I've never had a good relationship with the redheads I've come across. For some reason that particular hair color always belonged to personalities that conflicted with mine. Whether it was Lenny Bisby, the neighborhood bully who threw hot sauce in my face when I was in the second grade, or that chick named Kim who I locked horns with in the 8th grade, truth be told, the only ginger I've ever dealt with on a civil basis was a sweetheart named Michelle who I knew in art school.
Now I find myself loathing all things red-topped once again. This time the subject of my disdain isn't even real, she's an orphan from the depression era 1920's and her name is Annie.
Its a sad and sorted tale, the relationship Annie and I shared. It started back when I was 10. Annie was the tough girl that everyone was quite fond of. She had crazy, red hair and a stinky mutt, but Annie was a talented survivor who made good in the end. I loved her story, and her music, and the cool costumes. I watched Annie over and over again imitating her every move.
Annie and I were inseparable for close to a year, but as with all things in time, she and I grew apart. There were other things coming into the picture; Fraggles, Inspector Gadget, and John Taylor of Duran Duran. My love and affection soon turned towards John, and Annie was all but forgotten; cast aside as an adorable childhood memory.
However, Annie and I weren't through, not by a long shot. Two months ago, Annie re-entered my life, this time befriending my daughter, Rachael. I knew from the moment Rachael saw Annie, she was under the same spell that had captured me 25 years ago. Rachael loves everything Annie does, and all she ever wants to do is talk about Annie. She imitates Annie's tough talk and catch phrases, copies her dance moves, and sings the songs of her beloved Annie, much to my chagrin.
I find myself loathing Annie more and more with each passing day. How could it be that in 25 years my feeling towards Annie could have changed so dramatically? After all, Annie wasn't the one who changed, I was.
Oh, I know...it's the five millionth time I've heard "It's a Hard Knock Life" or perhaps it's the fact that I can't watch anything on TV, because the movie of the day is always Annie. The little redhead is adorable in small does, but 24/7 is more than any mere mortal should have to endure. Sorry Annie, but you grow old with age, same as the rest of us, only we don't get to keep our 'the sun will come out tomorrow' smiles as bright and wrinkle-free.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Best Election Ever
I've already espoused my affection for Barack Obama, so no need to go on further. This will be the best election ever, not because my beloved, yet dysfunctional country, will finally be forced into the new millennium by electing the candidate who is right for the job, not the one they could see themselves having a beer with, it will be the best election ever due to the Cletus factor.
Gas prices have gone through the roof driving people into such desperate means that ignorant-ass, rednecks will be forced to vote for a black guy rather than watch their family starve. This is sad and pathetic, but I choose instead to see the humor in it. I can just see Cletus right now, lumbering up to the votin' booth in his finest Van Halen circa 1980s t-shirt (the one he used to wear to work until one of them illegal Mexicans took his job), looking at the ballot and wantin' like hell to vote for that McCain fella, but Cletus stops, grits his remaining teeth, and punches the card for Obama.
Cletus now knows, what those of us with an education past 8th grade have known for awhile; the Republicans are ineffective corporate whores who don't give a fuck about the working class, and never will, and that by voting for McCain, Cletus won't be able to afford the gas to drive his Chevy to church or the unemployment office. Therefore, as much as he hates blacks (and believe me, Cletus does), he will vote for the black guy, because he can barely afford the payments on his trailer.
If it seems like I'm being elitist and bagging on rednecks a bit too much that is because they deserve it. White, ignorant, Midwestern, Christian, rednecks were the ones who got Bush into office twice. For the far-reaching pain their stupidity has caused my beloved country, they are just going to have to bend over and take my abuse. I just hope like hell they've learned their lesson, then again, for those remaining Cletus-like hold-outs, there will always be a gallon of gas at $5 to push them to, finally, do the right thing.
Gas prices have gone through the roof driving people into such desperate means that ignorant-ass, rednecks will be forced to vote for a black guy rather than watch their family starve. This is sad and pathetic, but I choose instead to see the humor in it. I can just see Cletus right now, lumbering up to the votin' booth in his finest Van Halen circa 1980s t-shirt (the one he used to wear to work until one of them illegal Mexicans took his job), looking at the ballot and wantin' like hell to vote for that McCain fella, but Cletus stops, grits his remaining teeth, and punches the card for Obama.
Cletus now knows, what those of us with an education past 8th grade have known for awhile; the Republicans are ineffective corporate whores who don't give a fuck about the working class, and never will, and that by voting for McCain, Cletus won't be able to afford the gas to drive his Chevy to church or the unemployment office. Therefore, as much as he hates blacks (and believe me, Cletus does), he will vote for the black guy, because he can barely afford the payments on his trailer.
If it seems like I'm being elitist and bagging on rednecks a bit too much that is because they deserve it. White, ignorant, Midwestern, Christian, rednecks were the ones who got Bush into office twice. For the far-reaching pain their stupidity has caused my beloved country, they are just going to have to bend over and take my abuse. I just hope like hell they've learned their lesson, then again, for those remaining Cletus-like hold-outs, there will always be a gallon of gas at $5 to push them to, finally, do the right thing.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Highs, Lows & Everything After
It was one of those weeks. The kind that shake you to the core. I envy the life I had before last Sunday, even the life I had Sunday afternoon. I was solid in knowing where everything stood; who was who; and what was what.
I apologize for my vagueness, but what was revealed Sunday night was the kind of thing one takes to their grave, and now all I'm left with is the angst, sadness, and insecurity brought on by the revelation. I cried like I never have before in my life, not even when my mother died in my arms.
Parents die before their children, if they're lucky. It's normal, the proper place in the life cycle. I attended the funeral of a dear friend of the family, who was like family, last Friday, and I shed a few tears, but she had been sick for quite sometime and the writing was on the wall. I left with a certain amount of sadness, knowing that I would miss her, but when she passed, it didn't feel wrong.
This was not the case with the revelation. It was so very wrong. I cried until my chest ached and my eyes were nearly swollen shut. Then I spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning. All I wanted to do on Monday was curl up in bed, in a dark bedroom, and cry, but I had a work deadline that forced me from my heartbreak. I have never been so grateful for work in my life. I could walk through the door of the business and feel that at least one aspect of my existence was normal.
The next few days after were shaky, and each night I cried myself to sleep, but as the week wore on life began to feel a bit normal again. Now here I am a week later. I can't think about the revelation too hard, or I end up in tears. It sneaks up on me from time to time, but I can, once again, envision life returning to a relative state of normalcy.
The hardest part will be the fact that I will carry the revelation in the back of mind for the rest of my life, and I will take it to my grave, but it is necessary in order to ensure that that which is most precious to me remains whole, happy, and continues to thrive.
Again, many apologies for such awkward vagueness, but writing has always been my way of working things out and finding comfort even when it doesn't make sense to others.
I apologize for my vagueness, but what was revealed Sunday night was the kind of thing one takes to their grave, and now all I'm left with is the angst, sadness, and insecurity brought on by the revelation. I cried like I never have before in my life, not even when my mother died in my arms.
Parents die before their children, if they're lucky. It's normal, the proper place in the life cycle. I attended the funeral of a dear friend of the family, who was like family, last Friday, and I shed a few tears, but she had been sick for quite sometime and the writing was on the wall. I left with a certain amount of sadness, knowing that I would miss her, but when she passed, it didn't feel wrong.
This was not the case with the revelation. It was so very wrong. I cried until my chest ached and my eyes were nearly swollen shut. Then I spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning. All I wanted to do on Monday was curl up in bed, in a dark bedroom, and cry, but I had a work deadline that forced me from my heartbreak. I have never been so grateful for work in my life. I could walk through the door of the business and feel that at least one aspect of my existence was normal.
The next few days after were shaky, and each night I cried myself to sleep, but as the week wore on life began to feel a bit normal again. Now here I am a week later. I can't think about the revelation too hard, or I end up in tears. It sneaks up on me from time to time, but I can, once again, envision life returning to a relative state of normalcy.
The hardest part will be the fact that I will carry the revelation in the back of mind for the rest of my life, and I will take it to my grave, but it is necessary in order to ensure that that which is most precious to me remains whole, happy, and continues to thrive.
Again, many apologies for such awkward vagueness, but writing has always been my way of working things out and finding comfort even when it doesn't make sense to others.
Monday, May 26, 2008
All For Naught
Every time I turned around today I saw photo after photo of young faces. They were smiling, handsome, proud, some in uniform, others posed with their spouse. I watched 30 second tributes to them from a variety of news anchors, and was left with great remorse and seething anger.
Memorial Day was established to honor the fallen who gave their lives serving in the military, but were never able to enjoy a hero's welcome. On this Memorial Day I can't feel pride as an American citizen, because the faces on the news are lives that were wasted on an illegal and immoral war that was sold to us, in part, by the very media that was voicing the 30 second tributes.
Where was that mainstream media when the Bush Administration took our military resources from Afghanistan and directed them into the death pit that is Iraq? How come this same media continues to ignore the outcries from U.S. soldiers back from Iraq to four-star generals who criticize the plan for "winning" the war to the families who have to deal with the burden of non-stop deployment and the daily threat of a pending coffin. I know the mainstream media doesn't give much of a damn about the anti-war movement, because the same company that owns the news probably owns a share of another company that manufactures the weapons, but to watch tribute after tribute from the very source that could have gone after the failed policy from the beginning left me with such a feeling of disgust.
As long as this immoral war continues we are disrespecting our servicemen and women. Our government is failing to give them proper leaves, much needed health care, adequate support for their families, and we are all part of this disrespect. Many leaders say that there can be victory in Iraq, but they fail to look at the long history of that region. It is tribal, it is sectarian, and it is occupied by a group of people whose core belief system links death and glory.
If we truly want to honor our military on Memorial Day, then I hope we get it right in 2009 by shaking their hands on U.S. soil when they are all at home where they should be.
Memorial Day was established to honor the fallen who gave their lives serving in the military, but were never able to enjoy a hero's welcome. On this Memorial Day I can't feel pride as an American citizen, because the faces on the news are lives that were wasted on an illegal and immoral war that was sold to us, in part, by the very media that was voicing the 30 second tributes.
Where was that mainstream media when the Bush Administration took our military resources from Afghanistan and directed them into the death pit that is Iraq? How come this same media continues to ignore the outcries from U.S. soldiers back from Iraq to four-star generals who criticize the plan for "winning" the war to the families who have to deal with the burden of non-stop deployment and the daily threat of a pending coffin. I know the mainstream media doesn't give much of a damn about the anti-war movement, because the same company that owns the news probably owns a share of another company that manufactures the weapons, but to watch tribute after tribute from the very source that could have gone after the failed policy from the beginning left me with such a feeling of disgust.
As long as this immoral war continues we are disrespecting our servicemen and women. Our government is failing to give them proper leaves, much needed health care, adequate support for their families, and we are all part of this disrespect. Many leaders say that there can be victory in Iraq, but they fail to look at the long history of that region. It is tribal, it is sectarian, and it is occupied by a group of people whose core belief system links death and glory.
If we truly want to honor our military on Memorial Day, then I hope we get it right in 2009 by shaking their hands on U.S. soil when they are all at home where they should be.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Dance Class Wars
My husband sometimes makes a practice of talking out of his ass. Case in point; Rachael was 10 months old when Jeff looked at me and said that there was no reason in the world why she couldn't be in the Nordstrom print ads. Having watched way too many E! True Hollywood Stories about child actors, I was completely against it.
My child is absolutely gorgeous, loves to sing (and unlike the rest of our tone-deaf family can carry a tune), can dance without looking like she's convulsing, and doesn't mind getting up in front of a small audience. However, I'm not too keen on the idea of whoring her whimsical kid instinct out to the highest bidder.
After many banters back and forth between my husband and I, we signed baby Rachael up with a local talent agency (who required a $100 retainer), got the headshots done (which was another $300), and got no calls (I mean zilch, zero, nada). Sometimes as a dig, if I'm feeling a bit bitchy, I'll ask Jeff how much interest that $400 would have earned in a college account by now. I haven't done that in quite awhile, because the whole "my kid could be a star" thought pattern hasn't reared it's ugly head until recently.
We signed Rachael up for gymnastics in March. She went for about a month and a half and got bored with it, so we signed her up for tap and dance classes. She went to two classes and absolutely hates it. My first thought is 'she tried it, she's done, time to move on'. Jeff has a bit of a different approach. Rachael loves to sing and dance, he tells me, so let's make her do the dance classes, she'll get used to it and love them.
All the while, Miss Rachael is telling me that she would to go to karate. Every kid loves to sing and dance, but not all want an audience or a stage. In a culture so obsessed with stardom, and living in SoCal, an area where if you don't have a modicum of stardom, you're not shit, I really don't want to encourage this camera-chasing behavior in my kid. If Rachael prefers kicking someone's ass in karate as opposed to dressing in pink tights and singing and dancing, that's fine with me. In fact, I'm downright proud!
The issue of dance class vs. karate still isn't resolved in the Punk in Suburbia household, so it may be awhile before we have a favorable resolution. Until then I'll be happy buying my kid little doctors lab coats and encouraging her to bandage the dogs then asking her to sing yet another rendition of "It's a Hard Knock Life".
My child is absolutely gorgeous, loves to sing (and unlike the rest of our tone-deaf family can carry a tune), can dance without looking like she's convulsing, and doesn't mind getting up in front of a small audience. However, I'm not too keen on the idea of whoring her whimsical kid instinct out to the highest bidder.
After many banters back and forth between my husband and I, we signed baby Rachael up with a local talent agency (who required a $100 retainer), got the headshots done (which was another $300), and got no calls (I mean zilch, zero, nada). Sometimes as a dig, if I'm feeling a bit bitchy, I'll ask Jeff how much interest that $400 would have earned in a college account by now. I haven't done that in quite awhile, because the whole "my kid could be a star" thought pattern hasn't reared it's ugly head until recently.
We signed Rachael up for gymnastics in March. She went for about a month and a half and got bored with it, so we signed her up for tap and dance classes. She went to two classes and absolutely hates it. My first thought is 'she tried it, she's done, time to move on'. Jeff has a bit of a different approach. Rachael loves to sing and dance, he tells me, so let's make her do the dance classes, she'll get used to it and love them.
All the while, Miss Rachael is telling me that she would to go to karate. Every kid loves to sing and dance, but not all want an audience or a stage. In a culture so obsessed with stardom, and living in SoCal, an area where if you don't have a modicum of stardom, you're not shit, I really don't want to encourage this camera-chasing behavior in my kid. If Rachael prefers kicking someone's ass in karate as opposed to dressing in pink tights and singing and dancing, that's fine with me. In fact, I'm downright proud!
The issue of dance class vs. karate still isn't resolved in the Punk in Suburbia household, so it may be awhile before we have a favorable resolution. Until then I'll be happy buying my kid little doctors lab coats and encouraging her to bandage the dogs then asking her to sing yet another rendition of "It's a Hard Knock Life".
Saturday, May 10, 2008
A Few Things I Don't Understand
I haven't had much time for reflexion, since I work way too many hours, but there are little things I've noticed that straight up perplex me. Little ironies that leave me scratching my head and wondering, 'what idiot thought this would be a good idea.' Maybe someone out there has an answer, but I have a feeling many of these things are void of explanation.
Justin Timberlake - Seriously, I don't get it, and I never have. I realize he's not of my generation, so maybe that accounts for something. However, I'm not such an old fart that I can't recognize a handsome young man when I see one. Zach Ephron I totally get, and if I was my niece's tender age, I would be gaga, too, because he's their generation's John Travolta (circa Grease). Justin, though, isn't sexy. His looks are awkward at best, and he has a white guy 'fro, which I'm not saying is a bad thing since I'm married to a guy with a Jew 'fro, but as a general aesthetic rule, white 'fros aren't all that great. His music sucks. From that boy band he used to be in up to his latest over-produced, cultivated-in-a-lab, pop tart CD case of shit, his mark on music more forgettable than anything clever he's ever done, including ripping off Janet Jackson's top at the SuperBowl. If someone could take a moment to explain the whole Justin thing, I would be most appreciative.
Where Does the Bra Go? - I don't know if I don't understand this one, or if it just annoys me, but I went out shopping the other day for a dress to wear to my nephew's Bar Mitzvah, and the question I walked away with was "where does the bra go?" All of the new styles include necklines, straps, and a lack of sleeves, which is fine if your clothing size is single digit, but mine isn't, therefore a natural assumption should be made by clothing makers that once you've crossed the threshold into a non-single digit size a bra is an essential. These clothing makers went to school to learn the fashion industry, so why are they so fucking stupid on this issue! Since the age of 11, I've had boobs, and not tiny, training bra-sized boobs, full on knockers. I sport a size that broads in Newport Beach pay thousands for, yet I can't seem to find a dress that has straps thick enough and strategically placed to hide my bra. I ended up wearing something I bought last October, because it had sleeves. It looked good on, but to some degree I feel a bit robbed.
Gas Tax Holiday - Does Hillary Clinton or John McCain really believe people are going to fall for this bullshit. Their great idea for bringing fiscal relief to millions of Americans is to lift the federal gas tax for the summer. For three months we could save a whole 18 cents! Yippeee! That will definitely off-set the 6 million who have been thrown into poverty since 2000, as well as those trimming their grocery bills in order to afford gas to get them to work. If this is the best solution our so-called "leaders" can come up with, then we definitely need to start an honest discussion about revolution. Barack Obama said that their wonderful gas tax holiday would save Americans a grand total of $30, which is why I'm voting for him. He has been the only one (including the media) who has talked about this being nothing more than populist bullshit, and I respect him for it. I just don't understand why these two power-hungry assholes thought it was a good idea.
Workload - Why am I killing myself working close to 60 hours per week for a salary that falls $15,000 per year short of the California average for someone in my field with my number of years of experience? Frankly, why am I killing myself for any job? I made myself a promise years ago that I would never live to work again, but I've found myself in the same predicament 10 years later. Back then I could afford to make work my life, because I was promoting concerts, loved the music industry, and all I had in my personal life was a family I didn't care to spend time with, and a failing marriage that I was running away from. Now, I have a daughter who is the center of my universe, a husband that I love to be with, friends I like to hang out with, and a family I adore, but I never get to be with them, because work has become my life. I've been postponing having another child, because of work, and I know it's unacceptable. If I didn't like the idea of the business I would have been out after two weeks, but at this point, I don't think ideas are enough to keep me working like a dog and neglecting my family. I just don't understand why its taken me this long to figure it out.
Justin Timberlake - Seriously, I don't get it, and I never have. I realize he's not of my generation, so maybe that accounts for something. However, I'm not such an old fart that I can't recognize a handsome young man when I see one. Zach Ephron I totally get, and if I was my niece's tender age, I would be gaga, too, because he's their generation's John Travolta (circa Grease). Justin, though, isn't sexy. His looks are awkward at best, and he has a white guy 'fro, which I'm not saying is a bad thing since I'm married to a guy with a Jew 'fro, but as a general aesthetic rule, white 'fros aren't all that great. His music sucks. From that boy band he used to be in up to his latest over-produced, cultivated-in-a-lab, pop tart CD case of shit, his mark on music more forgettable than anything clever he's ever done, including ripping off Janet Jackson's top at the SuperBowl. If someone could take a moment to explain the whole Justin thing, I would be most appreciative.
Where Does the Bra Go? - I don't know if I don't understand this one, or if it just annoys me, but I went out shopping the other day for a dress to wear to my nephew's Bar Mitzvah, and the question I walked away with was "where does the bra go?" All of the new styles include necklines, straps, and a lack of sleeves, which is fine if your clothing size is single digit, but mine isn't, therefore a natural assumption should be made by clothing makers that once you've crossed the threshold into a non-single digit size a bra is an essential. These clothing makers went to school to learn the fashion industry, so why are they so fucking stupid on this issue! Since the age of 11, I've had boobs, and not tiny, training bra-sized boobs, full on knockers. I sport a size that broads in Newport Beach pay thousands for, yet I can't seem to find a dress that has straps thick enough and strategically placed to hide my bra. I ended up wearing something I bought last October, because it had sleeves. It looked good on, but to some degree I feel a bit robbed.
Gas Tax Holiday - Does Hillary Clinton or John McCain really believe people are going to fall for this bullshit. Their great idea for bringing fiscal relief to millions of Americans is to lift the federal gas tax for the summer. For three months we could save a whole 18 cents! Yippeee! That will definitely off-set the 6 million who have been thrown into poverty since 2000, as well as those trimming their grocery bills in order to afford gas to get them to work. If this is the best solution our so-called "leaders" can come up with, then we definitely need to start an honest discussion about revolution. Barack Obama said that their wonderful gas tax holiday would save Americans a grand total of $30, which is why I'm voting for him. He has been the only one (including the media) who has talked about this being nothing more than populist bullshit, and I respect him for it. I just don't understand why these two power-hungry assholes thought it was a good idea.
Workload - Why am I killing myself working close to 60 hours per week for a salary that falls $15,000 per year short of the California average for someone in my field with my number of years of experience? Frankly, why am I killing myself for any job? I made myself a promise years ago that I would never live to work again, but I've found myself in the same predicament 10 years later. Back then I could afford to make work my life, because I was promoting concerts, loved the music industry, and all I had in my personal life was a family I didn't care to spend time with, and a failing marriage that I was running away from. Now, I have a daughter who is the center of my universe, a husband that I love to be with, friends I like to hang out with, and a family I adore, but I never get to be with them, because work has become my life. I've been postponing having another child, because of work, and I know it's unacceptable. If I didn't like the idea of the business I would have been out after two weeks, but at this point, I don't think ideas are enough to keep me working like a dog and neglecting my family. I just don't understand why its taken me this long to figure it out.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
No More Wedge Issues
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.
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.
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.
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