck about his wife or three kids.
Where is the justice in a situation that holds a sick woman hostage in a mentally and financially abusive marriage? I'm glad I no longer live in the same state, because I'm not a violent person, but I would have beat the living crap out of her bastard husband by now, or at least helped her cut the brakes to his car or some other Soprano-like action that would rid her of him, yet leave her with benefits and insurance money.
It may be wrong of me to say, and something bad will probably happen to me, because of it, but I'm going to say it anyways, because it's the truth: the wrong person got the brain tumor. Now I'm going to go try to call my friend, give her some comforting words, and pray like hell as soon as I hang up the phone that I'm talking to her again by next week.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Get a Freakin' Clue
It amazes me that one could be around average Americans for months at a time traveling throughout all of the major, and several of the minor, cities in the U.S. and still be completely clueless about the struggles of my fellow citizenry. This was the thought running through my head while I watched the local news recap of John McCain’s visit to Orange County.
He was endorsed by Madame Reagan, the wife of the patron saint of the conservative movement, but managed to bumble through his comments on the economy. Americans are truly suffering right now, and not just the folks who were considered “working poor” or “one paycheck away from disaster”, middle class folks like me who have honest-to-goodness careers. I heard the story of one woman whose husband abandoned her leaving her to raise two kids on her income alone. She worked in the mortgage industry for years making $70,000 annually (which, for reference, the average salary for a college-educated, mid-career employee in Southern California is $65,000). She was laid off and has found herself having to ask for help from a food bank, while her mother has moved in with her to help support the household.
John McCain’s answer to all this suffering is that he doesn’t know that much about fixing the economy. Instead he went on a tirade about how stupid people were to buy houses they couldn’t afford, and that the government shouldn’t be obligated to bail them out. (Even though they’ve faithfully paid taxes?!?) I half expected him to start talking about how in “his day” you had to walk up hill both ways to get to a one-room school in the snow with no shoes. Grandpa was on a rant that today’s generation is too spoiled.
I agree to a certain extent that people were very careless by taking these ‘too-good-to-be-true’ loans, but I also recognize where their desire came from. Having a nice home is the cornerstone of the American Dream. When you read profiles of success stories they always include info about the subject’s home. Since January, there have been 3,000 home foreclosures in my county. What’s McCain’s response to this (aside from his Grumpy Grampy tirade about lack of responsibility)? He wants to give government money to mortgage lenders, so that they can incentivize people to keep their homes. Yep, that’s right, when faced with a groundswell of human suffering and defeat, let’s give all the cash to the pigfuckers who got us into this mess in the first place.
Sadly, this was all he would say regarding the economic crisis. The rest of his speech was all about Iraq, and how it’s really cool that we’re there…and hey that asshole in Iran could use a good woopin’…and how the glorious surge was working…and, even though 4,000 American soldiers are dead you got to break eggs to make an omelet…blah, blah, fucking blah. I can’t believe this is the same guy who I would have voted for back in 2000 when he was running against Bush. I’m not sure what happened over the past 8 years, but much like a bad marriage, this guy is nothing like the one I met via regular appearances on The Daily Show exchanging verbal spars with a then (yet even more clueless) Resident Bush.
It’s disturbing to me that he is one of three possible people that might lead our nation, and if he winds up with the top spot, the suffering that has happened so far will be nothing compared to the dismal state of life in 2010.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Open Letter to the Dumbasses Who Graffitied My Synagogue
Dear Wannabe Graffiti Badasses,
On Wednesday night you decided to come onto the premises of my synagogue and do your best graffiti work. You wrote things on the parking lot where I drop my kid off at school, and probably thought you were pretty fucking rebellious. In fact, I bet you went home with your fellow badasses thinking that you were all the shit.
I guess the only problem with your rebel-rousing plan was that you forgot to read the name on the building whose parking lot you graffitied. You left a tirade of "666" and pentagrams, but here's the kicker; Jews don't believe in the devil. Sure, there is the belief in evil and an entity known to us as the yetzer hara, however, it doesn't have horns, a pitchfork, or a tail, and looks nothing like the guy on my Danzig albums. "666" and pentagrams are offensive to Christians, not to Jews, so you should have done your research.
Also, you may want to think about adopting another means of implementing graffiti, because pink sidewalk chalk just doesn't strike the fear into the hearts of men that it should. I hate to break it to you band of wandering dumbasses, but you basically wasted an entire evening when you could have been doing something more productive like watching paint dry.
Lastly, let a real punk give you some advice: you live in Irvine, so no one is ever going to be afraid of you. Irvine is basically a realized version of Stepford. Your parents are pasty-ass white people who paid way too much for a house that looks like the ones next door to you (and across the street, hence Stepford), they likely went to USC, and they work corporate jobs. Just because you grow your hair down past your ears, shop at Hot Topic, and make your teachers nervous by drawing pentagrams on your notebook doesn't mean people are afraid of you, they just think you are an asshole kid who may need prescription antidepressants.
For what it's worth, I do appreciate the laugh. And by the way, if you're thinking about coming back for a Round Two that involves swastikas or some Nazi bullshit, keep in mind that that kind of graffiti would be classified as a hate crime, which is also a federal crime, and there's no way in hell your spoiled lily ass would survive a minute in youth detention with those kids from Garden Grove.
Still Rolling Her Eyes and Chuckling,
Mel
On Wednesday night you decided to come onto the premises of my synagogue and do your best graffiti work. You wrote things on the parking lot where I drop my kid off at school, and probably thought you were pretty fucking rebellious. In fact, I bet you went home with your fellow badasses thinking that you were all the shit.
I guess the only problem with your rebel-rousing plan was that you forgot to read the name on the building whose parking lot you graffitied. You left a tirade of "666" and pentagrams, but here's the kicker; Jews don't believe in the devil. Sure, there is the belief in evil and an entity known to us as the yetzer hara, however, it doesn't have horns, a pitchfork, or a tail, and looks nothing like the guy on my Danzig albums. "666" and pentagrams are offensive to Christians, not to Jews, so you should have done your research.
Also, you may want to think about adopting another means of implementing graffiti, because pink sidewalk chalk just doesn't strike the fear into the hearts of men that it should. I hate to break it to you band of wandering dumbasses, but you basically wasted an entire evening when you could have been doing something more productive like watching paint dry.
Lastly, let a real punk give you some advice: you live in Irvine, so no one is ever going to be afraid of you. Irvine is basically a realized version of Stepford. Your parents are pasty-ass white people who paid way too much for a house that looks like the ones next door to you (and across the street, hence Stepford), they likely went to USC, and they work corporate jobs. Just because you grow your hair down past your ears, shop at Hot Topic, and make your teachers nervous by drawing pentagrams on your notebook doesn't mean people are afraid of you, they just think you are an asshole kid who may need prescription antidepressants.
For what it's worth, I do appreciate the laugh. And by the way, if you're thinking about coming back for a Round Two that involves swastikas or some Nazi bullshit, keep in mind that that kind of graffiti would be classified as a hate crime, which is also a federal crime, and there's no way in hell your spoiled lily ass would survive a minute in youth detention with those kids from Garden Grove.
Still Rolling Her Eyes and Chuckling,
Mel
Sunday, March 16, 2008
$4,400 Sex & An Interesting Midnight Conversation
As someone who loves watching hypocrites go down in flames, I giggled with delight when New York Governor Eliot Spitzer got busted for buying sex after running on a reputation of being a superhero-like crime fighter with the nickname of "Mr. Clean".
I'm not a cold-hearted bitch, because I feel terrible for his wife and daughters. Hopefully, Mrs. Spitzer has already enlisted the services of her favorite Jewish uncle to take her cheating bastard husband to the cleaners in the divorce that should soon follow. However, this was only part of the conversation I found myself having at midnight with my husband earlier in the week when this story broke.
We fall asleep at night listening to talk radio. Jeff had heard the story earlier in the day, but at midnight, when I finally made it to bed after working way too long of a day, his mind was still trying to wrap around the concept of paying thousands of dollars for sex. I'm not sure what was more shocking to him: a guy actually paying $4,400 for sex or the fact that it was a Jewish guy paying $4,400 for sex.
He decided to ask me about this whole thing, since in my husband's mind due to the fact that I grew up poor, worked in the music industry, visited Seattle often during the whole grunge movement, and regularly listen to punk music, I am the ultimate authority on the seedy underbelly of society. Fortunately, for him, he's half right about that.
Jeff: "Do you think he really paid $4,400 for sex?"
Melanie: "Yes, or they wouldn't have busted him in such a public way."
Jeff: "For $4,400 is that just one time, or do you think it was for several meetings?"
Melanie: "I haven't meant too many hookers in my day who run a 'buy 3 get one free' program, so my guess it was $4,400 a pop, or a bang."
Jeff: "Well, for $4,400 he'd better have gotten a blow job with that. That's what I'd expect."
Melanie: "No, for $4,400, you expect sex and blow jobs for the next 10 years, and you'd want her to detail your car once a month for that same 10 years."
Jeff: "No, you're wrong."
Melanie: "Oh really?!"
Jeff: "I'd never pay $4,400 for sex in the first place."
This I truly believe; first and foremost, because Jeff is a moral guy who would never have such blatant disregard for his family the way that schmuck Spitzer did, and secondly, because my husband is cheap. We've gone rounds over his talent for frugality, but at least I have the comfort of knowing that it will never be me in Mrs. Spitzer's position. Not only, because of the whole cheap thing, but also because my husband would never likely run for governor since he hates politics, and I'd never stand by him in that kind of a scandal, because I'm nobody's doormat and why should I bear the brunt of enormous humiliation for his fuck up especially a fuck up where he made the decision to render a wife the harshest insult by taking up with another woman...and paying her.
By the way Republicans, don't act all high and mighty over this sex scandal. At least when a Democrat is caught sticking his schlong where it doesn't belong, it isn't in another guy's ass.
I'm not a cold-hearted bitch, because I feel terrible for his wife and daughters. Hopefully, Mrs. Spitzer has already enlisted the services of her favorite Jewish uncle to take her cheating bastard husband to the cleaners in the divorce that should soon follow. However, this was only part of the conversation I found myself having at midnight with my husband earlier in the week when this story broke.
We fall asleep at night listening to talk radio. Jeff had heard the story earlier in the day, but at midnight, when I finally made it to bed after working way too long of a day, his mind was still trying to wrap around the concept of paying thousands of dollars for sex. I'm not sure what was more shocking to him: a guy actually paying $4,400 for sex or the fact that it was a Jewish guy paying $4,400 for sex.
He decided to ask me about this whole thing, since in my husband's mind due to the fact that I grew up poor, worked in the music industry, visited Seattle often during the whole grunge movement, and regularly listen to punk music, I am the ultimate authority on the seedy underbelly of society. Fortunately, for him, he's half right about that.
Jeff: "Do you think he really paid $4,400 for sex?"
Melanie: "Yes, or they wouldn't have busted him in such a public way."
Jeff: "For $4,400 is that just one time, or do you think it was for several meetings?"
Melanie: "I haven't meant too many hookers in my day who run a 'buy 3 get one free' program, so my guess it was $4,400 a pop, or a bang."
Jeff: "Well, for $4,400 he'd better have gotten a blow job with that. That's what I'd expect."
Melanie: "No, for $4,400, you expect sex and blow jobs for the next 10 years, and you'd want her to detail your car once a month for that same 10 years."
Jeff: "No, you're wrong."
Melanie: "Oh really?!"
Jeff: "I'd never pay $4,400 for sex in the first place."
This I truly believe; first and foremost, because Jeff is a moral guy who would never have such blatant disregard for his family the way that schmuck Spitzer did, and secondly, because my husband is cheap. We've gone rounds over his talent for frugality, but at least I have the comfort of knowing that it will never be me in Mrs. Spitzer's position. Not only, because of the whole cheap thing, but also because my husband would never likely run for governor since he hates politics, and I'd never stand by him in that kind of a scandal, because I'm nobody's doormat and why should I bear the brunt of enormous humiliation for his fuck up especially a fuck up where he made the decision to render a wife the harshest insult by taking up with another woman...and paying her.
By the way Republicans, don't act all high and mighty over this sex scandal. At least when a Democrat is caught sticking his schlong where it doesn't belong, it isn't in another guy's ass.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Why I'm Supporting Barack Obama
Everyone and their dog keeps crowing about Barack Obama's lack of accomplishments, so I thought I'd put this little list together.
Barack Obama Accomplishment List:
Barack Obama stood in a room full of Detroit auto workers and told them they had to make more fuel efficient cars. The room went silent. He stood in a room in Texas and spoke out against racism, and the room went silent. Any other politician would have been crapping themselves had they said something that made a room of people go uncomfortably silent, and would have been scrambling to make an apology, but Obama didn't. He actually stood by what he said, and that speaks louder than any of the accomplishments listed above.
Barack Obama is the only candidate who doesn't tell us what we want to hear, but what we have to hear. He also hasn't had a problem telling us that we are all going to have to make sacrifices in order to put our country back in order. Nobody wants to have to sacrifice, but deep down we know we've all fucked things up, and now we've got to bite the bullet and go clean up our room.
I doubt that a law professor who lives in Chicago, grew up in Hawaii, and is a fan of R&B has that much inkling into the punk movement, but anyone who is willing to tell a Texas redneck that there's no excuse for his racism, is punk enough for me.
Barack Obama Accomplishment List:
- First African-American President of the Harvard Law Review
- Practiced as a Civil Rights Attorney in private life
- Taught Constitutional Law at the University of Chicago Law School
- 8 Years in the Illinois State Senate
- Created the Earned Income Tax Credit in the State of Illinois providing an enormous tax cut to working families
- Spearheaded the legislation necessary for the expansion of Early Childhood Education in the State of Illinois
- Worked with law enforcement and legislators to pass measures requiring that all interrogations and confessions be videotaped in capital cases
- Has done extensive charity work based around community empowerment
- Currently advocates for US involvement in ending the genocide in Darfur
- Married to a Harvard graduate who has spent several years running a non-profit leadership training program
- Opposed the illegal and immoral Iraq War!
Barack Obama stood in a room full of Detroit auto workers and told them they had to make more fuel efficient cars. The room went silent. He stood in a room in Texas and spoke out against racism, and the room went silent. Any other politician would have been crapping themselves had they said something that made a room of people go uncomfortably silent, and would have been scrambling to make an apology, but Obama didn't. He actually stood by what he said, and that speaks louder than any of the accomplishments listed above.
Barack Obama is the only candidate who doesn't tell us what we want to hear, but what we have to hear. He also hasn't had a problem telling us that we are all going to have to make sacrifices in order to put our country back in order. Nobody wants to have to sacrifice, but deep down we know we've all fucked things up, and now we've got to bite the bullet and go clean up our room.
I doubt that a law professor who lives in Chicago, grew up in Hawaii, and is a fan of R&B has that much inkling into the punk movement, but anyone who is willing to tell a Texas redneck that there's no excuse for his racism, is punk enough for me.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
35 and Still Alive
I turn 35 on Tuesday. It's not a monumental birthday like 18, 21 or 50, but nonetheless, it's a birthday. At this point my daughter is more excited about my birthday than I am. I'm sure she envisions a celebration that will be similar to her recent Chuck E. Cheese party only with Mommy and all her fellow mommy friends.
I don't have the heart to tell her that the older you get the more your birthday just becomes another day. Sure, there will be the humorous card from my co-workers, a "happy birthday" wish from my husband along with a dig about how I'm getting older, so I should think seriously about giving him another baby, and I can almost lay money down that somewhere in the equation a cake will appear (although given my recent lack of exercise and consumption of Valentine's candy, I should be more cautious than I most likely will be).
The coolest thing about turning 35 is the realization that I'm at the happiest place I've been so far in my life. At age 5, I was being dragged away from my father across country by a mother who was running from demons, either real or imaginary, I'll never know. At 15, I was a zit-covered, hormonal ball of confusion who hated living in Idaho (not that that ever changed), and spent the bulk of her day dreaming about making life happen. At 25, I was in art school having a blast and actively working in the music industry, but I was also in a marriage that was quickly going South and dealing with clinical depression.
At 35, I have the great fortune of being bound for life to someone I'm completely in love with, I have an adorable (albeit, exhausting) child who makes me smile (and yell) everyday. We live in a cool house in a place that is sunny most days of the year. I have a decent career that may be a thorn in my ass (particularly right now) due to the workload, but has given me the opportunity to push myself professionally. I own a hybrid, have excellent cholesterol, and have only found 3 gray hairs, so far.
There are downsides. I was diagnosed this week with tension headaches, but that's better than something serious. All I have to do to relieve most of the stress causing the headaches, according to my doctor, is get back into my regular exercise routine. I need to drop 10-15 pounds (which also would be helped by said exercise routine), but I'm finally at a point in my life where I can have a piece of chocolate at night and not hate myself, because I don't look like a supermodel.
I can see why the world fears us women in our mid-30s. We are vital, running households, managing work environments, comfortable with our confidence, and don't give a fuck about what the world thinks of us. It's a good age. My only fear at this point is that it's all downhill from here, but given the fact that everything has been an upswing, I think I'll ride it out for at least another 50 years. Not an unreasonable life goal for a woman with the blood pressure of an 18 year old.
I don't have the heart to tell her that the older you get the more your birthday just becomes another day. Sure, there will be the humorous card from my co-workers, a "happy birthday" wish from my husband along with a dig about how I'm getting older, so I should think seriously about giving him another baby, and I can almost lay money down that somewhere in the equation a cake will appear (although given my recent lack of exercise and consumption of Valentine's candy, I should be more cautious than I most likely will be).
The coolest thing about turning 35 is the realization that I'm at the happiest place I've been so far in my life. At age 5, I was being dragged away from my father across country by a mother who was running from demons, either real or imaginary, I'll never know. At 15, I was a zit-covered, hormonal ball of confusion who hated living in Idaho (not that that ever changed), and spent the bulk of her day dreaming about making life happen. At 25, I was in art school having a blast and actively working in the music industry, but I was also in a marriage that was quickly going South and dealing with clinical depression.
At 35, I have the great fortune of being bound for life to someone I'm completely in love with, I have an adorable (albeit, exhausting) child who makes me smile (and yell) everyday. We live in a cool house in a place that is sunny most days of the year. I have a decent career that may be a thorn in my ass (particularly right now) due to the workload, but has given me the opportunity to push myself professionally. I own a hybrid, have excellent cholesterol, and have only found 3 gray hairs, so far.
There are downsides. I was diagnosed this week with tension headaches, but that's better than something serious. All I have to do to relieve most of the stress causing the headaches, according to my doctor, is get back into my regular exercise routine. I need to drop 10-15 pounds (which also would be helped by said exercise routine), but I'm finally at a point in my life where I can have a piece of chocolate at night and not hate myself, because I don't look like a supermodel.
I can see why the world fears us women in our mid-30s. We are vital, running households, managing work environments, comfortable with our confidence, and don't give a fuck about what the world thinks of us. It's a good age. My only fear at this point is that it's all downhill from here, but given the fact that everything has been an upswing, I think I'll ride it out for at least another 50 years. Not an unreasonable life goal for a woman with the blood pressure of an 18 year old.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Consumption Whore
As I entered my second straight day of a merciless consumption orgy I realized as I walked into, yet another store, that this was the dark side of acquiring a new residence. How is it that we moved from one house into another, yet all of the shit contained in the insane amount of boxes in our garage just doesn't work in the new house!?!
Some of this is my fault. I wanted nice bedding. A simple, elegant, and dare I say, romantic pattern that would make Jeff and I feel like our bedroom was a place for us to relax and become reacquainted as a couple from time to time. When I didn't have the money or desire to change the look of my bedroom, I saw gorgeous patterns everywhere, but for the past two days, it's all been the ugliest things I've laid my eyes on since the days of neon spandex and leg warmers.
Why is the '70s now considered retro? The '70s was such a low point in fashion, home styles, and decor in general that everyone had to be on cocaine in order to get through it, so whose bright idea was it to bring those burn orange and babyshit green colors back for a Round Two?
The bedding is just the tip of this disgusting consumption tirade. New walls equal new space, and new space means the art you have doesn't seem to fit with the massive amounts of empty that make up you dwelling. I'm not one of those people who can go buy a print at Target and be happy with it. I'm one of those emotionally deep bitches who has to have some sort of "connection" with everything I hang on my walls, or I just can't stand staring at it. I need to be able to give people a story about what they see when they walk into my house. I wish I could just throw some sort of Thomas Kincade, Wal-Mart art bullshit up and be happy with it, but I'd rather live in a one room hovel then resort to that.
The second misfortune in my pretentious quirk is that I like certain artists, and certain types of artwork, so decor for my walls cannot be obtained quickly or cheaply. I don't mind this consumption, it's like hunting prey. What I mind is going from store to store for two days looking for one of those little, skinny cabinets that I can use in my bathroom to hold toilet paper, or search stores for a half hour trying to find a tabletop mirror, because my blind ass needs a mirror two inches from my face in the morning so my makeup won't look like crap.
I'm sick of shopping for shower curtain rings that match my kid's clear monkey shower curtain, a napkin holder which seems to be out of style at the moment, reasonably priced sheets with a thread count over 350, and space saver items for the kitchen, because despite having a large kitchen, we somehow ended up with more stuff than we have space. For example, that all-in-one tortilla maker/fajita cooker that was on clearance, so my husband bought it and we used it twice back in 2001. Still taking up space, still collecting dust, but do you think he can part with it; hell no, he got a great deal on it.
The good news is that I ended up finding great bedding, on sale, so I'm going to go enjoy it now, because tomorrow I still have to figure out what I'm going to use to hold the toilet paper.
Some of this is my fault. I wanted nice bedding. A simple, elegant, and dare I say, romantic pattern that would make Jeff and I feel like our bedroom was a place for us to relax and become reacquainted as a couple from time to time. When I didn't have the money or desire to change the look of my bedroom, I saw gorgeous patterns everywhere, but for the past two days, it's all been the ugliest things I've laid my eyes on since the days of neon spandex and leg warmers.
Why is the '70s now considered retro? The '70s was such a low point in fashion, home styles, and decor in general that everyone had to be on cocaine in order to get through it, so whose bright idea was it to bring those burn orange and babyshit green colors back for a Round Two?
The bedding is just the tip of this disgusting consumption tirade. New walls equal new space, and new space means the art you have doesn't seem to fit with the massive amounts of empty that make up you dwelling. I'm not one of those people who can go buy a print at Target and be happy with it. I'm one of those emotionally deep bitches who has to have some sort of "connection" with everything I hang on my walls, or I just can't stand staring at it. I need to be able to give people a story about what they see when they walk into my house. I wish I could just throw some sort of Thomas Kincade, Wal-Mart art bullshit up and be happy with it, but I'd rather live in a one room hovel then resort to that.
The second misfortune in my pretentious quirk is that I like certain artists, and certain types of artwork, so decor for my walls cannot be obtained quickly or cheaply. I don't mind this consumption, it's like hunting prey. What I mind is going from store to store for two days looking for one of those little, skinny cabinets that I can use in my bathroom to hold toilet paper, or search stores for a half hour trying to find a tabletop mirror, because my blind ass needs a mirror two inches from my face in the morning so my makeup won't look like crap.
I'm sick of shopping for shower curtain rings that match my kid's clear monkey shower curtain, a napkin holder which seems to be out of style at the moment, reasonably priced sheets with a thread count over 350, and space saver items for the kitchen, because despite having a large kitchen, we somehow ended up with more stuff than we have space. For example, that all-in-one tortilla maker/fajita cooker that was on clearance, so my husband bought it and we used it twice back in 2001. Still taking up space, still collecting dust, but do you think he can part with it; hell no, he got a great deal on it.
The good news is that I ended up finding great bedding, on sale, so I'm going to go enjoy it now, because tomorrow I still have to figure out what I'm going to use to hold the toilet paper.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Breaking News Reality Check
I woke with a start at 3:00 AM as the anxious broadcaster was barely able to contain the excitement in her voice proclaiming there was "breaking news". There was a cut to a commercial break and during the 90 seconds of drivel about mattress sales, the latest revolutionary, natural health product, and the token public service announcement, I wondered what the urgent "breaking news" could be.
Although the Resident-In-Chief only has a few more lame duck months in his pitiful presidency, he would be stupid enough to start a war with Iran. Perhaps there was a 50 car pile up on the 5 Freeway or civil war in an unstable country. My mind raced until the woman's voice came back on air with the "breaking news".
Breaking News: Police have just been to Brittney Spears' house, and although there are unconfirmed reports of a suicide attempt, nothing has been substantiated. However they are taking her to a hospital in an ambulance.
You've got to be fucking kidding me!
There are so many levels of wrong here I don't know where the hell to begin. Maybe I should start with the obvious, which is that a has-been pop tart's mental breakdown is not exactly "breaking news". Breaking news is a political assassination, or an natural disaster, or a major financial crisis that will affect millions of people.
When I went to journalism school I learned about the history of the profession, and felt proud to join it. I studied great journalists like Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite. My favorite female journalist was Nellie Bly. Many know her as the lady who went around the world in 80 days, but what they don't know is that she was hired as a reporter (when women weren't hired) by doing one of the most shocking undercover investigations of the late 1800s. She suspected that female immigrants were being carted off to mental institutions, not because they were insane, but because had no knowledge of their new American culture. To prove this, she had herself committed to one of the most notorious women's asylums in the country.
Poor Nellie would be vomiting and pulling her hair out if she could see what has become of the profession she fought so hard to be a part of. Journalism was set up to keep an eye on the government and big business, as the fourth institution in this country. Without freedom of the press, you can't have a democracy, but much like the failed dream of a true American democracy, the press has fallen by the wayside, sold off to big corporations and is now busy creating sensationalist info-tainment instead of covering real news.
Television networks used to be willing to lose money on the news broadcasts, because they weren't about making money or getting high ratings, the news was the news. It was a vehicle to keep the country informed, and to let politicians and big business know they were being watched. Now, the caliber of your average news broadcast makes the National Enquirer seem dignified.
Aside from the complete collapse of media integrity, I find it very disturbing that they are fixated on Brittney hoping for an Anna Nicole ending. They want to be there for every ounce of this woman's self-destruction, and if they're lucky, maybe they can be standing over her while she overdoses!
There used to be an award for journalistic integrity that was presented once a year at a large journalism conference. One year it was won by a photographer who happened to be standing in front of the nightclub where, late actor, River Phoenix was having his last party. River came out of the club and overdosed on the sidewalk. The photographer snapped photos until he realized that the actor had died in front of him, then he destroyed the film in his camera, because he felt that no one should see a brilliant, young actor die so tragically. I don't know what ever happened to that photographer, but I would lay money down that he isn't one of the vultures hovering around Brittney hoping to create "breaking news".
Although the Resident-In-Chief only has a few more lame duck months in his pitiful presidency, he would be stupid enough to start a war with Iran. Perhaps there was a 50 car pile up on the 5 Freeway or civil war in an unstable country. My mind raced until the woman's voice came back on air with the "breaking news".
Breaking News: Police have just been to Brittney Spears' house, and although there are unconfirmed reports of a suicide attempt, nothing has been substantiated. However they are taking her to a hospital in an ambulance.
You've got to be fucking kidding me!
There are so many levels of wrong here I don't know where the hell to begin. Maybe I should start with the obvious, which is that a has-been pop tart's mental breakdown is not exactly "breaking news". Breaking news is a political assassination, or an natural disaster, or a major financial crisis that will affect millions of people.
When I went to journalism school I learned about the history of the profession, and felt proud to join it. I studied great journalists like Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite. My favorite female journalist was Nellie Bly. Many know her as the lady who went around the world in 80 days, but what they don't know is that she was hired as a reporter (when women weren't hired) by doing one of the most shocking undercover investigations of the late 1800s. She suspected that female immigrants were being carted off to mental institutions, not because they were insane, but because had no knowledge of their new American culture. To prove this, she had herself committed to one of the most notorious women's asylums in the country.
Poor Nellie would be vomiting and pulling her hair out if she could see what has become of the profession she fought so hard to be a part of. Journalism was set up to keep an eye on the government and big business, as the fourth institution in this country. Without freedom of the press, you can't have a democracy, but much like the failed dream of a true American democracy, the press has fallen by the wayside, sold off to big corporations and is now busy creating sensationalist info-tainment instead of covering real news.
Television networks used to be willing to lose money on the news broadcasts, because they weren't about making money or getting high ratings, the news was the news. It was a vehicle to keep the country informed, and to let politicians and big business know they were being watched. Now, the caliber of your average news broadcast makes the National Enquirer seem dignified.
Aside from the complete collapse of media integrity, I find it very disturbing that they are fixated on Brittney hoping for an Anna Nicole ending. They want to be there for every ounce of this woman's self-destruction, and if they're lucky, maybe they can be standing over her while she overdoses!
There used to be an award for journalistic integrity that was presented once a year at a large journalism conference. One year it was won by a photographer who happened to be standing in front of the nightclub where, late actor, River Phoenix was having his last party. River came out of the club and overdosed on the sidewalk. The photographer snapped photos until he realized that the actor had died in front of him, then he destroyed the film in his camera, because he felt that no one should see a brilliant, young actor die so tragically. I don't know what ever happened to that photographer, but I would lay money down that he isn't one of the vultures hovering around Brittney hoping to create "breaking news".
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Back to Suburbia
As I was pulling into my new neighborhood to unload, yet another car full of boxes, I heard that familiar song running through my head: "Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky, little boxes on the hillside, little boxes just the same."
I was back in Suburbia, once again, and the only difference between this new neighborhood in California and my old neighborhood in Washington is that it rains less, and there's a gay couple that lives across the street. How sick is this: the house we are moving into on Wednesday was built by the same company that did our Washington house.
It's been over two years since I started this blog in an effort to try to reconcile the life I lead with the inner me that feels awkward in this suburban existance. More often than not, I feel like an alien walking around amongst these perfect houses with smiley neighbors keeping busy in their perfect yards. In my heart I feel that I don't belong here, but at the same time I'm not rushing to change it.
I've heard other people talk about this. They are like me; grew up poor, were never supposed to make it, but they did. They achieved the 'rags to riches' American dream, yet remain patently uncomfortable with their life circumstance. Not that they, or I, want more, it's more of a feeling of guilt, like someone from such humble beginnings doesn't deserve to have so much.
I look at my new, massive, beautiful house, which I know I will be happy raising my child in, but there's a part of me that, remembers being the little girl who, for awhile, lived in a 300 square foot studio apartment with her baby sister and young, single mother.
Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of what I've done, because given my upbringing, background and statistics, I should never be where I am today. Thankfully, I've never thought much of statistics and I'm always willing to give an enormous "fuck you" to anyone who attempts to tell me what I should be or what I should do or what I should say.
This house is monumental for another reason; one that is the reason why I'm taking shelter in the comforts of Suburbia, this is my 50th residence. In my 34 years of life, I have had 50 addresses. Some places I managed to stay in for years (although not many) and some I stayed for a few months. Moving around taught me that home is where your family is, but it also left me with feelings of insecurity like no matter where I was, I didn't belong there. I don't want to pass that onto Rachael. She should have the comfort of knowing where her bed is at night, and feeling like no matter what she's up against, there will always be a place she can come home to.
So here I am ready to re-enter Suburbia having told my husband that we will stay a minimum of 10 years in our new house. Sandwiched between the very nice, mixed race couple on one side, and the very nice, taking Christmas decorations to a new and disturbing level neighbors on the other side, I will find a way to reconcile my past with what my life is now. Thankfully, my job is demanding enough that I don't have to join the PTA.
I was back in Suburbia, once again, and the only difference between this new neighborhood in California and my old neighborhood in Washington is that it rains less, and there's a gay couple that lives across the street. How sick is this: the house we are moving into on Wednesday was built by the same company that did our Washington house.
It's been over two years since I started this blog in an effort to try to reconcile the life I lead with the inner me that feels awkward in this suburban existance. More often than not, I feel like an alien walking around amongst these perfect houses with smiley neighbors keeping busy in their perfect yards. In my heart I feel that I don't belong here, but at the same time I'm not rushing to change it.
I've heard other people talk about this. They are like me; grew up poor, were never supposed to make it, but they did. They achieved the 'rags to riches' American dream, yet remain patently uncomfortable with their life circumstance. Not that they, or I, want more, it's more of a feeling of guilt, like someone from such humble beginnings doesn't deserve to have so much.
I look at my new, massive, beautiful house, which I know I will be happy raising my child in, but there's a part of me that, remembers being the little girl who, for awhile, lived in a 300 square foot studio apartment with her baby sister and young, single mother.
Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of what I've done, because given my upbringing, background and statistics, I should never be where I am today. Thankfully, I've never thought much of statistics and I'm always willing to give an enormous "fuck you" to anyone who attempts to tell me what I should be or what I should do or what I should say.
This house is monumental for another reason; one that is the reason why I'm taking shelter in the comforts of Suburbia, this is my 50th residence. In my 34 years of life, I have had 50 addresses. Some places I managed to stay in for years (although not many) and some I stayed for a few months. Moving around taught me that home is where your family is, but it also left me with feelings of insecurity like no matter where I was, I didn't belong there. I don't want to pass that onto Rachael. She should have the comfort of knowing where her bed is at night, and feeling like no matter what she's up against, there will always be a place she can come home to.
So here I am ready to re-enter Suburbia having told my husband that we will stay a minimum of 10 years in our new house. Sandwiched between the very nice, mixed race couple on one side, and the very nice, taking Christmas decorations to a new and disturbing level neighbors on the other side, I will find a way to reconcile my past with what my life is now. Thankfully, my job is demanding enough that I don't have to join the PTA.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Barack Obama is Black, The Sky is Blue, and Other Obvious Things I Already Know
The other day I was copied on one of those annoying emails where the author frantically asks you to forward it to everyone you know, because not being aware of this pending crisis will surely result in some "War of the Worlds" end of time scenario.
The gist of the email was that presidential candidate, Barack Obama, was a member of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago, and this church is radical, or more importantly, run by black radicals. The email eluded to the idea that since Obama was a member of this church, he was basically a new millennium Black Panther.
Of course, the ever present cynic in me went to Trinity's website and spent a good amount of time reading through it, and what I discovered in my reading was that this church defines itself as "unashamedly black and unapologetically Christian." They are very determined in their efforts to advance equality and educational opportunities for blacks in both the U.S. and Africa, and they actually want to do something about Darfur unlike our government who says they oppose this kind of genocide, but since there isn't oil money to be made, doesn't give a shit.
Basically, Trinity United Church is run by blacks for blacks with the purpose of bringing equality and Christianity to blacks, and Barack Obama is a member of this congregation. And the problem is?
The fact is we live in a country where race is a Catch 22. Barack Obama is a proud black man, but according to the frantic email, he is a bit too much of a proud black man. If Barack Obama came out of the woodwork with a bunch of white friends and attended a white church, then the same frantic email would have gone out claiming that he can't be trusted, because he is disavowing his roots as a black man. Barack is in a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.
The funny thing is that these emails are circulating through an older generation that fails to realize most people age baby boomer and below don't give a rat's ass about a person's race. I like Barack Obama, I think he could run this country, and I don't give two fucks if he is black, yellow, or purple. I like the fact that Barack Obama attends a church that takes a hard line approach to strengthening its community. To me, it says that he isn't just the type to shy away from taking a stand for fear he will lose a few approval points (I'm looking at you, Hillary).
Another email I'm sick of receiving is the one about Barack Obama and his Muslim upbringing. His dad was a Kenyan Muslim who sent Barack to Muslim school for maybe one or two years when he was five years old. His father and mother split up when he was young, and Barack was raised by his single mother in Hawaii. My guess is that Barack knows more about hanging ten than hanging those who don't study the Koran.
At this point, I'm tired of the mixed message, frantic emails. Make up your mind muckraking emailers! Is he a black, Christian radical or a black, Muslim radical, and do you all realize that forces larger than you are playing on your fears of human difference to advance an inherently racist notion that a black guy can't run the country, because he is black?
Barack's blackness shouldn't scare you, especially if he is unapologetically proud of it. What should scare you is the idea of spending another four years under a Republican president who will keep the expensive war going and further drive the economy into the toilet all because you freaked out, sent frantic, bullshit emails to everyone on your list, and made this election about race instead of progress.
The gist of the email was that presidential candidate, Barack Obama, was a member of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago, and this church is radical, or more importantly, run by black radicals. The email eluded to the idea that since Obama was a member of this church, he was basically a new millennium Black Panther.
Of course, the ever present cynic in me went to Trinity's website and spent a good amount of time reading through it, and what I discovered in my reading was that this church defines itself as "unashamedly black and unapologetically Christian." They are very determined in their efforts to advance equality and educational opportunities for blacks in both the U.S. and Africa, and they actually want to do something about Darfur unlike our government who says they oppose this kind of genocide, but since there isn't oil money to be made, doesn't give a shit.
Basically, Trinity United Church is run by blacks for blacks with the purpose of bringing equality and Christianity to blacks, and Barack Obama is a member of this congregation. And the problem is?
The fact is we live in a country where race is a Catch 22. Barack Obama is a proud black man, but according to the frantic email, he is a bit too much of a proud black man. If Barack Obama came out of the woodwork with a bunch of white friends and attended a white church, then the same frantic email would have gone out claiming that he can't be trusted, because he is disavowing his roots as a black man. Barack is in a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.
The funny thing is that these emails are circulating through an older generation that fails to realize most people age baby boomer and below don't give a rat's ass about a person's race. I like Barack Obama, I think he could run this country, and I don't give two fucks if he is black, yellow, or purple. I like the fact that Barack Obama attends a church that takes a hard line approach to strengthening its community. To me, it says that he isn't just the type to shy away from taking a stand for fear he will lose a few approval points (I'm looking at you, Hillary).
Another email I'm sick of receiving is the one about Barack Obama and his Muslim upbringing. His dad was a Kenyan Muslim who sent Barack to Muslim school for maybe one or two years when he was five years old. His father and mother split up when he was young, and Barack was raised by his single mother in Hawaii. My guess is that Barack knows more about hanging ten than hanging those who don't study the Koran.
At this point, I'm tired of the mixed message, frantic emails. Make up your mind muckraking emailers! Is he a black, Christian radical or a black, Muslim radical, and do you all realize that forces larger than you are playing on your fears of human difference to advance an inherently racist notion that a black guy can't run the country, because he is black?
Barack's blackness shouldn't scare you, especially if he is unapologetically proud of it. What should scare you is the idea of spending another four years under a Republican president who will keep the expensive war going and further drive the economy into the toilet all because you freaked out, sent frantic, bullshit emails to everyone on your list, and made this election about race instead of progress.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Thought of the Day: Now That is F@!?ked Up!
I have always thought the worst case scenario of all of these rampant fertility treatment pregnancies, use of banked sperm, multiply harvested embryos, and concealed adoptions, would be two genetically identical people meeting later in life, completely unaware of the other's existence, and unknowingly hooking up.
I'm sad (and really disturbed) to report that this actually happened! In England, twins separated at birth recently had their marriage annulled when they found out they were brother and sister. Everyone repeat after me: EEEEEEEWWWWW!!!!
They had been separated at birth, adopted by different families and never told about each other. When they met as adults they had an instant connection, only instead of serendipity it was common DNA. They have now helped push for laws that protect the rights of adoptees.
The article didn't say anything about how the twins were doing mentally and emotionally, but it can't be good. I mean finding out you slept with your sibling is worth at least five years of therapy, but finding out that you fell in love and married your sibling takes it to a whole new level. Especially when you know that when they think of the best intimacy they have ever had with a member of the opposite sex, the first thought likely to enter their head will be their former spouse, about five seconds before the reality hits that it was their sibling.
One more time, repeat after me: EEEEEEWWWW!!!
I'm sad (and really disturbed) to report that this actually happened! In England, twins separated at birth recently had their marriage annulled when they found out they were brother and sister. Everyone repeat after me: EEEEEEEWWWWW!!!!
They had been separated at birth, adopted by different families and never told about each other. When they met as adults they had an instant connection, only instead of serendipity it was common DNA. They have now helped push for laws that protect the rights of adoptees.
The article didn't say anything about how the twins were doing mentally and emotionally, but it can't be good. I mean finding out you slept with your sibling is worth at least five years of therapy, but finding out that you fell in love and married your sibling takes it to a whole new level. Especially when you know that when they think of the best intimacy they have ever had with a member of the opposite sex, the first thought likely to enter their head will be their former spouse, about five seconds before the reality hits that it was their sibling.
One more time, repeat after me: EEEEEEWWWW!!!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Thought of the Day: Unwanted Opinions
One of my biggest pet peeves happened today: somebody asked my opinion, and when I told them what I thought, with quite a bit of tact and honesty, they totally rejected it. The annoying part was, not only did they reject it, they basically stated via email that they really didn't want my opinion in the first place.
It seems like a new, more aggravating form of political correctness; the asking of the opinion when what someone really wants to do is tell you what to do, only they don't want to be seen as some kind of tyrant or asshole. Instead, they want you to smile and nod and support their idea, even if it's premature and will be a complete strain on already limited resources.
In this particular case, I didn't say the idea wasn't doable, I just said it wasn't doable right now, and that's my job (which is why I was asked to give my opinion in the first place). To put it bluntly, I'm not some mindless "yes" girl. I like to take an idea, make an assessment of the resources needed to implement the idea, then once the resources are in line, map out a process that will generate success. I don't do things half-assed, and if you ask my opinion I will give it to you even if it's the one you don't want to hear.
On top of all of this superficial, "I really do want your opinion" charade, I was also, in so many words, told I wasn't open to new ideas. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm the first one to be on board with a new idea. I don't like stagnation, but I'm not so careless that I'll jump into something on a whim especially when it affects people who depend on me. Like I said, I will give you the opinion I have, even if it's the one you don't want to hear.
Unfortunately, this whole "opinion" gathering ordeal isn't over, so I'll have to go through this bullshitfest again tomorrow.
All I can say is sometimes people make me so pro-nuclear.
It seems like a new, more aggravating form of political correctness; the asking of the opinion when what someone really wants to do is tell you what to do, only they don't want to be seen as some kind of tyrant or asshole. Instead, they want you to smile and nod and support their idea, even if it's premature and will be a complete strain on already limited resources.
In this particular case, I didn't say the idea wasn't doable, I just said it wasn't doable right now, and that's my job (which is why I was asked to give my opinion in the first place). To put it bluntly, I'm not some mindless "yes" girl. I like to take an idea, make an assessment of the resources needed to implement the idea, then once the resources are in line, map out a process that will generate success. I don't do things half-assed, and if you ask my opinion I will give it to you even if it's the one you don't want to hear.
On top of all of this superficial, "I really do want your opinion" charade, I was also, in so many words, told I wasn't open to new ideas. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I'm the first one to be on board with a new idea. I don't like stagnation, but I'm not so careless that I'll jump into something on a whim especially when it affects people who depend on me. Like I said, I will give you the opinion I have, even if it's the one you don't want to hear.
Unfortunately, this whole "opinion" gathering ordeal isn't over, so I'll have to go through this bullshitfest again tomorrow.
All I can say is sometimes people make me so pro-nuclear.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Looking Forward to 2008
I'm excited for 2008. 2007 was kind of a drag; too much shitty economy, too many people losing their homes, too much media coverage of suicide queens and dysfunctional trainwrecks, and finally, WAY too much Bush Regime.
This year we get to elect someone new, and I'm really excited that, given the performance in Iowa, it might be Barack Obama. I still worry that my country is too caught up in the race issue, but maybe all of us progressives can come out of the woodwork and let the small-minded vote for Huckabee the Dominionist. Even those who affiliate with Christianity don't want to be the type of buttoned-down, uber-conservative Christian that Huckabee has in mind. A new leader with fresh ideas and optimism will help get the economy back on track, and will lay the groundwork to get us the hell out of Iraq...finally.
Although Brittney is on the Anna Nicole lifepath plan, I think people are actually getting sick of hearing about her. She hasn't done anything musically since that gawd-awful "comeback" on MTV, and being famous for acting like drunken, drugged out, trailer trash isn't likely to be too cool in the optimistic '08 year.
On a personal level, we bought a house and get to move into it later this month. I know I've said it before, but this time I mean it; I'm not moving for at least 10 years minimum. That's right, I'm hanging up my gypsy shoes and sprouting roots. I'm also looking forward to finishing the re-org of my department at work. It's coming along well, but I want to take it all the way to the bank.
Mostly, I'm looking forward to a year of hopeful thinking. These long, sad, grueling years of life under the Bush Regime have not been happy ones. They ruled by reminding us that we should be afraid of everything. They took all of our money and put it into funding defense contracts won by companies owned by them and their friends. They took our country's honor and reputation and shit all over it, but that's all over now. Americans are no longer fearful, they are no longer willing to blindly give over their rights and control of the national treasury to robber barons, and they are no longer willing to be told that the future is grim. 50 years ago a black man couldn't get into a restaurant with white people, now there's one on the way to the White House, that makes me damn proud, and very optimistic.
This year we get to elect someone new, and I'm really excited that, given the performance in Iowa, it might be Barack Obama. I still worry that my country is too caught up in the race issue, but maybe all of us progressives can come out of the woodwork and let the small-minded vote for Huckabee the Dominionist. Even those who affiliate with Christianity don't want to be the type of buttoned-down, uber-conservative Christian that Huckabee has in mind. A new leader with fresh ideas and optimism will help get the economy back on track, and will lay the groundwork to get us the hell out of Iraq...finally.
Although Brittney is on the Anna Nicole lifepath plan, I think people are actually getting sick of hearing about her. She hasn't done anything musically since that gawd-awful "comeback" on MTV, and being famous for acting like drunken, drugged out, trailer trash isn't likely to be too cool in the optimistic '08 year.
On a personal level, we bought a house and get to move into it later this month. I know I've said it before, but this time I mean it; I'm not moving for at least 10 years minimum. That's right, I'm hanging up my gypsy shoes and sprouting roots. I'm also looking forward to finishing the re-org of my department at work. It's coming along well, but I want to take it all the way to the bank.
Mostly, I'm looking forward to a year of hopeful thinking. These long, sad, grueling years of life under the Bush Regime have not been happy ones. They ruled by reminding us that we should be afraid of everything. They took all of our money and put it into funding defense contracts won by companies owned by them and their friends. They took our country's honor and reputation and shit all over it, but that's all over now. Americans are no longer fearful, they are no longer willing to blindly give over their rights and control of the national treasury to robber barons, and they are no longer willing to be told that the future is grim. 50 years ago a black man couldn't get into a restaurant with white people, now there's one on the way to the White House, that makes me damn proud, and very optimistic.
Friday, December 28, 2007
I'm Tired of Funding Murder
Every day I am bombarded with images of disgraceful women. Our country's pop culture media adores them. The worse they are, the better. These women set very low standards, and a bigger tragedy seems to be that there is an abundance of these horrible females to fill page after page of trash magazine print.
Over the past couple of days there has been a remarkable exception to this vile standard. The media has splashed the life and face of an amazing, brave, progressive woman. A lady with vision who dedicated herself tirelessly to improving the lives of others, and showing younger women how to stand strong in the face of severe danger. Unfortunately, the danger hit too close to home, and after a successful speech of hope given to a thousand eager listeners, she was murdered.
Benazir Bhutto was an amazing voice of peace amid a sea of warmongers, fear peddlers, ruthless dictators, and those who profited from the misery of others. I am still fuming over her untimely death. She wanted to make peace with India and Israel, and stabilize her country. What adds to my anger is the fact that my tax dollars went to fund the murder of this great lady.
The U.S. has given the Musharraf regime billions of dollars to fight the so-called war on terror. Have they caught Osama bin Laden? Nope. Instead they have used those funds to increase their military might and keep a strangle hold on Pakistan. This is the government that has banned all free media, jailed attorneys who represent people mistreated by the government, and repeatedly uses torture. The only reason Musharraf agreed to hold elections in the first place was to keep the U.S. gravy train flowing. This is a man who took power in a coup, do you think he really cares about elections! Bhutto was going to defeat him, so her death was very convenient.
Of course, the Musharraf regime is pinning the blame on our favorite Snowball; al Qaeda. I'm sure within the next few weeks they will do a bang up job showing the link between radical Islamic extremists and Bhutto's murder. Also a prediction, the Bush regime will go right along with it, and breath a big sigh of relief that the attention of the American people is once again distracted from the occupation of Iraq.
Speaking of Iraq, if we had done things properly, instead of making a grab for the third largest oil reserve in the world, maybe we could have played a part in taking down Musharraf and bringing Bhutto back to power. We would have been instrumental in spreading the peace and democracy that our own dictatorship claims to promote, and best of all, it would have been one less murder you and I would have paid for.
Over the past couple of days there has been a remarkable exception to this vile standard. The media has splashed the life and face of an amazing, brave, progressive woman. A lady with vision who dedicated herself tirelessly to improving the lives of others, and showing younger women how to stand strong in the face of severe danger. Unfortunately, the danger hit too close to home, and after a successful speech of hope given to a thousand eager listeners, she was murdered.
Benazir Bhutto was an amazing voice of peace amid a sea of warmongers, fear peddlers, ruthless dictators, and those who profited from the misery of others. I am still fuming over her untimely death. She wanted to make peace with India and Israel, and stabilize her country. What adds to my anger is the fact that my tax dollars went to fund the murder of this great lady.
The U.S. has given the Musharraf regime billions of dollars to fight the so-called war on terror. Have they caught Osama bin Laden? Nope. Instead they have used those funds to increase their military might and keep a strangle hold on Pakistan. This is the government that has banned all free media, jailed attorneys who represent people mistreated by the government, and repeatedly uses torture. The only reason Musharraf agreed to hold elections in the first place was to keep the U.S. gravy train flowing. This is a man who took power in a coup, do you think he really cares about elections! Bhutto was going to defeat him, so her death was very convenient.
Of course, the Musharraf regime is pinning the blame on our favorite Snowball; al Qaeda. I'm sure within the next few weeks they will do a bang up job showing the link between radical Islamic extremists and Bhutto's murder. Also a prediction, the Bush regime will go right along with it, and breath a big sigh of relief that the attention of the American people is once again distracted from the occupation of Iraq.
Speaking of Iraq, if we had done things properly, instead of making a grab for the third largest oil reserve in the world, maybe we could have played a part in taking down Musharraf and bringing Bhutto back to power. We would have been instrumental in spreading the peace and democracy that our own dictatorship claims to promote, and best of all, it would have been one less murder you and I would have paid for.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Thought of the Day: My Favorite Idaho Game
The plan was made to take a two hour drive from Nampa to New Meadows (like any of you know or care about either place, but I'm attempting to be descriptive). On this trip, I was able to show Jeff how to play my favorite Idaho game, which I call, "What's that Smell?"
It's easy to play, and somewhat disturbing. Basically you drive along any given stretch of road surrounded by nothingness until everyone in the car gets a horrible look on their face and exclaims, "What's that smell!?!"
Unfortunately, the answers aren't always the most creative and usually boil down to one of three smells: the White Satin Sugar factory (big, horrible stench), Onions (potatoes aren't the only thing grown in Idaho), or Cowshit (no explanation needed on this one).
We played this game all the way up to New Meadows. We didn't get to play it on the way back, because I was too busy white-knuckling the steering wheel of the rented Chevy Aveo when a huge snowstorm hit. It took us 3.5 hours to get back to my sister's house, but in that time, I concluded that unless someone dies, I'm not visiting in the winter ever again.
California, I love and miss you!
It's easy to play, and somewhat disturbing. Basically you drive along any given stretch of road surrounded by nothingness until everyone in the car gets a horrible look on their face and exclaims, "What's that smell!?!"
Unfortunately, the answers aren't always the most creative and usually boil down to one of three smells: the White Satin Sugar factory (big, horrible stench), Onions (potatoes aren't the only thing grown in Idaho), or Cowshit (no explanation needed on this one).
We played this game all the way up to New Meadows. We didn't get to play it on the way back, because I was too busy white-knuckling the steering wheel of the rented Chevy Aveo when a huge snowstorm hit. It took us 3.5 hours to get back to my sister's house, but in that time, I concluded that unless someone dies, I'm not visiting in the winter ever again.
California, I love and miss you!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Thought of the Day: Idaho Get Over Yourself
I'm in Idaho spending a few days with my family. I'm psyched to see my friends, my niece, and my siblings, but not too happy to be in this place. It's a nice area if you didn't grow up here during the '80s, you know, before they had tall buildings, culture, and civilization. Although Southern Idaho has changed a great deal, it's gotten a bit carried away with itself.
For example:
For example:
- Airport Security - I went to pick up my husband last night and there were three police officers walking around harassing cars stopped at the curb. Most of the planes coming into the Boise airport aren't even regular-sized aircraft, they are a step above the propeller Buddy Holly planes, so there aren't many people or tons of gallons of jet fuel aboard. Also, most Americans don't know where Idaho is, let alone some Islamic terrorist who lives in a shithole in Afghanistan and rides around on a donkey. Trust me, the little nuclear plant in the middle of the state isn't going to be enough to make a would-be fundamentalist board a Big Bopper prop plane.
- Real Estate Prices - They have houses here selling for over $500K! Unless you get 50 acres of land with it, you have to be a fucking moron to even consider paying that price tag, because most of Idaho (even the populated areas) contain vast fields of nothingness. Real estate developers have tried to make some cities and areas more "exclusive" than others, but the truth is that no matter how spiffy the neighborhood might be if you drive a mile in any direction you are going to run into a trailer with a broken down barn in the backyard and three rusted out cars on the front yard.
- Police Protection - The crime rate here is so low that there are police patrolling speed limits everywhere. This is one of the more attractive features about living here; the idea that you can leave your garage door open for an hour, and your possessions will still be there when you remember to close the door. However, between Point A and Point B there is a long road with no cars, and driving 50 mph should not be a crime punishable by a smoky with an attitude and an insurance-raising ticket. If you are going to have cops patrolling every long strip of road running through those vast fields of nothingness the least you could do is offer traffic school to those of us who would like to get to the mall in a reasonable amount of time.
- Family Values State - Stop touting the idea that you are the state that represents family values just because you have a church on every corner. The county I grew up in had one of the top teen pregnancy rates in the Northwest, there is a huge meth problem in the poorer Idaho counties, and Larry Craig is your longtime representative (need I say more).
Monday, December 17, 2007
Thought of the Day: Grateful for What I've Got
I've spent many years trying not to stand in front of the mirror and notice my flaws. When my daughter began to mimic me, as most little ones do, I really kicked it into high gear, because I didn't want her to look at her own reflection with disappointment. I've finally come to a point in my life where I'm happy with the way I look, big ass and all.
Today, I feel especially grateful for my large hips, slightly matronly upper arms, and all of my other flaws, because Pamela Anderson filed for divorce again. Let me explain. Pam is basically the physical manifestation of every straight man's dream. She has ginormous inflata-boobs, a tiny waist, a round butt, and despite being short, great legs. Her face isn't too bad either except for the fake lips and way too much eye shadow, yet I have a better personal life than this beauty queen. Weird isn't it.
Like many women I've spent time dreaming of what life would be like if I had the "perfect" body, and looks that could kill. Now I stop and look around at all of the women the media has declared as perfection and they are really a fucked up bunch. It's actually very sad that Ms. Anderson keeps winding up with losers, and that she doesn't seem to respect herself much.
Maybe I'm capitalizing a bit on someone else's misery, but after reading the news story about Pam's marriage to Paris Hilton's former boyfriend (like that wasn't a big enough flag!), I feel damn grateful for everything I've got, even though it never has a prayer of fitting into single digit sizes.
Today, I feel especially grateful for my large hips, slightly matronly upper arms, and all of my other flaws, because Pamela Anderson filed for divorce again. Let me explain. Pam is basically the physical manifestation of every straight man's dream. She has ginormous inflata-boobs, a tiny waist, a round butt, and despite being short, great legs. Her face isn't too bad either except for the fake lips and way too much eye shadow, yet I have a better personal life than this beauty queen. Weird isn't it.
Like many women I've spent time dreaming of what life would be like if I had the "perfect" body, and looks that could kill. Now I stop and look around at all of the women the media has declared as perfection and they are really a fucked up bunch. It's actually very sad that Ms. Anderson keeps winding up with losers, and that she doesn't seem to respect herself much.
Maybe I'm capitalizing a bit on someone else's misery, but after reading the news story about Pam's marriage to Paris Hilton's former boyfriend (like that wasn't a big enough flag!), I feel damn grateful for everything I've got, even though it never has a prayer of fitting into single digit sizes.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Thought of the Day: Glowing Cats
Scientists in South Korea have cloned cats that glow in the dark.
No...I'm not stoned right now, I'm completely serious, and by cats I do mean litterbox pooping felines that say "meow".
Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of science. I like the idea that in a world filled with reality television, corporate-run governments, and Brittney Spears, there is still enough human innovation to create technology that, crappy cell phone service aside, makes our lives better. However, sometimes I think that a few people have a little too much alone time in the lab, and the glowing cats advances that theory.
The glowing cat scientists say that the experiment was designed to detect disease in human beings, but during my long and decently traveled life, I have yet to see someone suffering from a weird glow-in-the-dark disease (except for those folks in Chernobyl who also have three eyes and I really don't want to see a dog with more than two eyes, so Korean researchers, don't even go there).
I understand cloning. Cloning will make it possible to advance transplant science and grow healthy skin that can be of aid to burn victims or people who have extensive scar tissue, but I'm not too down with the glowing. Then again, I always wonder what kids will be into by the time Rachael becomes a teenager. Instead of the tongue piercings maybe it will be, "But Moooommm, everyone is drinking the glow juice, and it will only make me green for, like, ten days max." Oy vey!
No...I'm not stoned right now, I'm completely serious, and by cats I do mean litterbox pooping felines that say "meow".
Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of science. I like the idea that in a world filled with reality television, corporate-run governments, and Brittney Spears, there is still enough human innovation to create technology that, crappy cell phone service aside, makes our lives better. However, sometimes I think that a few people have a little too much alone time in the lab, and the glowing cats advances that theory.
The glowing cat scientists say that the experiment was designed to detect disease in human beings, but during my long and decently traveled life, I have yet to see someone suffering from a weird glow-in-the-dark disease (except for those folks in Chernobyl who also have three eyes and I really don't want to see a dog with more than two eyes, so Korean researchers, don't even go there).
I understand cloning. Cloning will make it possible to advance transplant science and grow healthy skin that can be of aid to burn victims or people who have extensive scar tissue, but I'm not too down with the glowing. Then again, I always wonder what kids will be into by the time Rachael becomes a teenager. Instead of the tongue piercings maybe it will be, "But Moooommm, everyone is drinking the glow juice, and it will only make me green for, like, ten days max." Oy vey!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Thought of the Day: Pissing on Ike Turner's Grave
Ike Turner died yesterday. He had a tremendous talent for making great music, and I'll be the first to give him that credit. However, he was an absolute bastard of a human being, and I am perplexed as to why I'm looking at all of these glowing reports of his career.
I've never understood the need our society has to make people greater in death than they were in life. Look what happened with Anna Nicole Smith! She was a stripper who spent most of her early years hosting parties at the same house where her son slept, then got famous for being pretty, married a really old guy for money, and finally overdosed. Yet when she died everyone acted like some great person was gone, and the country should feel at a loss. Give me a fucking break!
Now we get to Ike Turner; a man who was arrested multiple times for drug charges, along with episodes of drug-induced violence, and brutalized one of the most talented women ever to sing a note. I've heard people say that Tina would have never gotten to where she is today without Ike, but given the beatings, threats, black eyes, chokings, and split lips, I think she might have preferred to go it on her own and find out.
A man is only as good as the woman who stands beside him, and if the woman can't stand, because he's beaten her too hard, then he isn't shit.
I've never understood the need our society has to make people greater in death than they were in life. Look what happened with Anna Nicole Smith! She was a stripper who spent most of her early years hosting parties at the same house where her son slept, then got famous for being pretty, married a really old guy for money, and finally overdosed. Yet when she died everyone acted like some great person was gone, and the country should feel at a loss. Give me a fucking break!
Now we get to Ike Turner; a man who was arrested multiple times for drug charges, along with episodes of drug-induced violence, and brutalized one of the most talented women ever to sing a note. I've heard people say that Tina would have never gotten to where she is today without Ike, but given the beatings, threats, black eyes, chokings, and split lips, I think she might have preferred to go it on her own and find out.
A man is only as good as the woman who stands beside him, and if the woman can't stand, because he's beaten her too hard, then he isn't shit.
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