There's Something About Iowa and New Hampshire
NYT 9/10/2007 (link above)
I actually registered to vote before I turned 18. The deadline for the general election fell before my birthday, but the general election was after I turned 18. They actually had someone from the Town Clerk's office available during lunch ~ this was decades before anyone had even considered Motor-Voter bills. You had to actually register to vote with that as your singular intention.
I first started going to see Presidential candidates when I about 4 ~ Ford was trying to keep the presidency and Carter was running against a bunch of other Democrats.
I clearly remember the 1980 primaries when Ted Kennedy ran in the primaries against the incumbent Carter and I was too young to realize that Ted wasn't President Kennedy before. Reagan was running against Bush, Kemp, Dole, Howard Baker and a bunch of other forgettables. I was 9 and I met at least Kennedy, Kemp, Baker, Reagan, and maybe Carter.
My mother was a perfect resident for New Hampshire. She was a political junkie. During primary season it was like the circus was in town ~ well, for all intents and purposes, it was.
We washed our hands in the ladies room next to the female TV network anchors. We chatted up journalists from Spain and Ireland and I recorded radio interviews with at least 3 foreign correspondents before I was even old enough to vote.
It was that kind of education that gave me the poise and presence to discuss nuclear proliferation with a US Senator when I was only 11 and stun him with the fact that it was one of the more intelligent conversations he had on the subject.
I kept in touch with him and wrote to him about KAL flight 007 when it was shot down by the Soviets. And he responded.
It was because he didn't treat me like the preteen I was that I went to work for his re-election campaign in 1984, effectively becoming the youngest member of the NH Republican party. (yes, now you know about my dark ugly past.)
In 1984, the Democratic race was wide open. There were a ridiculous number of candidates in NH. I managed to meet Jesse Jackson, Biden, Hart, McGovern, and possibly, Mondale. I also saw Reagan again.
In 1988, it was mass chaos. No running incumbent, so everyone and their brother was running for President. I think my mother made a point of getting me out to see everyone that year ~ we missed Rummsfeld and Laxalt, I believe, because I have no recollection of seeing either of them.
I left New Hampshire after graduating from high school the following year, but still got back to see Dole (again!) and Lamar Alexander (no idea why) and a few others.
I do miss primary season ~ not the constant polling ~ but all the activity. I sometimes watch it on C-SPAN.
And I do think that being raised in that environment makes one more politically aware and take the whole process much more seriously.
I wish I could say that I vote in all elections, even the local ones. Here in Texas, they have this crazy ass system where you can vote for the two weeks before election day at certain supermarkets? And, well, the whole thing just confused the the bejesus out of me and I never managed to vote ~ I couldn't quite figure out if I was supposed to vote at one specific supermarket or what! So I was not able to cast my vote for Kinky for Governor ~ just as well. I was casting a vote out of some immature sense of rebellion. I had somehow worked out that a vote for Kinky Friedman was a slap in the face for W. Not sure on that logic anymore, but at the time it made SO much sense.
Oh, well, it looks as though I will have to live my primary season over C-SPAN. My coworkers tell me that no one even bothers campaigning in Texas, least of all in Austin, the tiny blue spot in that overwhelming sea of red....
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Rescued
I've been listening to this Jack's Mannequin song lately. It's kind of crazy, but it really makes me think of my life 15 years ago. I've got some really ugly anniversaries coming up and it's always good to start early on the traumatic, don't you think?
Anyway, this is the song (complete with semi accurate lyrics for full comprehension) What on earth did we do with ourselves before youtube anyway?
The song reminds me of the most horrible experience in my life up until that point. Imagine, if you will, being a 22 year old senior at one of the top colleges in the country, fielding options for interviews with Andersen Consulting and Morgan Stanley and all that craziness and you're drowning. You can't seem to move past making the perfect plan for your own death.
So somewhere in the midst of midterms, you find yourself sitting in an office while someone talks your completely shell shocked mother through getting pre-approval from her insurance before they get you admitted into a locked psychiatric ward.
Ever seen your world come crashing down around you? In my scenario, it included pregnant women on crack detox, jello, a rather frightening guy from the hood who really did believe he was from outer space and took way too much interest in me and a whole lot of people in white coats.
It was years before Prozac was a drug of choice or the concept that there was a problem that the stigma attached to mental illness was actually a problem. Aside from my family, nearly everyone ran for the nearest emergency exit. I didn't even get a card from my sorority sisters until I had officially dropped out of college and gone home.
So while everyone else was running away from me, my boyfriend was holding on tighter than ever. He was the one person at the hospital every day. Once I had privileges to roam, we'd meet after visiting hours in the cafeteria (as the University hospital, student id got you entrance) and wander. He picked me up when I was discharged and came to visit me when I went home for the rest of the semester. He never judged. He just listened. He was the constant critic of my "perfect suicide" plan, always pointing out the holes, secretly knowing that I would never go through with the plan until I had it perfected. He knew better than to try to talk me out of it that would have been counter productive ~ his way played to my weaknesses.
For me, the song is all about him, all about his choices to stay with me in the chaos and wait it out with me. And looking back, his actions were amazing for a 23 year old kid. I don't think I ever fully thanked him for what he did or what it meant to me.
Years later, long after we had moved on and grown up, I would find it hard to be around him and then leave. He still held a certain power for me ~ like a stillness inside the storm. I could feel like no matter how crazy the disease was, in his presence, I was safe, it would end and I would come through it. I remember a particularly awkward evening when we had dinner together while I was in town for a wedding and when he dropped me off at my hotel, I just couldn't get out of the car. I was having a tough time in grad school and I just needed a fix of that calmness.
It's amazing how much power history can hold for you.
But it has made me realize something.
I don't need to waste my time with anyone who will run for the nearest escape hatch when I get sick. If at 22 I was worthy of a guy who could muster that kind of maturity, then any guy with an extra 15 years of life experience who doesn't pass the "Matt" test just isn't worthy. That would be a deal breaker.
And I don't think I'm asking too much.
Anyway, this is the song (complete with semi accurate lyrics for full comprehension) What on earth did we do with ourselves before youtube anyway?
The song reminds me of the most horrible experience in my life up until that point. Imagine, if you will, being a 22 year old senior at one of the top colleges in the country, fielding options for interviews with Andersen Consulting and Morgan Stanley and all that craziness and you're drowning. You can't seem to move past making the perfect plan for your own death.
So somewhere in the midst of midterms, you find yourself sitting in an office while someone talks your completely shell shocked mother through getting pre-approval from her insurance before they get you admitted into a locked psychiatric ward.
Ever seen your world come crashing down around you? In my scenario, it included pregnant women on crack detox, jello, a rather frightening guy from the hood who really did believe he was from outer space and took way too much interest in me and a whole lot of people in white coats.
It was years before Prozac was a drug of choice or the concept that there was a problem that the stigma attached to mental illness was actually a problem. Aside from my family, nearly everyone ran for the nearest emergency exit. I didn't even get a card from my sorority sisters until I had officially dropped out of college and gone home.
So while everyone else was running away from me, my boyfriend was holding on tighter than ever. He was the one person at the hospital every day. Once I had privileges to roam, we'd meet after visiting hours in the cafeteria (as the University hospital, student id got you entrance) and wander. He picked me up when I was discharged and came to visit me when I went home for the rest of the semester. He never judged. He just listened. He was the constant critic of my "perfect suicide" plan, always pointing out the holes, secretly knowing that I would never go through with the plan until I had it perfected. He knew better than to try to talk me out of it that would have been counter productive ~ his way played to my weaknesses.
For me, the song is all about him, all about his choices to stay with me in the chaos and wait it out with me. And looking back, his actions were amazing for a 23 year old kid. I don't think I ever fully thanked him for what he did or what it meant to me.
Years later, long after we had moved on and grown up, I would find it hard to be around him and then leave. He still held a certain power for me ~ like a stillness inside the storm. I could feel like no matter how crazy the disease was, in his presence, I was safe, it would end and I would come through it. I remember a particularly awkward evening when we had dinner together while I was in town for a wedding and when he dropped me off at my hotel, I just couldn't get out of the car. I was having a tough time in grad school and I just needed a fix of that calmness.
It's amazing how much power history can hold for you.
But it has made me realize something.
I don't need to waste my time with anyone who will run for the nearest escape hatch when I get sick. If at 22 I was worthy of a guy who could muster that kind of maturity, then any guy with an extra 15 years of life experience who doesn't pass the "Matt" test just isn't worthy. That would be a deal breaker.
And I don't think I'm asking too much.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Clearly, Everyone is NOT New Hampshire
Oh those crazy Presidential Primaries! And let's not forget the even crazier political parties!!
It's become a pissing contest of the highest proportion.
The states are jockeying for earlier primaries and the national committees are threatening to only allow half of their delegates to the national convention if they move their primaries ahead of the February 5th golden starting line. So the state's are flexing their electoral college muscles and swing state value, calling the threats empty.
Florida is even using double negatives!!!
Oh, WHATEVER. Your Governor's brother can't run again. Everyone KNOWS Gore won the 2000 election and that your citizens are incapable of using the simplest of balloting systems.
Meanwhile, New Hampshire has maturely accepted the fact that they may be penalized for following their constitutional amendment that requires them to have the first presidential primary in the nation. The Democratic party has made an exception for NH and SC recognizing that they historically have early primaries while the Republican party appears to be incapable of making exceptions for special circumstances. How very Neoconservative AND Christian of them!
STILL...
No one seems to have figured out that all this jockeying for early primaries is going to give the later primaries more power.
Why?
With so many early primaries, there won't be a clear winner until the later primaries hit.
Think about it.
With so many primaries to focus on candidates are cherry picking the states they'll concentrate on. Many candidates are choosing not to even participate in all the state primaries.
In a normal primary season, the candidates run all out in the early primaries and several have dropped out by the time Super Tuesday comes around. With the field culled, candidates running low on funds, the leader(s) have effectively been chosen by the late primaries.
Now with all the early primaries and candidates selecting where they are (in effect) running, there could be several "leaders" coming out of Not-so-Super Tuesday and it will be up to the final primaries and those states will have the honor of hosting the BIG primaries that decide the elections. If we don't have too many media relayed self destructions, we could actually go into conventions without the candidates chosen.
In that case, Michigan and Florida could be very right. The importance of their delegates will depend on who the party leadership wants to get the nomination and who holds their delegates.
But let's hope not. I really hate it when Florida is right.
It's become a pissing contest of the highest proportion.
The states are jockeying for earlier primaries and the national committees are threatening to only allow half of their delegates to the national convention if they move their primaries ahead of the February 5th golden starting line. So the state's are flexing their electoral college muscles and swing state value, calling the threats empty.
Florida is even using double negatives!!!
“I am confident that the Republican National Committee or any eventual nominee will not allow the voices of Florida voters not to be heard,” he said. “Florida is too important a state as it relates electing to the next president.”
Oh, WHATEVER. Your Governor's brother can't run again. Everyone KNOWS Gore won the 2000 election and that your citizens are incapable of using the simplest of balloting systems.
Meanwhile, New Hampshire has maturely accepted the fact that they may be penalized for following their constitutional amendment that requires them to have the first presidential primary in the nation. The Democratic party has made an exception for NH and SC recognizing that they historically have early primaries while the Republican party appears to be incapable of making exceptions for special circumstances. How very Neoconservative AND Christian of them!
STILL...
No one seems to have figured out that all this jockeying for early primaries is going to give the later primaries more power.
Why?
With so many early primaries, there won't be a clear winner until the later primaries hit.
Think about it.
With so many primaries to focus on candidates are cherry picking the states they'll concentrate on. Many candidates are choosing not to even participate in all the state primaries.
In a normal primary season, the candidates run all out in the early primaries and several have dropped out by the time Super Tuesday comes around. With the field culled, candidates running low on funds, the leader(s) have effectively been chosen by the late primaries.
Now with all the early primaries and candidates selecting where they are (in effect) running, there could be several "leaders" coming out of Not-so-Super Tuesday and it will be up to the final primaries and those states will have the honor of hosting the BIG primaries that decide the elections. If we don't have too many media relayed self destructions, we could actually go into conventions without the candidates chosen.
In that case, Michigan and Florida could be very right. The importance of their delegates will depend on who the party leadership wants to get the nomination and who holds their delegates.
But let's hope not. I really hate it when Florida is right.
Monday, August 27, 2007
What makes me happy...
Have I mentioned that I grow orchids? It's one of those eccentric hobbies that seem to be the providence of solitary men with truly odd personalities like James Jesus Angleton, the legendary counter intelligence agent in the early days of the CIA, codename, MOTHER.
I cannot claim to be that odd or paranoid, but perhaps it is because I am drawn in by the beauty of the flower and not the intrinsic challenge of it, that makes me different from other orchid enthusiasts. I was, after all, drawn into the world of orchid growing by two individuals, or perhaps, entities, that were positive influences in my life during some of the worst years of my life. One was my therapist ~ who could possibly fall into the eccentric orchid grower whose interest involves the challenge ~ and the other was a local orchid grower who had nine greenhouses full of orchids and supplied the local botanical garden with a conservatory wing full of orchids. Between the two of them I received an education on phalaenopses and dendrobiums and other more exotic plants ~ the whys and hows of the spiking; the sizes of the blooms; the ways in which the orchids evolve within their surroundings; the fact that orchids are not the fussy, needy plants we are led to believe ~ in fact, benign neglect can sometimes be the best care. Many people kill them with too much attention.
Today I found this photo, from the Kew Gardens Orchid Festival. It's a hybrid of Baldan's Kaleidoscope, my favorite phal. Another orchid grower once told me that redheads have an affinity for Baldan's and vice verse ~ a rather interesting thought. I have no idea.
But when one of my orchids spikes and blooms with these amazing flowers. That's what makes me happy.
I cannot claim to be that odd or paranoid, but perhaps it is because I am drawn in by the beauty of the flower and not the intrinsic challenge of it, that makes me different from other orchid enthusiasts. I was, after all, drawn into the world of orchid growing by two individuals, or perhaps, entities, that were positive influences in my life during some of the worst years of my life. One was my therapist ~ who could possibly fall into the eccentric orchid grower whose interest involves the challenge ~ and the other was a local orchid grower who had nine greenhouses full of orchids and supplied the local botanical garden with a conservatory wing full of orchids. Between the two of them I received an education on phalaenopses and dendrobiums and other more exotic plants ~ the whys and hows of the spiking; the sizes of the blooms; the ways in which the orchids evolve within their surroundings; the fact that orchids are not the fussy, needy plants we are led to believe ~ in fact, benign neglect can sometimes be the best care. Many people kill them with too much attention.
Today I found this photo, from the Kew Gardens Orchid Festival. It's a hybrid of Baldan's Kaleidoscope, my favorite phal. Another orchid grower once told me that redheads have an affinity for Baldan's and vice verse ~ a rather interesting thought. I have no idea.
But when one of my orchids spikes and blooms with these amazing flowers. That's what makes me happy.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Those Low Grades in College May Haunt Your Job Search
A young applicant’s G.P.A. is the best single predictor of job performance in the first few years of employment.
This is from an article published in the New York Times on December 31, 2006. [see link above]
Oddly not, April 1, 2007.
As I approach my 15 year college reunion, let me offer a few random thoughts on this...
HA!
Seriously???
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???
In the last fifteen years I don't remember ANYONE asking about my college GPA. I think graduate school may have wanted the transcript, but that was it. And you know honestly, the fact the I GRADUATED from such an ACADEMICALLY CHALLENGING college was more than enough.
Here's the real truth: Once you get a graduate degree, no one even wants to see your undergraduate transcript. They just want to see proof of your highest degree.
Now if I were a bit less honest and didn't believe that with complete certainty that I would get caught, I would take advantage of this and make my undergraduate years a bit more interesting... I'm sure four years in Palo Alto would have been more fun than the four I spent in Baltimore (seriously, who gets mugged in Palo Alto???), but I'm just not going to go there. (And seriously, who would actually question it? Like I've ever interviewed with an actual Stanford graduate???? Like I've ever even interviewed with a Hopkins grad??? PLEASE!)
But this is what I love about the article. The guy who is the great authority on GPA predicting job performance hires for such industry giants as the Home Shopping Network, Ticketmaster and Match.com!!! Remind me again, are those Fortune 100 or Fortune 500? And they employ highly skilled, really intelligent individuals to do things like.... okay, I'm drawing a blank on the very important services they provide without which our nation would crumble... Right, over priced tickets, sub quality products for shut-ins and shopaholics with credit cards, TVs and telephones and, of course, dating opportunities for computer geeks, potential stalkers and xenophobes (present company included ~ xenophobe, if you must know). What would we do without them?
Meanwhile, those Fortune 500 companies will probably continue hiring using the tried and true standards they've used for centuries. Nepotism never hurt, even Jane Austen recognized that one. And a perfect GPA from some crappy college isn't going to even get you in the door, honey, because the big boys choose who to recruit. They go directly to the schools from which they want their staff to come.
Why do you think you hear about students at Brown protesting the CIA recruiters on campus but you never hear about students at West Podunk Community College doing the same? Is it because the students at WPCC are less organized, liberal and politically aware? Quite possibly. But more likely, it's because the CIA isn't recruiting at WPCC since, among other reasons, they don't have a programs in applied mathematics (or as the cool kids call it "apple math") or advances languages.
And as far as the ridiculous [RIDICULOUS] notion that there is some correlation between intelligence and GPA ~ first let me suggest that everyone involved in this article had excellent GPAs but could never quite test their way into MENSA ~ now that my juvenile jibing has satisfied, wait, who am I kidding? These people are frickin' morons!!!
Albert Einstein failed math. Kurt Vonnegut failed college English. Obliviously these grades reflect their lack of intellect. Get over yourselves! Once you're too old for your parents to post your report card on the fridge, it no longer matters.
"Truth #147: No one really cares about your GPA."
I had that postcard posted on my door throughout most of college. While my roommate attended offices hours, had TAs and professors read drafts of papers, kissed asses and collected copies of other students' notes all in a grand effort to make sure her B+ or A- would be an A, I quietly lost respect for her. In my land of ultra-integrity, she had crossed the line of "earning" those grades. In fact, she was taking up vital resources (the time and energy of the TAs and professors, the goodwill of other students) that should have be allocated to students who were really struggling with the course material, not that the culture of the university would ever allow someone to make that admission ~ the shame would be far too great.
So, in my mind, the great GPAs began to take on a completely different meaning. Not one of the student who has superior understanding, does superior work and shows superior skill, but of the student who works the system, kisses the asses and plays the game. None of those things were worthy of reward in my mind. They demonstrated a lack of character, an almost sociopathic narcissism. And those few people who did receive their GPA based on superior skills and work were completely lacking in social skills or the ability to interact with other people, mostly since they had spent the past four years in the underground library to compete against the students who were working the system.
Any way you look at it you lose.
Let's return then to reality. We'll all admit something to ourselves and to God ~ I never did want to work for Ticketmaster, the Home Shopping Network or Match.com. And as my uncle Billy (who graduated last in his electrical engineering program at Cornell, and who I should mention has made a killing in the stock market,) once told me, the guy with the highest GPA and the guy with the lowest GPA walk away with the exact same diploma. (This is best NOT to consider when selecting a physician...)
NO ONE CARES WHAT YOUR GPA WAS!
This is from an article published in the New York Times on December 31, 2006. [see link above]
Oddly not, April 1, 2007.
As I approach my 15 year college reunion, let me offer a few random thoughts on this...
HA!
Seriously???
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???
In the last fifteen years I don't remember ANYONE asking about my college GPA. I think graduate school may have wanted the transcript, but that was it. And you know honestly, the fact the I GRADUATED from such an ACADEMICALLY CHALLENGING college was more than enough.
Here's the real truth: Once you get a graduate degree, no one even wants to see your undergraduate transcript. They just want to see proof of your highest degree.
Now if I were a bit less honest and didn't believe that with complete certainty that I would get caught, I would take advantage of this and make my undergraduate years a bit more interesting... I'm sure four years in Palo Alto would have been more fun than the four I spent in Baltimore (seriously, who gets mugged in Palo Alto???), but I'm just not going to go there. (And seriously, who would actually question it? Like I've ever interviewed with an actual Stanford graduate???? Like I've ever even interviewed with a Hopkins grad??? PLEASE!)
But this is what I love about the article. The guy who is the great authority on GPA predicting job performance hires for such industry giants as the Home Shopping Network, Ticketmaster and Match.com!!! Remind me again, are those Fortune 100 or Fortune 500? And they employ highly skilled, really intelligent individuals to do things like.... okay, I'm drawing a blank on the very important services they provide without which our nation would crumble... Right, over priced tickets, sub quality products for shut-ins and shopaholics with credit cards, TVs and telephones and, of course, dating opportunities for computer geeks, potential stalkers and xenophobes (present company included ~ xenophobe, if you must know). What would we do without them?
Meanwhile, those Fortune 500 companies will probably continue hiring using the tried and true standards they've used for centuries. Nepotism never hurt, even Jane Austen recognized that one. And a perfect GPA from some crappy college isn't going to even get you in the door, honey, because the big boys choose who to recruit. They go directly to the schools from which they want their staff to come.
Why do you think you hear about students at Brown protesting the CIA recruiters on campus but you never hear about students at West Podunk Community College doing the same? Is it because the students at WPCC are less organized, liberal and politically aware? Quite possibly. But more likely, it's because the CIA isn't recruiting at WPCC since, among other reasons, they don't have a programs in applied mathematics (or as the cool kids call it "apple math") or advances languages.
And as far as the ridiculous [RIDICULOUS] notion that there is some correlation between intelligence and GPA ~ first let me suggest that everyone involved in this article had excellent GPAs but could never quite test their way into MENSA ~ now that my juvenile jibing has satisfied, wait, who am I kidding? These people are frickin' morons!!!
Albert Einstein failed math. Kurt Vonnegut failed college English. Obliviously these grades reflect their lack of intellect. Get over yourselves! Once you're too old for your parents to post your report card on the fridge, it no longer matters.
"Truth #147: No one really cares about your GPA."
I had that postcard posted on my door throughout most of college. While my roommate attended offices hours, had TAs and professors read drafts of papers, kissed asses and collected copies of other students' notes all in a grand effort to make sure her B+ or A- would be an A, I quietly lost respect for her. In my land of ultra-integrity, she had crossed the line of "earning" those grades. In fact, she was taking up vital resources (the time and energy of the TAs and professors, the goodwill of other students) that should have be allocated to students who were really struggling with the course material, not that the culture of the university would ever allow someone to make that admission ~ the shame would be far too great.
So, in my mind, the great GPAs began to take on a completely different meaning. Not one of the student who has superior understanding, does superior work and shows superior skill, but of the student who works the system, kisses the asses and plays the game. None of those things were worthy of reward in my mind. They demonstrated a lack of character, an almost sociopathic narcissism. And those few people who did receive their GPA based on superior skills and work were completely lacking in social skills or the ability to interact with other people, mostly since they had spent the past four years in the underground library to compete against the students who were working the system.
Any way you look at it you lose.
Let's return then to reality. We'll all admit something to ourselves and to God ~ I never did want to work for Ticketmaster, the Home Shopping Network or Match.com. And as my uncle Billy (who graduated last in his electrical engineering program at Cornell, and who I should mention has made a killing in the stock market,) once told me, the guy with the highest GPA and the guy with the lowest GPA walk away with the exact same diploma. (This is best NOT to consider when selecting a physician...)
NO ONE CARES WHAT YOUR GPA WAS!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
How I know, with almost absolute certainty, the we're not living in The Sims
So there's some philosopher at Oxford that has posited, perhaps for the sake of argument, that our entire world could be just a simulation under the control of a single individual playing a game. And there are others, who perhaps having seen the Matrix movies (Matrices, anyone?) too many time, think it is possible that the world down the rabbit hole is the real one.
Here's how I know that the real world is actually real.
There was a time when I had a bit of a Sims obsession. I still plan to return to it once my desktop computer is up and running, because it is a rather fun obsession.
Anyway, to get back on point, this is not so much about the Sims as it is about people who play the Sims.
If you've ever spent much time on the forums, you'll find there are a few different types of players.
There are those that play to decorate and beautify the world. They create new architectural features, furniture, landscapes, clothing, houses, objects, skin/makeup/hair. They are artists and they look to perfect the world in which their Sims inhabit. Many don't even play the game, they create dream worlds.
Others perverse the game. I don't mean this as a judgement call. They interbreed to create alien races. They create the least human-like Sims they can and make a society a new creatures.
Then there are the code writers who try to advance the game. They create objects with special powers ~ coffee that allows individuals to no longer need sleep, toys that potty train toddlers or puppies, books that give faster skill points, paintings that make friends, plants that care for themselves, new careers, telescopes that prevent or guarantee alien abductions...
And last, but certainly not least, there are the pranksters. And let's be honest, a large proportion of them work for Maxis. When I first got Sims2, I remember getting the option to "stare at the sky" when I click outside with one of my Sims and wondered why on earth I would want to do that. A few days later when reading in one of the forums, I found out why. Once in a while when you have a Sim "stare at the sky", a satellite drops out of the sky and kills him/her. Maxis thinks of everything! And the Sims has always been filled with such goodies!
Where else does Death actually show up to collect and individual, sometimes stopping to use the bathroom or help himself to a cup of espresso or to listen to a loved one plead for the life of the recently deceased? Want to play chess with Death? It happens. Have an ex you want to torment? Just put him or her in the game and have at it. I have yet to meet a prankster who hasn't pulled the disappearing diving board and stairs pool trick. No Sim can resist a swim, then you pause the game and remove the escape route and, voila, drowning Sim. And after Death leaves, you can sell their ashes for cash, or let them haunt your remaining Sims for continued entertainment.
I once starved a police officer in one of my Sim homes because I couldn't find another way to get him to leave. He was just stuck. The rest of the family went about their regular activities and he just hung out. Since it wasn't his house, he couldn't actually do any cooking, so he died of benign neglect. I had hoped when he got hungry enough he would go home. That didn't stop me from selling his urn. The family was a little strapped for cash with the new baby.
I've heard of player creating 'death rooms' for getting rid of the more irritating nannies, people creating entire haunted towns.
And Sims is very much unlike real life ~ you rarely get pregnant if you're not trying, teens can't even have sex, and at least someone always knows how strongly each individual feels about one another.
So, until ladders start mysteriously disappearing from pools, books make people more athletic, men start giving birth to alien babies, unwanted pregnancies dissipate and teen pregnancies disappear altogether (and my ex-boyfriend gets killed by a falling satellite), I'm going to stick with my assertion that we're not living in The Sims!
Here's how I know that the real world is actually real.
There was a time when I had a bit of a Sims obsession. I still plan to return to it once my desktop computer is up and running, because it is a rather fun obsession.
Anyway, to get back on point, this is not so much about the Sims as it is about people who play the Sims.
If you've ever spent much time on the forums, you'll find there are a few different types of players.
There are those that play to decorate and beautify the world. They create new architectural features, furniture, landscapes, clothing, houses, objects, skin/makeup/hair. They are artists and they look to perfect the world in which their Sims inhabit. Many don't even play the game, they create dream worlds.
Others perverse the game. I don't mean this as a judgement call. They interbreed to create alien races. They create the least human-like Sims they can and make a society a new creatures.
Then there are the code writers who try to advance the game. They create objects with special powers ~ coffee that allows individuals to no longer need sleep, toys that potty train toddlers or puppies, books that give faster skill points, paintings that make friends, plants that care for themselves, new careers, telescopes that prevent or guarantee alien abductions...
And last, but certainly not least, there are the pranksters. And let's be honest, a large proportion of them work for Maxis. When I first got Sims2, I remember getting the option to "stare at the sky" when I click outside with one of my Sims and wondered why on earth I would want to do that. A few days later when reading in one of the forums, I found out why. Once in a while when you have a Sim "stare at the sky", a satellite drops out of the sky and kills him/her. Maxis thinks of everything! And the Sims has always been filled with such goodies!
Where else does Death actually show up to collect and individual, sometimes stopping to use the bathroom or help himself to a cup of espresso or to listen to a loved one plead for the life of the recently deceased? Want to play chess with Death? It happens. Have an ex you want to torment? Just put him or her in the game and have at it. I have yet to meet a prankster who hasn't pulled the disappearing diving board and stairs pool trick. No Sim can resist a swim, then you pause the game and remove the escape route and, voila, drowning Sim. And after Death leaves, you can sell their ashes for cash, or let them haunt your remaining Sims for continued entertainment.
I once starved a police officer in one of my Sim homes because I couldn't find another way to get him to leave. He was just stuck. The rest of the family went about their regular activities and he just hung out. Since it wasn't his house, he couldn't actually do any cooking, so he died of benign neglect. I had hoped when he got hungry enough he would go home. That didn't stop me from selling his urn. The family was a little strapped for cash with the new baby.
I've heard of player creating 'death rooms' for getting rid of the more irritating nannies, people creating entire haunted towns.
And Sims is very much unlike real life ~ you rarely get pregnant if you're not trying, teens can't even have sex, and at least someone always knows how strongly each individual feels about one another.
So, until ladders start mysteriously disappearing from pools, books make people more athletic, men start giving birth to alien babies, unwanted pregnancies dissipate and teen pregnancies disappear altogether (and my ex-boyfriend gets killed by a falling satellite), I'm going to stick with my assertion that we're not living in The Sims!
Friday, August 03, 2007
BIG Bodies of Water
It's strange having grown up on the East Coast. You believe you know what it's like to live near a large body of water. It's the Atlantic Ocean for god's sake. It's huge! The gravitational force of another planet actually controls it's tides, huge.
You actually believe that living near this body of water is a vital part of your existence. You can't imagine not living on a coast. It's like the distance from the great tides somehow affects you.
You live with a constant calculation of distance to the water. Under two hours is acceptable. Anything more, questionable.
But it's not like you're planning an escape. Like there's a submarine off shore.
It's just a strange superstition you developed because you grew up in a county with a coast.
And well, the West Coast, it just completely messes with your sense of direction. The water shouldn't be to the West. When you're traveling North the water should be to the right, South to the left, otherwise you're just lost.
Lost.
Then somehow you wind up in the center of the country. No oceans.
That's when you meet the big bodies of water of American myth and legend ~ the Great Mississippi, the Mighty Colorado - true waterways, unlike the Connecticut or the James. While the other water powers hurricanes and Nor'easters, these are of the waters of floods and droughts. They bisect the country, the continental divide. Other rivers run East and West of them, literally.
But it's not until they swallow people up that you remember how mighty they actually are. Somehow the fact they you don't need a 747 to cross them diminishes their danger. Don't be fooled.
We thought we could tame them. With damns and canals and such. Silly us. We are the Sigfried and Roy to the river's Bengal tiger; it plays along when it feels like it, but when push comes to shove, it will go for the jugular every time.
I lived here for over a year before realizing that Lake Travis, Town Lake were all the Colorado River. I mean, I knew they weren't actual lakes, I just didn't know it was the Colorado.
I cross that river every day. Twice in fact. Until the bridge in Minnesota collapsed, it didn't even occur to me how amazing that is.
So how does my former self survive thoousands of miles from the Atlantic? I go back and stick my feet in every year. But I don't think it matters so much when you really don't like the beach.
You actually believe that living near this body of water is a vital part of your existence. You can't imagine not living on a coast. It's like the distance from the great tides somehow affects you.
You live with a constant calculation of distance to the water. Under two hours is acceptable. Anything more, questionable.
But it's not like you're planning an escape. Like there's a submarine off shore.
It's just a strange superstition you developed because you grew up in a county with a coast.
And well, the West Coast, it just completely messes with your sense of direction. The water shouldn't be to the West. When you're traveling North the water should be to the right, South to the left, otherwise you're just lost.
Lost.
Then somehow you wind up in the center of the country. No oceans.
That's when you meet the big bodies of water of American myth and legend ~ the Great Mississippi, the Mighty Colorado - true waterways, unlike the Connecticut or the James. While the other water powers hurricanes and Nor'easters, these are of the waters of floods and droughts. They bisect the country, the continental divide. Other rivers run East and West of them, literally.
But it's not until they swallow people up that you remember how mighty they actually are. Somehow the fact they you don't need a 747 to cross them diminishes their danger. Don't be fooled.
We thought we could tame them. With damns and canals and such. Silly us. We are the Sigfried and Roy to the river's Bengal tiger; it plays along when it feels like it, but when push comes to shove, it will go for the jugular every time.
I lived here for over a year before realizing that Lake Travis, Town Lake were all the Colorado River. I mean, I knew they weren't actual lakes, I just didn't know it was the Colorado.
I cross that river every day. Twice in fact. Until the bridge in Minnesota collapsed, it didn't even occur to me how amazing that is.
So how does my former self survive thoousands of miles from the Atlantic? I go back and stick my feet in every year. But I don't think it matters so much when you really don't like the beach.
Monday, June 18, 2007
This is the value of a "brand name" education
The other night over dinner, my boyfriend and I were discussing tuition prices for our first year of college. He started at UT Austin in the Fall of 1988; I started at Johns Hopkins University in the Fall of 1989. His first semester as a Texas resident was $450 and the price rose to $500 his second semester, making the grand total for his first year of college education a full $950. Now I, the East Coast Sophisticate, as he teases me, paid (or rather, my father paid) $15,000 for my first year of tuition.
Insane? Obviously.
To the outside observer, anyway.
He was a student on a campus of 50,000 students, while I enjoyed the relative quiet of being amongst less than 3,000 undergrads and a few hundred more graduate students. I knew a large proportion of my graduating class, but I know he can't say the same. And while we are both very intelligent people, I have experienced being one of the least intelligent people in a class or just simply in a room. He has not. He understands not wanting to be the smartest person in a room, but he's never spent years in a place where, even in an elevator or bathroom, you knew with almost absolute certainty that you weren't the smartest person in the room. I can't quite explain the comfort in that, but there's something easy about being able to use all your SAT words and skip as many steps in logical thought as you want, over a bowl of Lucky Charms, and not feel self conscious about it.
But here's the true power of the designer label education. It's where your friends wind up. I not only know doctors and lawyers and professors and such, but I know a great transplant surgeon in New York City. I can email a friend and get a referral to one of the top specialists on a rare autoimmune disorder for a friend's brother. In the space of 20 minutes, I can get a full explanation on the current methodology for biopsies of breast lumps and a recommendation for a second opinion.
It's that part of what college is about? Making the connections that will help you throughout your life? I don't mean to suggest that there aren't many people who graduated from UT who have gone on to do amazing things and help their former classmates, just that there were probably a higher proportion of Hopkins alum who did and with the smaller number of students, one had a much higher probability of actually knowing them.
We're just going to ignore the guy I went to school with who produces Pimp My Ride. That works for you, right?
Insane? Obviously.
To the outside observer, anyway.
He was a student on a campus of 50,000 students, while I enjoyed the relative quiet of being amongst less than 3,000 undergrads and a few hundred more graduate students. I knew a large proportion of my graduating class, but I know he can't say the same. And while we are both very intelligent people, I have experienced being one of the least intelligent people in a class or just simply in a room. He has not. He understands not wanting to be the smartest person in a room, but he's never spent years in a place where, even in an elevator or bathroom, you knew with almost absolute certainty that you weren't the smartest person in the room. I can't quite explain the comfort in that, but there's something easy about being able to use all your SAT words and skip as many steps in logical thought as you want, over a bowl of Lucky Charms, and not feel self conscious about it.
But here's the true power of the designer label education. It's where your friends wind up. I not only know doctors and lawyers and professors and such, but I know a great transplant surgeon in New York City. I can email a friend and get a referral to one of the top specialists on a rare autoimmune disorder for a friend's brother. In the space of 20 minutes, I can get a full explanation on the current methodology for biopsies of breast lumps and a recommendation for a second opinion.
It's that part of what college is about? Making the connections that will help you throughout your life? I don't mean to suggest that there aren't many people who graduated from UT who have gone on to do amazing things and help their former classmates, just that there were probably a higher proportion of Hopkins alum who did and with the smaller number of students, one had a much higher probability of actually knowing them.
We're just going to ignore the guy I went to school with who produces Pimp My Ride. That works for you, right?
Friday, June 15, 2007
Sometimes I Miss New Hampshire
Why does it take a ridiculous Travel section article in the New York Times to remind what I left behind? And an incomplete article at that! Nowhere do they mention the trained bears at Clark's Trading Post!!!
My sister wrote an essay many years ago about growing up in our small suburb. In the essay, she spoke about her experiences living in Mexico where there is an almost mystical connection to where you come from, where your roots were planted. The place leaves an indelible imprint upon you. It is the origin of you, whether you like it or not.
My new boyfriend asked me if I wanted to go back to New Hampshire someday. He has become my conscious ~ he corrects me when I give my vague answer to "Where do you come from?" He doesn't let me get away with my well rehearsed pat answer "Outside of Boston." It's not a lie; it just lacks accuracy. They've even renamed the airport the is half in my hometown, The Manchester-Boston Regional International Airport.
It's not that I'm ashamed of being from NH. I love the first in the nation primary and the libertarian spirit of the state. The world looks a whole lot different from New Hampshire than it does from anywhere else.
It's just that the further away from New England you get, the less people understand New Hampshire. They lump us all together; Maine is Vermont is New Hampshire is Massachusetts is Rhode Island is Connecticut which might as well be New York or New Jersey. See what I'm saying? New Hampshire is NOT New Jersey. It's not even Massachusetts on its very worst day.
But on days like these, no matter how much I appreciate the fact that I left New Hampshire, when I see a picture like this, I miss New Hampshire.
My sister wrote an essay many years ago about growing up in our small suburb. In the essay, she spoke about her experiences living in Mexico where there is an almost mystical connection to where you come from, where your roots were planted. The place leaves an indelible imprint upon you. It is the origin of you, whether you like it or not.
My new boyfriend asked me if I wanted to go back to New Hampshire someday. He has become my conscious ~ he corrects me when I give my vague answer to "Where do you come from?" He doesn't let me get away with my well rehearsed pat answer "Outside of Boston." It's not a lie; it just lacks accuracy. They've even renamed the airport the is half in my hometown, The Manchester-Boston Regional International Airport.
It's not that I'm ashamed of being from NH. I love the first in the nation primary and the libertarian spirit of the state. The world looks a whole lot different from New Hampshire than it does from anywhere else.
It's just that the further away from New England you get, the less people understand New Hampshire. They lump us all together; Maine is Vermont is New Hampshire is Massachusetts is Rhode Island is Connecticut which might as well be New York or New Jersey. See what I'm saying? New Hampshire is NOT New Jersey. It's not even Massachusetts on its very worst day.
But on days like these, no matter how much I appreciate the fact that I left New Hampshire, when I see a picture like this, I miss New Hampshire.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Relief and Perhaps a Little Disappointment
On my way home from work last night I went to the grocery store to get the pregnancy test. I bought some healthy food as well since I should be eating better just on general principle.
The young kid at the check out was hysterical. It was like he was frightened by the pregnancy test, like it had special powers. He seemed to be afraid to touch it with his bare hands because if he did, the next female he touched may become pregnant. It was all I could do not to laugh at him, but seriously, the comic relief I needed.
Who knew peeing on a stick was such a complex skill???
I could hardly sleep as I was recounting the odd first trimester-like symptoms I was experiencing ~ bionic sense of smell, extreme exhaustion, the constant need to pee, heartburn and most troubling, complete lack of PMS and/or cramping.
So, when I woke up at 3am needing to pee, I figured that was the first urine of the morning and got out the stick. It must have taken me 20 minutes to manage to pee and pee on the stick. I'm blaming at least part of it on the early hour...
I wait the three minutes, which go by surprisingly fast, and there's only one line.
I go back to bed and when I get up at six and go to the bathroom, there's blood.
I go into work and talk to my friend, telling her about the skittish check out boy, the negative test and the period finally coming. She's the one who finally points out that I seem disappointed, that I really did want a baby.
The young kid at the check out was hysterical. It was like he was frightened by the pregnancy test, like it had special powers. He seemed to be afraid to touch it with his bare hands because if he did, the next female he touched may become pregnant. It was all I could do not to laugh at him, but seriously, the comic relief I needed.
Who knew peeing on a stick was such a complex skill???
I could hardly sleep as I was recounting the odd first trimester-like symptoms I was experiencing ~ bionic sense of smell, extreme exhaustion, the constant need to pee, heartburn and most troubling, complete lack of PMS and/or cramping.
So, when I woke up at 3am needing to pee, I figured that was the first urine of the morning and got out the stick. It must have taken me 20 minutes to manage to pee and pee on the stick. I'm blaming at least part of it on the early hour...
I wait the three minutes, which go by surprisingly fast, and there's only one line.
I go back to bed and when I get up at six and go to the bathroom, there's blood.
I go into work and talk to my friend, telling her about the skittish check out boy, the negative test and the period finally coming. She's the one who finally points out that I seem disappointed, that I really did want a baby.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
What, Me? Pregnant?
The Mad Magazine, Alfred E. Neuman reference is actually horribly appropriate.
I'm four days late. I've had sex once in the last three years. (I know, TMI.)
I didn't intend to have sex because I had been on and off antibiotics with my tooth abscess and extraction and I wasn't feeling all that confident about my birth control. And we weren't going to... but then he did that thing with my back and well, never mind... You can figure it out from there.
Here's the thing. I'm taking at least two drugs that are known to be tetragenic. I'm not taking ANY folic acid. My caffeine intake is ridiculous and I've been drinking more than once a week, which is a lot for me. And my basic nutrition SUCKS. This is NOT how I would go about being pregnant. Vital organs could be forming and I'm doing everything in my power to screw them up.
But here's the other thing. I'm almost 37. What if this is my only chance to have a baby? How can I NOT do that?
I can't tell anyone because I can't admit who I slept with, among other things, so I went to the iVillage website and forums.
Well, if you ever want to feel better about yourself, that would be the place to go!
After reading through the other posts, I have no idea what my problem is. I don't have any illegal drug addictions, children in the custody of social services, the father of the possible child isn't trying to kill me, I have a job, a roof over my head, I don't have 8 other kids already, I'm out of my teens, graduated from high school ~ I really feel like I should just be taking the kids off of these other women's hands!!
So, after getting over the fact that I don't have a problem, I discuss my very real problem with one of my very non-judgemental co-workers. She has the best advice. Go out and buy a pregnancy test and find out.
I'm four days late. I've had sex once in the last three years. (I know, TMI.)
I didn't intend to have sex because I had been on and off antibiotics with my tooth abscess and extraction and I wasn't feeling all that confident about my birth control. And we weren't going to... but then he did that thing with my back and well, never mind... You can figure it out from there.
Here's the thing. I'm taking at least two drugs that are known to be tetragenic. I'm not taking ANY folic acid. My caffeine intake is ridiculous and I've been drinking more than once a week, which is a lot for me. And my basic nutrition SUCKS. This is NOT how I would go about being pregnant. Vital organs could be forming and I'm doing everything in my power to screw them up.
But here's the other thing. I'm almost 37. What if this is my only chance to have a baby? How can I NOT do that?
I can't tell anyone because I can't admit who I slept with, among other things, so I went to the iVillage website and forums.
Well, if you ever want to feel better about yourself, that would be the place to go!
After reading through the other posts, I have no idea what my problem is. I don't have any illegal drug addictions, children in the custody of social services, the father of the possible child isn't trying to kill me, I have a job, a roof over my head, I don't have 8 other kids already, I'm out of my teens, graduated from high school ~ I really feel like I should just be taking the kids off of these other women's hands!!
So, after getting over the fact that I don't have a problem, I discuss my very real problem with one of my very non-judgemental co-workers. She has the best advice. Go out and buy a pregnancy test and find out.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
And yet somehow, it's still about Duke...
Huh?
They lost.
They got their asses handed to them in the first half. Yes, they made a gorgeous rally in the third quarter, but bottom line: THEY. LOST.
Okay, so yes, I am a Hopkins fan. Class of 1993, thank you very much. And it's Johns to you!
But how does it work that even when Duke loses the championship, it's still about them??? Sure, they were wrongfully accused of rape. But it's not like they were a bunch of boy scouts doing yard work for nuns. Doesn't anyone remember that they were a bunch of drunk and disorderly complaints against Duke players that came to light with the rape allegation? Or what about the assault charges in Georgetown that some of those same players earned while out barhopping? PLEASE. And let's not forget that email message sent by Ryan McFadyen saying he planned to invite strippers to his dorm room, kill them and cut off their skin. He's still on the team, by the way...
And McFadyen isn't the only one still on the team. Much of the 2006 squad managed to get the 2006 season removed from their NCAA eligibility, giving them a postgraduate or fifth year senior (or in one case, if ESPN was accurate, a sixth year junior) year on the team. So when ex-coach Pressler predicted that Duke would win because they had the better senior class, was he referring to both of them?
These guys thought an appropriate activity for a Monday night was underage drinking and hiring exotic dancers (you know, strippers) at the home of their team captains. Now they will be the legacy, the standard-bearers that everyone will look up to for everything, in the classroom and on the field, at least according to their new coach. Kind of makes you fear for the future, doesn't it?
Yesterday was at least partially a grudge match for Duke. Two years ago they faced Hopkins in the National Championship and lost. Then last year when their season was cancelled and the future of their entire program looked bleak, Johns Hopkins was one of the first schools to come out and say that they wouldn't touch anyone associated with the Duke program. (read: Don't even think about trying to transfer here. We're better than you.)
The reality is that even with a 3.45 or 3.3 at Duke (gentleman's B, anyone?), a student would hard pressed to prove himself up to the academic standards of Hopkins.
Meanwhile, back at the Homewood campus, home of the NCAA Lacrosse champions, the team members may not be slated for sainthood, but at least they can define terms like integrity, character and ethics. One of the team captains is even a member of the University Ethics board. I'm pretty sure you don't get that kind of position if throw parties with strippers and underage drinking. And trust me when I tell you that the staff know what's going on. I seem to remember getting busted as an IFC officer for not busting a fraternity that was making their pledges wear New Kids on the Block buttons ~ harmless, yes, but still hazing. We knew it was wrong, but found it rather amusing and had a certain amount of respect for the creativity involved. But I digress....
We were really hoping that Cornell would beat Duke in the semi-finals. The game would then have been about undefeated Cornell, but that would have been more bearable. You would have thought that was Duke was shut down the story would be over, but you would have been wrong.
“When I woke up this morning and ESPN did a story on the national championship game and didn’t mention Johns Hopkins once, I took that personally,” the Hopkins senior Jake Byrne said.
And he wasn't the only one.
They lost.
They got their asses handed to them in the first half. Yes, they made a gorgeous rally in the third quarter, but bottom line: THEY. LOST.
Okay, so yes, I am a Hopkins fan. Class of 1993, thank you very much. And it's Johns to you!
But how does it work that even when Duke loses the championship, it's still about them??? Sure, they were wrongfully accused of rape. But it's not like they were a bunch of boy scouts doing yard work for nuns. Doesn't anyone remember that they were a bunch of drunk and disorderly complaints against Duke players that came to light with the rape allegation? Or what about the assault charges in Georgetown that some of those same players earned while out barhopping? PLEASE. And let's not forget that email message sent by Ryan McFadyen saying he planned to invite strippers to his dorm room, kill them and cut off their skin. He's still on the team, by the way...
And McFadyen isn't the only one still on the team. Much of the 2006 squad managed to get the 2006 season removed from their NCAA eligibility, giving them a postgraduate or fifth year senior (or in one case, if ESPN was accurate, a sixth year junior) year on the team. So when ex-coach Pressler predicted that Duke would win because they had the better senior class, was he referring to both of them?
These guys thought an appropriate activity for a Monday night was underage drinking and hiring exotic dancers (you know, strippers) at the home of their team captains. Now they will be the legacy, the standard-bearers that everyone will look up to for everything, in the classroom and on the field, at least according to their new coach. Kind of makes you fear for the future, doesn't it?
Yesterday was at least partially a grudge match for Duke. Two years ago they faced Hopkins in the National Championship and lost. Then last year when their season was cancelled and the future of their entire program looked bleak, Johns Hopkins was one of the first schools to come out and say that they wouldn't touch anyone associated with the Duke program. (read: Don't even think about trying to transfer here. We're better than you.)
The reality is that even with a 3.45 or 3.3 at Duke (gentleman's B, anyone?), a student would hard pressed to prove himself up to the academic standards of Hopkins.
Meanwhile, back at the Homewood campus, home of the NCAA Lacrosse champions, the team members may not be slated for sainthood, but at least they can define terms like integrity, character and ethics. One of the team captains is even a member of the University Ethics board. I'm pretty sure you don't get that kind of position if throw parties with strippers and underage drinking. And trust me when I tell you that the staff know what's going on. I seem to remember getting busted as an IFC officer for not busting a fraternity that was making their pledges wear New Kids on the Block buttons ~ harmless, yes, but still hazing. We knew it was wrong, but found it rather amusing and had a certain amount of respect for the creativity involved. But I digress....
We were really hoping that Cornell would beat Duke in the semi-finals. The game would then have been about undefeated Cornell, but that would have been more bearable. You would have thought that was Duke was shut down the story would be over, but you would have been wrong.
“When I woke up this morning and ESPN did a story on the national championship game and didn’t mention Johns Hopkins once, I took that personally,” the Hopkins senior Jake Byrne said.
And he wasn't the only one.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Elevator from Hell
Forget Love in an Elevator.
How about those moments of your life that you'll never get back when you're stuck riding in an elevator with someone that you were really hoping you would never ever see again for the rest of your life? The elevator itself, including the four other people, shrinks to the size of an upright coffin and the nearness is unbearable.
I can still smell his cologne. And I actually forgot he wore any.
It smells like betrayal.
He was my boss, my advisor, the person who was going to direct my development in this new direction of my career.
Instead he just terminated it. Without any warning. Without any criticism. Completely blindsiding me.
It will be a year three weeks from today. The anniversary of the only time, in my twenty one years of employment (according to the Social Security Administration), that I have ever been fired.
I figure I still have at least nine months to loathe him. Maybe I can hold out forever. I did move halfway across the country for that job.
The truth is, I don't really need to expend my energy holding a grudge.
I'm fully aware of the truth, as much as his cheap perfume, Karma is a bitch.
How about those moments of your life that you'll never get back when you're stuck riding in an elevator with someone that you were really hoping you would never ever see again for the rest of your life? The elevator itself, including the four other people, shrinks to the size of an upright coffin and the nearness is unbearable.
I can still smell his cologne. And I actually forgot he wore any.
It smells like betrayal.
He was my boss, my advisor, the person who was going to direct my development in this new direction of my career.
Instead he just terminated it. Without any warning. Without any criticism. Completely blindsiding me.
It will be a year three weeks from today. The anniversary of the only time, in my twenty one years of employment (according to the Social Security Administration), that I have ever been fired.
I figure I still have at least nine months to loathe him. Maybe I can hold out forever. I did move halfway across the country for that job.
The truth is, I don't really need to expend my energy holding a grudge.
I'm fully aware of the truth, as much as his cheap perfume, Karma is a bitch.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Hold the benefits...
So, I think I may have gotten dumped....
Last night, I stop over to my friend's place and we're just hanging out and talking. He's telling me that he went to the doctor that day and something about his blood pressure but shouldn't his Mediterranean background and diet and wine intake prevent high blood pressure? (Yeah, whatever, believe everything you hear that was printed in the New England Journal of Medicine and JAMA and was re-reported in USA Today because it's all meant for non-medical people.)
Should I be so impatient with him?
Absolutely. One reason I would kill him if we dated is that he completely lacks empathy and has no concept of THE GREATER GOOD. Medical research is completely beyond his comprehension and did I mention that he's really not that bright? And he totally doesn't get my sense of humor. That's like 8 separate deal breakers.
So, as we're watching the 10 o'clock news to see if the bank robbery that happened near his office is going to be on and I realize that I really haven't had enough to drink to find him appealing...
He says If I tell you something do you promise not to be mad?
Now having spent a few years working in infectious diseases and knowing that he just went to the doctor, my first thought is If you tell me you have an STD, I WILL kill you!
But instead, I dutifully tell him that of course I won't be mad.
Seriously, though. What the hell are guys thinking when they say these things??? They obviously know they're about to piss us off. Are they trying to get some get out of jail free card??? Why make someone make a promise? Be a man and suck it up! Take the fury that you've earned!!
He's met someone else. He actually already knew her, but something romantic has developed. (That was quick...)
Fine, I tell him, relieved that my name and address won't be filed on a reportable disease form with the state agency where I work, in an office where I actually interviewed for a job...
This was just an arrangement I tell him. It wasn't a relationship. Relationships take precedence I tell him. I'm happy for you.
I'm very calm and business-like. In fact I'm probably about 50 degrees below cold.
He's stunned, but watches as I get up off the couch and go home.
I consider that this is probably my own fault, at least tangentially.
He had been putting the moves on me for nearly a year and now that he knew he was never going to have a relationship with me, he may have opened up his eyes to other opportunities he had been oblivious of.
Or there's also the attraction of being wanted ~ you've experienced it, I'm sure. When someone wants you, you radiate a confidence or something and all of a sudden others are attracted to you.
I had the strangest experience one day when I was seeing this guy and he wanted to meet for "lunch", but I was really busy at work and absolutely couldn't and wouldn't. But when I walked out of my office that day at noon to pick up a sandwich to eat at my desk, it seemed like every man in a two block radiance turned to stare at me. I was convinced I'd tucked my skirt into my underwear or something, but I didn't ~ maybe I just had some mischievous grin that said I could be having a completely different kind of lunch right now if I wanted to...
Now, this is not to say that it's completely about me.
Well, why can't it be completely about me??? This is MY blog.
But do I feel dumped? Not at all. I feel like I tried something different. It was a nice change, but not what I want in the long run. I okay with the way things went.
Last night, I stop over to my friend's place and we're just hanging out and talking. He's telling me that he went to the doctor that day and something about his blood pressure but shouldn't his Mediterranean background and diet and wine intake prevent high blood pressure? (Yeah, whatever, believe everything you hear that was printed in the New England Journal of Medicine and JAMA and was re-reported in USA Today because it's all meant for non-medical people.)
Should I be so impatient with him?
Absolutely. One reason I would kill him if we dated is that he completely lacks empathy and has no concept of THE GREATER GOOD. Medical research is completely beyond his comprehension and did I mention that he's really not that bright? And he totally doesn't get my sense of humor. That's like 8 separate deal breakers.
So, as we're watching the 10 o'clock news to see if the bank robbery that happened near his office is going to be on and I realize that I really haven't had enough to drink to find him appealing...
He says If I tell you something do you promise not to be mad?
Now having spent a few years working in infectious diseases and knowing that he just went to the doctor, my first thought is If you tell me you have an STD, I WILL kill you!
But instead, I dutifully tell him that of course I won't be mad.
Seriously, though. What the hell are guys thinking when they say these things??? They obviously know they're about to piss us off. Are they trying to get some get out of jail free card??? Why make someone make a promise? Be a man and suck it up! Take the fury that you've earned!!
He's met someone else. He actually already knew her, but something romantic has developed. (That was quick...)
Fine, I tell him, relieved that my name and address won't be filed on a reportable disease form with the state agency where I work, in an office where I actually interviewed for a job...
This was just an arrangement I tell him. It wasn't a relationship. Relationships take precedence I tell him. I'm happy for you.
I'm very calm and business-like. In fact I'm probably about 50 degrees below cold.
He's stunned, but watches as I get up off the couch and go home.
I consider that this is probably my own fault, at least tangentially.
He had been putting the moves on me for nearly a year and now that he knew he was never going to have a relationship with me, he may have opened up his eyes to other opportunities he had been oblivious of.
Or there's also the attraction of being wanted ~ you've experienced it, I'm sure. When someone wants you, you radiate a confidence or something and all of a sudden others are attracted to you.
I had the strangest experience one day when I was seeing this guy and he wanted to meet for "lunch", but I was really busy at work and absolutely couldn't and wouldn't. But when I walked out of my office that day at noon to pick up a sandwich to eat at my desk, it seemed like every man in a two block radiance turned to stare at me. I was convinced I'd tucked my skirt into my underwear or something, but I didn't ~ maybe I just had some mischievous grin that said I could be having a completely different kind of lunch right now if I wanted to...
Now, this is not to say that it's completely about me.
Well, why can't it be completely about me??? This is MY blog.
But do I feel dumped? Not at all. I feel like I tried something different. It was a nice change, but not what I want in the long run. I okay with the way things went.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Gimme A Break!!
No Nelle Carter jokes. This is a high class operation...
I'm talking about Wolfowitz again, and hopefully for the last time. My life is too damn short to spend this much time considering a FOW (friend of W).
So he's resigned from the World Bank. Hurrah!
He's been exonerated and he got to negotiate his compensation package!
How come only complete assholes get to leave under their own best terms???
Seriously.
The rest of us are lucky to get our vacation time paid out and not have someone screw up our COBRA benefits.
Am I wrong?
This guy screws the pooch, in more ways than one, no offense to Ms. Riza, I'm sure she's a lovely woman, but how on earth does he get a severance package???
Oh, and did I mention that he never had to pay income tax on his earnings at the World Bank? Nice little perk, huh? And his contract already allowed for a year's compensation if he were terminated (again, tax free) ~ since he resigned, he probably got more. Wrong, wrong, wrong....
Is it any wonder the rest of the world believes the United States is bereft of any morality? We're doing a better job of demonizing ourselves than radical Islam ever could!
And let's just add insult to injury ~ Wolfowitz wasn't even a freakin' economist!! He had no business running the World Bank!!! (Not that proper credentials, experience or education has ever been a factor for job placement in the W. administration.... How silly of me to thing otherwise.)
I'm talking about Wolfowitz again, and hopefully for the last time. My life is too damn short to spend this much time considering a FOW (friend of W).
So he's resigned from the World Bank. Hurrah!
He's been exonerated and he got to negotiate his compensation package!
How come only complete assholes get to leave under their own best terms???
Seriously.
The rest of us are lucky to get our vacation time paid out and not have someone screw up our COBRA benefits.
Am I wrong?
This guy screws the pooch, in more ways than one, no offense to Ms. Riza, I'm sure she's a lovely woman, but how on earth does he get a severance package???
Oh, and did I mention that he never had to pay income tax on his earnings at the World Bank? Nice little perk, huh? And his contract already allowed for a year's compensation if he were terminated (again, tax free) ~ since he resigned, he probably got more. Wrong, wrong, wrong....
Is it any wonder the rest of the world believes the United States is bereft of any morality? We're doing a better job of demonizing ourselves than radical Islam ever could!
And let's just add insult to injury ~ Wolfowitz wasn't even a freakin' economist!! He had no business running the World Bank!!! (Not that proper credentials, experience or education has ever been a factor for job placement in the W. administration.... How silly of me to thing otherwise.)
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Oh, Come On!!!
So let's get this straight.
A chump, let's say a chump with a very impressive resume and beltway connections coming out of his ears, gets a really high profile job, say President of the World Bank. Just for example. It seems like a nice place.
His girlfriend works there and she's assured him that as long as you're not a woman of Arab decent, you get treated fairly.
He starts out pretty well. He follows the rules, discloses that his girlfriend is also an employee and offers to recuse himself from any personnel decisions regarding her. Ethics Committee agrees. Everybody's happy.
But then somewhere along the way, somebody stepped in it BIG TIME.
Girlfriend decides she wants an outside assignment and you know what, she should really be making a lot more money. Remember the thing about being an Arab woman? Well, she's been getting screwed on pay because of that for years, so she wants to be bumped a few pay grades and not to the base of the pay grades. We like the middle. And enough of this depending on other people to make sure your compensation keeps up with inflation, she wants her pay grade upped every few years regardless of anything else. Oversight, performance evaluations? Who needs those?
And remember Mr. Recuse Himself? Well, he approves the whole deal!!!
Word gets out, as it always does. And don't go thinking about investigative journalism or Deep Throat. Inside the Beltway, information is leaked via press release.
Next thing you know, people, like the Board of Directors, are calling for President Recuse Himself to resign from the World Bank. Not an unrealistic request. Generally, when you're caught padding the salary of someone you're sleeping with, it is customary to get fired....
Here's where it gets ridiculous. Paul Wolfowitz, with George W. and Dick watching his back, has basically dared the Board of Directors of the World Bank to fire him. He's trying to negotiate a way out where he is cleared of any wrong doing otherwise the United States won't play with the World Bank anymore.
What are we, 3 years old?
You screwed up, buddy. Deal with it!!
And PS, I don't really want to be part of a country that plays hardball in a situation like this. Could someone overnight some integrity to the White House? They've apparently run out...
A chump, let's say a chump with a very impressive resume and beltway connections coming out of his ears, gets a really high profile job, say President of the World Bank. Just for example. It seems like a nice place.
His girlfriend works there and she's assured him that as long as you're not a woman of Arab decent, you get treated fairly.
He starts out pretty well. He follows the rules, discloses that his girlfriend is also an employee and offers to recuse himself from any personnel decisions regarding her. Ethics Committee agrees. Everybody's happy.
But then somewhere along the way, somebody stepped in it BIG TIME.
Girlfriend decides she wants an outside assignment and you know what, she should really be making a lot more money. Remember the thing about being an Arab woman? Well, she's been getting screwed on pay because of that for years, so she wants to be bumped a few pay grades and not to the base of the pay grades. We like the middle. And enough of this depending on other people to make sure your compensation keeps up with inflation, she wants her pay grade upped every few years regardless of anything else. Oversight, performance evaluations? Who needs those?
And remember Mr. Recuse Himself? Well, he approves the whole deal!!!
Word gets out, as it always does. And don't go thinking about investigative journalism or Deep Throat. Inside the Beltway, information is leaked via press release.
Next thing you know, people, like the Board of Directors, are calling for President Recuse Himself to resign from the World Bank. Not an unrealistic request. Generally, when you're caught padding the salary of someone you're sleeping with, it is customary to get fired....
Here's where it gets ridiculous. Paul Wolfowitz, with George W. and Dick watching his back, has basically dared the Board of Directors of the World Bank to fire him. He's trying to negotiate a way out where he is cleared of any wrong doing otherwise the United States won't play with the World Bank anymore.
What are we, 3 years old?
You screwed up, buddy. Deal with it!!
And PS, I don't really want to be part of a country that plays hardball in a situation like this. Could someone overnight some integrity to the White House? They've apparently run out...
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Hold the drama
So I'm sure you were all thinking that I couldn't pull off the Friends With Benefits thing, right?
Yeah, I was pretty sure I couldn't either.
But, you know what?
It actually works.
It's nearly the perfect relationship.
There's no BullShit.
Seriously.
None of this ~ does he like me as much as I like him? when is he going to call? should I be calling him? why hasn't he called? did I do/say/communicate-with-Morse-code-using-my-eyelids/signal something wrong?
There's no drama!! It's worry free, guilt free, stress free! It's one thing in my life that I can't, make that, won't obsess over.
And I don't have to worry about getting emotionally involved either. Why? Because the more time I spend with him, the more I realize that I really don't like him all that much. I'm not repulsed by him, but I think if we ever actually dated, I might have to kill him or something.
Seriously, it's the perfect relationship!!
Yeah, I was pretty sure I couldn't either.
But, you know what?
It actually works.
It's nearly the perfect relationship.
There's no BullShit.
Seriously.
None of this ~ does he like me as much as I like him? when is he going to call? should I be calling him? why hasn't he called? did I do/say/communicate-with-Morse-code-using-my-eyelids/signal something wrong?
There's no drama!! It's worry free, guilt free, stress free! It's one thing in my life that I can't, make that, won't obsess over.
And I don't have to worry about getting emotionally involved either. Why? Because the more time I spend with him, the more I realize that I really don't like him all that much. I'm not repulsed by him, but I think if we ever actually dated, I might have to kill him or something.
Seriously, it's the perfect relationship!!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Friends with Benefits
Back in September of 1999, there was an epidsode of Sex and the City titled "The F*ck Buddy." It was a storyline that kind of stuck with you because it was mainly about how normal it was to have some guy who you just had sex with when you weren't dating anyone else. Even prudish (by comparison) Charlotte, had a guy who fit this bill. It more or less normalized the idea for the urban, single, happening woman in her thirties. There was, of course, a moral to the story ~ you can't date your f*ck buddy. Carrie tried. She found out they had absolutely nothing in common. Then there was no more f*ck buddy. Whoops.
In the 8 years since that episode aired, "f*ck buddy" has been replaced by a more palatable term, "friends with benefits", which have infiltrated not only college campuses, but high schools and junior highs. Apparently, the outdated (outmoded, outlived its usefulness) abstinence education programs we cling to are ill suited to deal with the "new" technology of cell phones and the internet. Dating is a thing that generation X did. Those who followed can't be bothered with all that emotional baggage and committment.
But still, getting back to the real world. That is, my world.
Can a woman from Generation X ~ one who couldn't walk in Manolo's even if she could afford them ~ could that woman handle a friends with benefits arrangement?
Honestly, I'm not sure.
In the 8 years since that episode aired, "f*ck buddy" has been replaced by a more palatable term, "friends with benefits", which have infiltrated not only college campuses, but high schools and junior highs. Apparently, the outdated (outmoded, outlived its usefulness) abstinence education programs we cling to are ill suited to deal with the "new" technology of cell phones and the internet. Dating is a thing that generation X did. Those who followed can't be bothered with all that emotional baggage and committment.
But still, getting back to the real world. That is, my world.
Can a woman from Generation X ~ one who couldn't walk in Manolo's even if she could afford them ~ could that woman handle a friends with benefits arrangement?
Honestly, I'm not sure.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Peace?
There was an interesting OpEd in today's NYT about the power sharing agreement that is about to take place in Northern Ireland between Sinn Fein (pronounced "Shin Finn" and contrary to popular belief, not a part of the IRA, just the only political party that condones the actions of the IRA) and the Democratic Unionist Party (which has nothing to do with "democracy" or "democrat" as defined in the U.S.)
This is an enormous step forward.
The author of the OpEd is the son of a woman from the North and a man from the South and he speaks extensively of his experiences visiting his mother's family in Derry ~ of the roadblocks, the soldiers, the weapons ~ and how now with his own children, there is nothing to explain in Northern Ireland, with a cease fire in place for several years now. It is in New York that he finds himself explaining armed men and women and makeshift memorials. A strange dichotomy, no?
I wonder, does his experience in Northern Ireland make him more or less prepared for the new place America has become post 9/11?
I wonder because I'm asking myself the same question.
I spent the summer of 1993 studying at Magee College in Derry City. It was before the cease fire and there were multiple checkpoints in and around the city with Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) in full body armour with assault weapons manning each one. Nearly everyday at lunch, an armored vehicle would cruise through the downtown area, making a loop around the square with rifles aimed out the sides at pedestrians and patrons of outdoor cafes. Then sometimes, a small car would pull up next to the fountain by the shopping district and a bunch of paratroopers in full gear would hop out (strangely like clowns spilling from a VW bug at Ringling Brothers) and take up positions outside the shops. I have never seen so many guns in my life and that's saying something considering I am the daughter of a hunter and have visited multiple gun stores on multiple occasions. I went through checkpoints six times a day. I walked past armored vehicles with weapons trained on my head. I was close enough to touch paratroopers who were not nearly my age of 22, and had less of an idea of what they were doing there than I did.
But here's the surprise. I became really comfortable having all those guns pointed at me. Of all the things that I anticipated, that was never one of them. In fact, when I returned to Londondery and Derry, New Hampshire, it felt odd to not see anyone armed to the gills and to not have armoured vehicles driving around. That was worse than surprising. That was disturbing.
So did I feel unsafe in Northern Ireland?
Actually no. As an Irish Catholic college student from Boston, I felt like the safest person in the place. The way I figured it, either side would fall all over themselves to make sure nothing happened to me: if any harm came to me courtesy of the IRA, there funding would try up; if it was the fault of the Unionists, the IRA would see their biggest boost since Bloody Sunday. The only time I did feel unsafe was one morning when we had a surprise guest lecture from two gentleman ~ one a leader of Sinn Fein and the other was a leader of the Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP) ~ in a different building than our usual class. In their introduction, our professor mentioned that both men had a price on his head, explaining the lack of prior notification about the class topic and location change, and during class the two joked as to whose head was worth more. Some time toward the end of class there was a cacophony from the room directly above us ~ as if a scuffle of furniture and other large objects had occurred. Most of my class was on the floor, under their chairs ~ I, less than a year away from being mugged by four teenagers, was calmly taking in the action in the room and was able to notice that neither of the politicians nor my professor even flinched.
But back on topic. Did all of this prepare me for America post 9/11?
Not really. There may have been all these crazy checkpoints and police towers in cages (to prevent explosives from exploding within many feet of the tower), but there wasn't any real violence. Sure, there were a few assassinations/executions while I was there. But it was precision violence. It wasn't terrorism. There were fewer homicides than in Baltimore where I was attending college.
I guess in a way it made me less "freaked out" by the fully armed National Guard patrolling airports and train stations in late 2001 and 2002. In November of 2001, I went through Union Station in Washington and then flew out of BWI and that was the most extreme security I ever saw, but it didn't seem out of place. Houston, with it's lack of security, seemed to be living on another planet and that seemed strange. I guess "normal" is not a constant.
But nothing could prepare me for working in the emergency preparedness program, for receiving the Homeland Security and State Police Bulletins. Nothing prepares you for playing along in a Department of Defense drill where the whole point is to overwhelm all civilian response, local, state and federal. Where you are being set up to fail on a grand scale and yet you know a simple truth. There is a right was to fail and a wrong way to fail. How can anything prepare you to understand that?
Right after 9/11, I remember being grateful for the fact that I didn't have any children. I couldn't imagine bringing a little person into the horrible place that our world had become. Of course, my perceptions have changed ~ the world isn't as frightening it was in the weeks right after 9/11. Life moved forward and smoothed out. I have more faith in my ability to shield a child from all that is wrong in this world.
And, I have more faith in the ability of this world to heal itself. Just look at Northern Ireland.
This is an enormous step forward.
The author of the OpEd is the son of a woman from the North and a man from the South and he speaks extensively of his experiences visiting his mother's family in Derry ~ of the roadblocks, the soldiers, the weapons ~ and how now with his own children, there is nothing to explain in Northern Ireland, with a cease fire in place for several years now. It is in New York that he finds himself explaining armed men and women and makeshift memorials. A strange dichotomy, no?
I wonder, does his experience in Northern Ireland make him more or less prepared for the new place America has become post 9/11?
I wonder because I'm asking myself the same question.
I spent the summer of 1993 studying at Magee College in Derry City. It was before the cease fire and there were multiple checkpoints in and around the city with Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) in full body armour with assault weapons manning each one. Nearly everyday at lunch, an armored vehicle would cruise through the downtown area, making a loop around the square with rifles aimed out the sides at pedestrians and patrons of outdoor cafes. Then sometimes, a small car would pull up next to the fountain by the shopping district and a bunch of paratroopers in full gear would hop out (strangely like clowns spilling from a VW bug at Ringling Brothers) and take up positions outside the shops. I have never seen so many guns in my life and that's saying something considering I am the daughter of a hunter and have visited multiple gun stores on multiple occasions. I went through checkpoints six times a day. I walked past armored vehicles with weapons trained on my head. I was close enough to touch paratroopers who were not nearly my age of 22, and had less of an idea of what they were doing there than I did.
But here's the surprise. I became really comfortable having all those guns pointed at me. Of all the things that I anticipated, that was never one of them. In fact, when I returned to Londondery and Derry, New Hampshire, it felt odd to not see anyone armed to the gills and to not have armoured vehicles driving around. That was worse than surprising. That was disturbing.
So did I feel unsafe in Northern Ireland?
Actually no. As an Irish Catholic college student from Boston, I felt like the safest person in the place. The way I figured it, either side would fall all over themselves to make sure nothing happened to me: if any harm came to me courtesy of the IRA, there funding would try up; if it was the fault of the Unionists, the IRA would see their biggest boost since Bloody Sunday. The only time I did feel unsafe was one morning when we had a surprise guest lecture from two gentleman ~ one a leader of Sinn Fein and the other was a leader of the Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP) ~ in a different building than our usual class. In their introduction, our professor mentioned that both men had a price on his head, explaining the lack of prior notification about the class topic and location change, and during class the two joked as to whose head was worth more. Some time toward the end of class there was a cacophony from the room directly above us ~ as if a scuffle of furniture and other large objects had occurred. Most of my class was on the floor, under their chairs ~ I, less than a year away from being mugged by four teenagers, was calmly taking in the action in the room and was able to notice that neither of the politicians nor my professor even flinched.
But back on topic. Did all of this prepare me for America post 9/11?
Not really. There may have been all these crazy checkpoints and police towers in cages (to prevent explosives from exploding within many feet of the tower), but there wasn't any real violence. Sure, there were a few assassinations/executions while I was there. But it was precision violence. It wasn't terrorism. There were fewer homicides than in Baltimore where I was attending college.
I guess in a way it made me less "freaked out" by the fully armed National Guard patrolling airports and train stations in late 2001 and 2002. In November of 2001, I went through Union Station in Washington and then flew out of BWI and that was the most extreme security I ever saw, but it didn't seem out of place. Houston, with it's lack of security, seemed to be living on another planet and that seemed strange. I guess "normal" is not a constant.
But nothing could prepare me for working in the emergency preparedness program, for receiving the Homeland Security and State Police Bulletins. Nothing prepares you for playing along in a Department of Defense drill where the whole point is to overwhelm all civilian response, local, state and federal. Where you are being set up to fail on a grand scale and yet you know a simple truth. There is a right was to fail and a wrong way to fail. How can anything prepare you to understand that?
Right after 9/11, I remember being grateful for the fact that I didn't have any children. I couldn't imagine bringing a little person into the horrible place that our world had become. Of course, my perceptions have changed ~ the world isn't as frightening it was in the weeks right after 9/11. Life moved forward and smoothed out. I have more faith in my ability to shield a child from all that is wrong in this world.
And, I have more faith in the ability of this world to heal itself. Just look at Northern Ireland.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Who are these Yahoos?
Now I consider myself to be a fairly well informed person. I read a good part of the New York Times everyday, I completely avoid morning TV, I watch the Daily Show, I frequently read Atlantic Monthly, the New Yorker, Vanity Fair (and not just the Hollywood issue, thank you very much), Harper's, I watch CNN, I listen to NPR, and I've even been known to watch the BBC news (talk about a different perspective!)
BUT, when I happened to look at the front page of the New York Times today at Starbucks and saw the group shot from the Republican Presidential debate at the Reagan library and couldn't help but wonder, after identifying Giuliani, McCain and Romney...
Who are these Yahoos?
Now I know Huckabee is running, but am I actually supposed to be able to identify the Governor of Arkansas in a line up? Seriously?
And James Gilmore, I actually lived in Virginia while he was governor, worked for the state in fact. He held a conference on Right Choices For Youth (about violence, tobacco, drugs, alcohol and sex ~ and if you're unsure of the right choice, it's NO). We called it Right Wing Choices for Youth. I actually had to present tobacco as only being a bad choice because it was illegal for minors, no mention of bad health effects. The conference was truly memorable, what with Gangstas for Jesus and all that abstinence in one room. I nearly signed an abstinence pledge before realizing I wasn't. I stopped counting all the Reverends that gave blessings in the opening remarks.... As for Gilmore ~ I don't know the man from Adam.
Tommy Thompson is obviously unrecognizable because of traumatic mental block. I'm still traumatized by his appointment to HHS Secretary... I mean seriously, what business does Tommy Thompson have being in charge of HEALTH and Human Services??? And please, we cannot elect a grown man who calls himself "Tommy" to the presidency... 'nough said.
As far as the rest of them, will they even make it past Iowa and New Hampshire? Questionable at best. They have little time for yahoos in NH...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
