"Your president," I said, "cut funds for the levees, ignored the need to restore the wetlands which protected new Orleans for years, and then when the levees failed had to have a special picture show made for him to demonstrate how bad things were. But he didn't care because Orleanians aren't in the right party or class. He let people broil and drown in their own living rooms. Then he flew over it and said `Wow, things look pretty devastating from up here...I'll bet it's even worse down there." Then his buddies cranked up the propaganda machine. They tried to convince people that Orleanians weren't our kind of people and weren't worth saving. Look, there's a shirtless youth trying to break into a store (shown a million times). They blamed it on Blanco and Nagin. Blanco and Nagin couldn't do jackshit. This was the worst natural disaster in American history. Only the Federal Government had the power and resources to rescue these people, to plug the leaks, to attempt to drain the city and to save New Orleans. But it was more important to him to stick to his message: government is bad and will not help you. Turn to the churches. They posed him in front of church after putting stage lights on it, and he promised that he would bring back New Orleans better than ever. It's a year later. They still haven't even fixed the levees back the way they were BEFORE Katrina, and they are lying and telling people that they are. Are the Dutch going to let Amsterdam fall to rubble because it is below sea-level? Are the Italians going to kiss-off Venice? Look. This is
not just a half a city of half a million people. It is a CULTURALLY SIGNIFICANT city of half a million people. The fact that you are willing to let it go says a lot about you and how far our country has declined in the care of people like you. I believe we are our brother's keeper. That's the difference between Republicans and Democrats. You think it's every man for himself. We think we are in this together. That's the difference. What New Orleans needs right now more than anything is a levee. The money to do that is in Iraq. Please don't vote Republican again."
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Gulf Coast R.I.P.
Here's hoping you rise again.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Tribal warfare
There are many, many divisions in American culture, not the least of which is class. We do a great job of hating each other based on how much money we make and how much stuff we have, or don't have. (With the rich leading the way, hating the rest of us with a virulence that never seems to taper out.) And of course our politics are more divisive now than at any time since the 1960s. But the thing that really threatens to tear us apart now, perhaps irrevocably, is race.
More than anything else, Hurricane Katrina proved this. As a middle class white person, I've found you tend to settle in to a certain comfort zone. You think, well, the civil rights movement and the race riots are ancient history. We've come a long way. How naive and stupid we were to think this!
Just about a year ago, we watched on TV as a heavily black region of our own country was wiped off the map, and it made barely a ripple in our collective consciousness. As mind-meltingly difficult as it is to believe, most of the country had this reaction: "What were those people thinking, staying put instead of jumping into their air conditioned SUVs and driving out of town ahead of the storm? That's what we would have done. And all that looting. So uncouth. We would have simply gone to a restaurant, if we were hungry or needed bottled water! Those people deserved what they got. I certainly don't want my taxes raised to clean up that mess. Let them take care of themselves."
And then nobody cleaned up a goddamn thing down there, and we all went on with our lives. Out of sight, out of mind.
I couldn't help but think of Katrina and its woeful aftermath when the news broke about the plan for the next season of Survivor. What could be more appropriate than to have the teams compete based on race? The whites fighting the blacks fighting the Asians fighting the Latinos. I said to a friend of mine that if The Onion had done a piece with this premise, I would have gotten the queasy feeling that I sometimes get when reading that site, that sometimes they go a little too far. But no, this is reality, in America in 2006. This is how far we've degraded ourselves since the era of Dr. Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, that some sleazebag TV producer proposes this premise, and it gets greenlighted.
What's next? Prime-time snuff films?
But beyond the gruesomeness of the idea that, you know, the Latinos will band together and try to outwit the whites with their native cunning, or some such equally repugnant horseshit, there is the pervasive misperception that we all fit neatly into exact racial groups. Tribes, if you will. We are European-American and African-American and Mexican-American and whatever.
This is bullshit on its face, and we all know it. My own family is an example, but then again most families are an example. If you go back far enough, I assure you, not everyone in your family will be 'pure' Irish or Spanish or anything else. When I look into my Peanut's beautiful face, I see my Sicilian family in her scrumptious chubby cheeks and my husband's Chinese family in the gentle curve of her eyes. She is not one thing or the other. She is Italian and Chinese but most of all she is American. The combination of her genes makes her who she is. Her birthright is to be all of these things, and to be first and foremost an American citizen -- with all the rights and responsibilities that come along with that citizenship.
The evil dirtbags who want us to believe that you have to be only one thing to be an American -- only white or only black or only Asian or only Latino -- are our common enemy. It's an old cliche in some ways, but it holds more true than ever today: if we refuse to hang together, we'll surely hang separately. Given the sometimes violently racist culture we live in today, I can only hope that someday, when the Peanut goes to school and sees a roomful of kids with mixed-race characteristics, just like her, that they can all find a better way to get along than their parents did.
More than anything else, Hurricane Katrina proved this. As a middle class white person, I've found you tend to settle in to a certain comfort zone. You think, well, the civil rights movement and the race riots are ancient history. We've come a long way. How naive and stupid we were to think this!
Just about a year ago, we watched on TV as a heavily black region of our own country was wiped off the map, and it made barely a ripple in our collective consciousness. As mind-meltingly difficult as it is to believe, most of the country had this reaction: "What were those people thinking, staying put instead of jumping into their air conditioned SUVs and driving out of town ahead of the storm? That's what we would have done. And all that looting. So uncouth. We would have simply gone to a restaurant, if we were hungry or needed bottled water! Those people deserved what they got. I certainly don't want my taxes raised to clean up that mess. Let them take care of themselves."
And then nobody cleaned up a goddamn thing down there, and we all went on with our lives. Out of sight, out of mind.
I couldn't help but think of Katrina and its woeful aftermath when the news broke about the plan for the next season of Survivor. What could be more appropriate than to have the teams compete based on race? The whites fighting the blacks fighting the Asians fighting the Latinos. I said to a friend of mine that if The Onion had done a piece with this premise, I would have gotten the queasy feeling that I sometimes get when reading that site, that sometimes they go a little too far. But no, this is reality, in America in 2006. This is how far we've degraded ourselves since the era of Dr. Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, that some sleazebag TV producer proposes this premise, and it gets greenlighted.
What's next? Prime-time snuff films?
But beyond the gruesomeness of the idea that, you know, the Latinos will band together and try to outwit the whites with their native cunning, or some such equally repugnant horseshit, there is the pervasive misperception that we all fit neatly into exact racial groups. Tribes, if you will. We are European-American and African-American and Mexican-American and whatever.
This is bullshit on its face, and we all know it. My own family is an example, but then again most families are an example. If you go back far enough, I assure you, not everyone in your family will be 'pure' Irish or Spanish or anything else. When I look into my Peanut's beautiful face, I see my Sicilian family in her scrumptious chubby cheeks and my husband's Chinese family in the gentle curve of her eyes. She is not one thing or the other. She is Italian and Chinese but most of all she is American. The combination of her genes makes her who she is. Her birthright is to be all of these things, and to be first and foremost an American citizen -- with all the rights and responsibilities that come along with that citizenship.
The evil dirtbags who want us to believe that you have to be only one thing to be an American -- only white or only black or only Asian or only Latino -- are our common enemy. It's an old cliche in some ways, but it holds more true than ever today: if we refuse to hang together, we'll surely hang separately. Given the sometimes violently racist culture we live in today, I can only hope that someday, when the Peanut goes to school and sees a roomful of kids with mixed-race characteristics, just like her, that they can all find a better way to get along than their parents did.
Conversations with a toddler
Conversation 1:
Scene: Wilson Farms, outside the pony enclosure, the other day. I am holding the Peanut in my arms as we watch the ponies.
Peanut, absentmindedly fingering my bra strap: Mommy bra.
Me: That's right, I have my bra on.
Peanut: No (Peanut's real name) bra.
Me: That's right, you're not wearing a bra.
Peanut, thinking for a minute: No pony bras, either.
Me: Um, right. The ponies are not wearing any bras.
(My 1.3 readers will, of course, recall that this was not my first bizarre conversation with the Peanut about bras.)
Conversation 2:
Scene: Our dining room, yesterday at lunchtime. The babysitter was feeding the Peanut her lunch and I was preparing to leave for a physical therapy appointment. What with picking up a kid who weighs almost 30 pounds, it's no wonder I'm having lower back issues...
Me: OK, so I'm off to the doctor.
Peanut, concerned: Mommy leaving?
Me: Well, I have to go -- remember mommy's back boo-boo? I need the doctor to help me to make it better.
Peanut: OK. Bye-bye, Mommy.
Later that evening, as we put the Peanut to bed...
Peanut: Mommy back boo-boo all gone now?
Me: Well, not exactly. Thanks for asking though!
Conversation 3:
Scene: My bedroom, the other morning as I was getting ready to leave for work and to take the Peanut to day care. The Peanut had been with me in the bathroom not long after I got out of the shower, and for some reason she took a liking to my Dove deodorant. She then carried it into the bedroom, where she had followed me to watch me getting dressed. She refused to let it go.
Me: OK, we really have to get ready to go now -- we have to leave the deodorant here.
Peanut: No! Hold dee-oh-tet-tet! Hold dee-oh-tet-tet!
Me: Well, the deodorant is, uh, getting sleepy. We need to put it down for a nap before we leave.
Peanut, giving it a hug and a kiss and laying it down on my bed: Night-night, dee-oh-tet-tet.
Scene: Wilson Farms, outside the pony enclosure, the other day. I am holding the Peanut in my arms as we watch the ponies.
Peanut, absentmindedly fingering my bra strap: Mommy bra.
Me: That's right, I have my bra on.
Peanut: No (Peanut's real name) bra.
Me: That's right, you're not wearing a bra.
Peanut, thinking for a minute: No pony bras, either.
Me: Um, right. The ponies are not wearing any bras.
(My 1.3 readers will, of course, recall that this was not my first bizarre conversation with the Peanut about bras.)
Conversation 2:
Scene: Our dining room, yesterday at lunchtime. The babysitter was feeding the Peanut her lunch and I was preparing to leave for a physical therapy appointment. What with picking up a kid who weighs almost 30 pounds, it's no wonder I'm having lower back issues...
Me: OK, so I'm off to the doctor.
Peanut, concerned: Mommy leaving?
Me: Well, I have to go -- remember mommy's back boo-boo? I need the doctor to help me to make it better.
Peanut: OK. Bye-bye, Mommy.
Later that evening, as we put the Peanut to bed...
Peanut: Mommy back boo-boo all gone now?
Me: Well, not exactly. Thanks for asking though!
Conversation 3:
Scene: My bedroom, the other morning as I was getting ready to leave for work and to take the Peanut to day care. The Peanut had been with me in the bathroom not long after I got out of the shower, and for some reason she took a liking to my Dove deodorant. She then carried it into the bedroom, where she had followed me to watch me getting dressed. She refused to let it go.
Me: OK, we really have to get ready to go now -- we have to leave the deodorant here.
Peanut: No! Hold dee-oh-tet-tet! Hold dee-oh-tet-tet!
Me: Well, the deodorant is, uh, getting sleepy. We need to put it down for a nap before we leave.
Peanut, giving it a hug and a kiss and laying it down on my bed: Night-night, dee-oh-tet-tet.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Republicans, unmasked
This post by "TRex" at Firedoglake is so good I'm just stealing it outright. (Which I know is kind of a blogging faux pas, but it's like this person pulled these sentiments directly out of my brain. So I'm stealing away...) Definitely stop by the original page for the accompanying photo, though.
As we were discussing last night, since Ned Lamont won the Connecticut Senate primary, the intervening six days have seen the Republican party going out of its way to show its true colors with regards to its (very) thinly veiled racist agenda and its intolerance toward people of color and white people who support them. Of course, it goes way beyond that, but that’s as good a place to start as any.
The bottom line is that the Republican party is an elite club for wealthy whites and token minorities who will join their ranks and spew racist swill alongside their white brethren. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar, and anyone (like Ann Coulter or Michelle MalKKKin) who insists that liberals are the real racists is either mentally ill or they’re simply being willfully obtuse.
But let’s look at the evidence, shall we?
Back in April, this blog featured a series of posts dedicated to exposing the writhing grub-white underbelly of modern GOP racism in the blogging world and in the world of talk radio and television news and beyond. All the posts in the series were outstanding, and the message that came blaring through loud and clear at the end of the series was that today’s Republican party is merely a JC Penney White Sale away from its cross-burning, lynching, Jim Crow roots. A mere 40 years separate us from the forced integration of the southern states, when segregationist Democrats in the south crossed party lines to become Republicans and moderate Republicans opposed to American apartheid left the GOP to become Democrats.
40 years is not a very long time. Many of the wealthy white men in positions of power within the GOP made their political fortunes in this era and today, from their perches high on their ivory towers of privilege, they continue to push policy and political initiatives which routinely disenfranchise minority Americans. Who could forget Trent Lott’s ham-fisted attempt to justify the segregationist views of Strom Thurmond’s 1948 presidential campaign?
"I want to say this about my state: When Strom Thurmond ran for president, we voted for him. We’re proud of it. And if the rest of the country had followed our lead, we wouldn’t have had all these problems over all these years, either," Lott said at last week’s party.
Reality-based English translation: "These problems" equals "uppity ni&&@rs", i.e., "If Strom Thurmond had won the presidential race and upheld racial segregation in this country, fat white chucklefucks like me would have a lot easier time maintaining our choke-hold on the reins of power."
The RNC clean-up squads were dispatched, Lott was forced to apologize, and faced a nominal punishment, as is the likely fate of Virginia Republican George Allen, who is currently under fire for calling a 20-year-old Virginia man "Monkey Boy" in Tunisian slang and "welcoming" him to America, because OBVIOUSLY a brown-skinned liberal person couldn’t actually be born and raised in lily-white Virginia! Of course, the staffer, S. R. Siddarth was born and raised in Virginia, but to a Real Republican, that’s simply not enough. You have to be born and raised in America with skin whiter than Ivory Soap to be a "Real American" like George Felix Allen, Timothy McVeigh, or Unabomber Ted Kaczynski.
Then take into account the push by a group of southern Republicans to derail the Voting Rights Act earlier this summer, which, thankfully, failed. But how about my own state’s Photo ID voting requirements, which are being pushed on the public by the same legislators opposed to the renewal of the Voting Rights Act, and which is vigorously opposed by state Democrats, the Southern Poverty Law Center and other progressive organizations. Not to mention the staggering indifference shown by FEMA and the administration toward the stranded victims of Hurricane Katrina. Mike Chertoff had to be told in a live interview by NPR’s Robert Siegel that the Convention Center was even there, let alone that a few thousand people were trapped there in desperate hunger, filth, and fear.
But if you back up and look at the even bigger picture, the Republican party’s entire 2006 electoral agenda is based around punishing people for not being white. Republicans on Immigration equals Stop the Evil Brown-Skinned Latino Hordes from Coming Here to Live. Republicans on Terrorism equals Stop the Evil Brown-Skinned Arabs and Islamic Asians from Blowing Up Our Planes and Bridges. Republicans on Ned Lamont equals PLEASE Stop the Evil Black Voters from Banding Together and Forming a Legitimate Threat to Our All-White Boys’ Club. The time has come to punch through their codified euphemisms and strike at the truth of their rhetoric. Republicans are melanin-ophobics.
Kanye West was right. Republicans are the Party of Racism. So, start pinning them to the wall on it. Ask a Republican, "Why do you hate black people?" or "Why are you so scared of Mexicans?" or "Why do you think that all Arabs are terrorists?"
REPUBLICANS ARE RACIST FUCKERS. STOP LETTING THEM GET AWAY WITH THIS SHIT.
Ask Ann Coulter what she really means about Maxine Waters and Affirmative Action, or MalKKKin and her Reconquistas. Ask George Allen why he calls brown-skinned people monkeys. Ask the Weakly Standard what the fushizzuck they meant by that stupid cover with Al Sharpton as Step N Fetchit.
The gilmpses of Old School White Fright we get when these dullards slip up and speak their minds are not aberrations. It’s when the real soul of the Party of Bigots slips its leash and evades its handlers and jumps out, however briefly, for us all to see. Then the handlers and spinners come out and tell us, "You saw nothing! You heard nothing! The views Senator Whitey McCracker espoused in his unfortunate remarks do NOT represent the views of the GOP and blah de blah diddy blah…"
And that’s the big lie. Is your skin is a half-tone darker than a tan paper bag? More? Then, my friend, you are The Enemy to the Republican Party. Unless of course, you want to act, dress, think, talk, and legislate from a position somewhere to the right of Adolph Eichmann, THEN (and only then) are you welcome in the Republican tent, but first you have to be willing to sell out and actively work against other minority people. Only then do you become the kind of useful idiot the Republicans so desperately want on their side.
So, Firedogs, let’s call them out. Coulter, MalKKKin, Glenn Beck, William Bennett, George F. Allen, Krauthammer, Kristol, and Lott (oh, my!), Limbaugh, Hannity, John Gibson, and all the rest. It’s time for them to know that we see through their thin layer of PR spin all the way to the ugly all-white heart of racist, Repugnican America. This is 2006, fer fuck’s sake! Plantation America is no longer a viable concept. Unacceptable. And it’s up to us to raise the necessary Hell to call the public’s attention to the true, viciously exclusionary nature of the Reich Wing.
ATTACK!! ATTACK!! ATTAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!
Who’s with me?
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Thoughts on vacationing with a toddler
- If you go on vacation with a toddler and attempt to put said toddler to sleep in a pack-and-play in the same hotel room with yourself and your husband, the child will refuse to fall asleep. For the entire vacation.
- Then, because you have no choice if you want to eat for the next week, when you take this sleep-deprived kid out to restaurants, she will whine and scream her way through every meal.
- It's also not a good idea to do all this at the same time as the toddler for some reason develops a pronounced fear of the dark which makes her start whimpering as soon as the sun goes down.
- The toddler's resulting entreaties to be rocked in your lap and serenaded with "You Are My Sunshine" to keep the dark-outside monsters away will shatter your heart.
- Then, if some asshole pulls out of a gas station onto the highway and comes within inches of sideswiping your car, when you start screaming, it will scare the bejeezus out of the toddler. You'll tell her mommy was just yelling at the Bad Guy to go away, and that everyone's OK now, and at first she'll look like she buys it.
- But then she'll spend the next two days asking for confirmation that the Bad Guy is "all gone." This anxiety will not help the anxiety about the dark.
- In spite of all this, if your toddler gets to spend plenty of time digging in the sand, examining horseshoe crabs, and running into the waves, she will have an awesome time.
Brilliant brilliant brilliant
The consistently-amazing "NanceGreggs" over at Democratic Underground nails the buffoonery of our airline 'security' obsession:
Read the whole column here.
We’ve now got people at airports being prevented from boarding a plane with a bottle of Listerine, all so they can fly in complete safety and comfort while sitting on top of a cargo hold full of luggage and boxes that no one has bothered to inspect.
Read the whole column here.
Friday, August 04, 2006
In which I try to leave a friend a voice mail
Me: Hi, Cheryl, it's me, I just wanted to touch base with you about getting together this weekend to bring over the baby stuff. How does Saturday late morning, after I get my hair cut can you stop clinging to my leg, honey? What do you want? Your sippy cup? Here you go.
Peanut: (Emits long, high-pitched whining sound.)
Me: OK, sorry about that. (Peanut's real name) is hanging on my leg like an orangutan, and what do you want, this flashlight? You want to play with the flashlight? OK, but be careful...
Peanut: (Puts down sippy cup, picks up flashlight and starts swinging it around.)
Me: So anyway, I'm thinking I'll call you after I get done with my hair appointment and then maybe I can WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Stop whacking the coffee table with that flashlight! Look what you did -- you gave the coffee table a boo-boo! We don't hit the furniture with flashlights!
Peanut: (Gives me a concerned look, bursts into tears, smacks coffee table with flashlight one last time for good measure.)
Me: OK, that's it, you're having a time out! Not you, Cheryl.
Peanut: (Emits long, high-pitched whining sound.)
Me: OK, sorry about that. (Peanut's real name) is hanging on my leg like an orangutan, and what do you want, this flashlight? You want to play with the flashlight? OK, but be careful...
Peanut: (Puts down sippy cup, picks up flashlight and starts swinging it around.)
Me: So anyway, I'm thinking I'll call you after I get done with my hair appointment and then maybe I can WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Stop whacking the coffee table with that flashlight! Look what you did -- you gave the coffee table a boo-boo! We don't hit the furniture with flashlights!
Peanut: (Gives me a concerned look, bursts into tears, smacks coffee table with flashlight one last time for good measure.)
Me: OK, that's it, you're having a time out! Not you, Cheryl.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Waiting
One friend's twins are due in a few weeks, but in all likelihood she'll go into labor before her due date, because twins usually come early, or so I hear. I was a twin, and I arrived a month early, weighing 5 pounds. (There my mom sat, in the final days of 1968, not knowing until the very end of her pregnancy that she was carrying two very small babies--one of whom would be stillborn. When I had my Peanut, I finally understood what my mother must have felt on New Year's Day in 1969--the joy of having a living daughter, and the anguish over her dead son. But that is another story for another day.)
So my friend waits, joyful in the knowledge that even if her twins come now, they'll be big enough. They'll make it. The boy and the girl. She and her husband will wait, thrilled at what is to come.
Meanwhile another friend, five weeks into her pregnancy, tells me, "I had a miscarriage." The hopes for this pregnancy are at an end. She and her husband will mourn and regroup and try again. They'll wait, hopeful, for what is to come.
So my friend waits, joyful in the knowledge that even if her twins come now, they'll be big enough. They'll make it. The boy and the girl. She and her husband will wait, thrilled at what is to come.
Meanwhile another friend, five weeks into her pregnancy, tells me, "I had a miscarriage." The hopes for this pregnancy are at an end. She and her husband will mourn and regroup and try again. They'll wait, hopeful, for what is to come.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Rooting for the bad boss
The other night a few of my coworkers and I went out to have a few drinks and see the movie "The Devil Wears Prada," which is an adaptation of Lauren Weisberger's tell-all book about working at Vogue under Anna Wintour. As my 1.3 regular readers are no doubt aware, I have worked for numerous certifiably insane, Michael Scott-like women bosses. So I was prepared to loathe Meryl Streep's Wintour-with-a-shot-of-Martha-Stewart character, Miranda Priestly.
But my reaction to her was a bit of a shock. I actually found myself rooting for her.
Maybe it's just that Meryl Streep is such a completely amazing actress, but I thought she brought quite a bit of humanity to what could have been a one-note role. Naturally I'd be mortified if the first thing my boss did when she came in the door was throw her purse and coat on my desk. Or if she referred to me as a "fat girl." (Particularly if I was a size six!) But what I think a lot of women will find compelling about Streep's Miranda is that, lacking in interpersonal skills though she may be, no one in her company questions that she's the one in charge. And she cuts through the office bullshit and gets stuff done. Personally I admire anyone who can pull that off--particularly a woman in an ultra-high-stress job.
I guess the difference between the Miranda character and the nightmare women bosses of my old jobs is that Miranda actually knows something about her job and her industry. She knows everything about them, and she's not afraid to use that knowledge to further her agenda. Whereas the marketing director at The Management Consulting Firm that Must Not Be Named was clueless about pretty much everything, up to and including the fact that everybody in the place laughed at her behind her back. Her total inability to grasp the rules of professional etiquette never ceased to amaze. For months after I left that job, I would have a low-level PTSD reaction every time I thought about it, complete with thumping heart and sweaty palms.
But even so, when Anne Hathaway's put-upon assistant character in "Devil" abruptly chucks the job she's been killing herself to succeed at, it seemed to me like a cop-out. She doesn't want to devote her whole life to her job (who does?) so, just when she's on the cusp of real success (read: WAY more money, more trips to Paris, additional piles of designer clothing, etc.) she quits outright. To spend more time with her boyfriend, who vaguely resembles a Hobbit, and with whom she's already broken up. Does this decision ring true to anybody? If you were 22 years old with no commitments, wouldn't you stick around to bear the fruits of that success for a little while longer, before leaving to take the principled-but-lousy-paying journalism job?
Then again maybe I had this reaction because I know all too well how thankless the journalism martyr route can be. You think you're going to save the world, but what you are actually going to do is write about the local planning board for the princely sum of $24,000 a year, eat nothing but frozen Weight Watchers entrees (which you must buy on sale in bulk) and go into the office on Christmas Eve to listen to the police scanner in case there's a fire or a horrible car accident somewhere. That used to be me.
So if I was Hathaway's Andy, I would have totally taken the Valentino and the Jimmy Choos and stuck it out with Miranda, at least for a little while longer.
But my reaction to her was a bit of a shock. I actually found myself rooting for her.
Maybe it's just that Meryl Streep is such a completely amazing actress, but I thought she brought quite a bit of humanity to what could have been a one-note role. Naturally I'd be mortified if the first thing my boss did when she came in the door was throw her purse and coat on my desk. Or if she referred to me as a "fat girl." (Particularly if I was a size six!) But what I think a lot of women will find compelling about Streep's Miranda is that, lacking in interpersonal skills though she may be, no one in her company questions that she's the one in charge. And she cuts through the office bullshit and gets stuff done. Personally I admire anyone who can pull that off--particularly a woman in an ultra-high-stress job.
I guess the difference between the Miranda character and the nightmare women bosses of my old jobs is that Miranda actually knows something about her job and her industry. She knows everything about them, and she's not afraid to use that knowledge to further her agenda. Whereas the marketing director at The Management Consulting Firm that Must Not Be Named was clueless about pretty much everything, up to and including the fact that everybody in the place laughed at her behind her back. Her total inability to grasp the rules of professional etiquette never ceased to amaze. For months after I left that job, I would have a low-level PTSD reaction every time I thought about it, complete with thumping heart and sweaty palms.
But even so, when Anne Hathaway's put-upon assistant character in "Devil" abruptly chucks the job she's been killing herself to succeed at, it seemed to me like a cop-out. She doesn't want to devote her whole life to her job (who does?) so, just when she's on the cusp of real success (read: WAY more money, more trips to Paris, additional piles of designer clothing, etc.) she quits outright. To spend more time with her boyfriend, who vaguely resembles a Hobbit, and with whom she's already broken up. Does this decision ring true to anybody? If you were 22 years old with no commitments, wouldn't you stick around to bear the fruits of that success for a little while longer, before leaving to take the principled-but-lousy-paying journalism job?
Then again maybe I had this reaction because I know all too well how thankless the journalism martyr route can be. You think you're going to save the world, but what you are actually going to do is write about the local planning board for the princely sum of $24,000 a year, eat nothing but frozen Weight Watchers entrees (which you must buy on sale in bulk) and go into the office on Christmas Eve to listen to the police scanner in case there's a fire or a horrible car accident somewhere. That used to be me.
So if I was Hathaway's Andy, I would have totally taken the Valentino and the Jimmy Choos and stuck it out with Miranda, at least for a little while longer.
Growing up
Not only has the Peanut been binky-free for about five days now without major incident, but she also peed in the potty twice yesterday.
My baby's growing up!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Coming into the light
From Daily Kos, the story of a die-hard Republican reformed. With just a couple million more conversions like this--and, God willing, an actual free and fair Congressional election later this year--maybe, just maybe, we can save the world.
Visualize impeachment...
Visualize impeachment...
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
"This guy is so dumb he has no idea how dumb he is."
This column gets it exactly right. You say you think W. is actually a smart guy, in spite of all appearances? You're lying.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Princess envy
From the moment the Peanut emerged into the world and surprised me by not being a boy, as I'd imagined for nine months, I vowed that she would be raised in a steadfastly feminist household. There was to be no foolishness with this Disney Princess crap. No Barbie unrealistic-body-image nonsense. By God, this kid would learn that there ain't going to be no knight riding in on a white horse. I was going to raise a strong woman who would love herself for who she is. Who wouldn't waste a minute putting her happiness in the hands of men, instead of deciding that, boyfriend or no boyfriend, she's going to be happy. On her own terms.
I still fervently hope to raise that strong woman. But in the meantime, to my horror, I fear there are going to be princesses afoot in my house.
This is because of what happened at our neighbor's daughter's 2nd birthday party this weekend. At the very end of the gift opening, the birthday girl received a dress-up set with a poofy, lacy, pink skirt and a tiara. She smiled with glee as she modeled her new outfit for her guests. I sat on the floor next to the Peanut and watched her reaction.
Her mouth hanging open slightly, her eyes widening in awe, the Peanut pointed toward the birthday girl. "TI-AAAA-RA," the Peanut said in a reverent tone, mimicking the word she heard the adults saying all around the room. Then she looked at me and pointed at her own head. "TI-AAAA-RA!"
I think I know what somebody wants for her own 2nd birthday later this year...
I suppose I will give in and get her the tiara and the poofy princess skirt, because I can see it's going to make her soooo happy. But that knight on the white horse -- he's history. He is never setting foot in my house.
I still fervently hope to raise that strong woman. But in the meantime, to my horror, I fear there are going to be princesses afoot in my house.
This is because of what happened at our neighbor's daughter's 2nd birthday party this weekend. At the very end of the gift opening, the birthday girl received a dress-up set with a poofy, lacy, pink skirt and a tiara. She smiled with glee as she modeled her new outfit for her guests. I sat on the floor next to the Peanut and watched her reaction.
Her mouth hanging open slightly, her eyes widening in awe, the Peanut pointed toward the birthday girl. "TI-AAAA-RA," the Peanut said in a reverent tone, mimicking the word she heard the adults saying all around the room. Then she looked at me and pointed at her own head. "TI-AAAA-RA!"
I think I know what somebody wants for her own 2nd birthday later this year...
I suppose I will give in and get her the tiara and the poofy princess skirt, because I can see it's going to make her soooo happy. But that knight on the white horse -- he's history. He is never setting foot in my house.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Communication
Yesterday, during my work-at-home day, the Peanut's babysitter left once the Peanut went down for a nap so she could get some errands done. When my girl woke up, she was calling the babysitter's name.
"It's just mommy for the moment," I said, lifting her onto the changing table for a quick change. "Is it OK if it's just me for now?"
She stood up so I could pull her pants back up. "Mommy," the Peanut said, giving me a hug and resting her head on my shoulder. (She is so tall now that when she stands on the changing table, her head is a little bit higher than mine.) Then she removed her arms from around my neck, stood back and looked deep into my eyes. (Her eyes are like the darkest chocolate, melting out of the sweetest brownie sundae in the world.) "Mommy."
"It's just mommy for the moment," I said, lifting her onto the changing table for a quick change. "Is it OK if it's just me for now?"
She stood up so I could pull her pants back up. "Mommy," the Peanut said, giving me a hug and resting her head on my shoulder. (She is so tall now that when she stands on the changing table, her head is a little bit higher than mine.) Then she removed her arms from around my neck, stood back and looked deep into my eyes. (Her eyes are like the darkest chocolate, melting out of the sweetest brownie sundae in the world.) "Mommy."
Outrage
This is totally outrageous:
Because apparently every contractor involved in this project was just out to steal as much money as possible and avoid doing their jobs the right way, this woman's kids are motherless now, and her husband is a widower. Somebody needs to go to jail for this. Probably a lot of people should be in jail.
And here in Boston, how will we ever feel safe again driving through these tunnels? Completely freaking unbelievable.
Big Dig Possible Defect Count Quadrupled
- - - - - - - - - - - -
By GLEN JOHNSON Associated Press Writer
July 13,2006 BOSTON -- Inspectors on Thursday quadrupled to 240 the number of possible ceiling bolt problems in a Big Dig tunnel where a woman was crushed by falling concrete, a still-closed section at the center of Gov. Mitt Romney's push to oversee the safety of the troubled project.
The Massachusetts Turnpike Authority said inspectors found additional bolt assemblies that were separating from 3-ton concrete roof panels, raising the number of defects over previous inspections that found 60 defects. The earlier defects were enough for officials to order a sweeping review of every roadway, tunnel and bridge in Boston's entire highway system.
Michael Lewis, director of the Big Dig, said inspectors found 68 suspect bolt assemblies over the westbound lanes of a connector tunnel providing the main route to Logan Airport. Forty-five more were discovered in a lane carrying carpool traffic, as well as 69 in ramps connecting two interstate highways.
Because apparently every contractor involved in this project was just out to steal as much money as possible and avoid doing their jobs the right way, this woman's kids are motherless now, and her husband is a widower. Somebody needs to go to jail for this. Probably a lot of people should be in jail.
And here in Boston, how will we ever feel safe again driving through these tunnels? Completely freaking unbelievable.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
50 questions for your Republican friends
I found this in a comment on AmericaBlog and it is hilarious. So props to poster "Vegas Baby," whoever you are:
1. What are the top seven best things that the Bush administration has done?
2. Is the Iraq War is going well?
3. After three years thus far, when do you think Iraq might be able to "stand up" so that America can "stand down"?
4. For his part in the event, how would you rate the job the President did protecting New Orleans from devastation?
5. How do you think the rebuilding of New Orleans is going?
6. When Dick Cheney and the oil company and energy executives met in private to plan America's energy policy, how much of their goal was to benefit consumers?
7. Do you believe in the President's call for an Era of Personal Responsibility?
8. Since Republicans control the White House, Senate and House of Representatives, how personally responsible are they for conditions in America today?
9. Why do you think they haven't been able to find anyone who can verify that George Bush ever showed up for National Guard duty in Alabama?
10. Would you want Donald Rumsfeld to plan your daughter's wedding?
11. Are you aware that no government in the history of civilization, other than the Bush administration, has lowered taxes during a war?
12. Are you married?
13. Do you personally feel threatened by gay marriage?
14. Since getting elected, do you think the President has been more a uniter or a divider?
15. How do you explain the President's approval rating going from a high of 90% to the current mid-30%?
16. Do you like the government collecting personal data on you without a warrant?
17. How much money do you have in your bank account, stocks and investments?
18. What's your partner's favorite sex position?
19. If you have nothing to hide, why aren't you answering?
20. Should we build a wall along the Mexican border?
21. Why isn't anyone building a wall along the Canadian border?
22. Does that terrorist gang arrested in Canada count as a threat?
23. If you shot someone in the face while drinking, how fast would the police show up to arrest you?
24. If Donald Rumsfeld had planned your daughter's wedding three years ago, would the guests still be there?
25. Even if no laws are broken, do you think it's okay to reveal the name of a covert agent?
26. During your lifetime, approximately how often have you changed your mind?
27. Why shouldn't people dismiss you as a flip-flopper?
28. Where do you think the Weapons of Mass Destruction might be?
29. Where do you think Osama bin Laden might be?
30. Is it fiscally responsible to cut taxes, increase spending and create a $9 trillion federal debt?
31. Are you glad liberals passed such programs as Social Security, Medicare, the Civil Rights Act, women's suffrage, federal deposit insurance, unemployment compensation, rural electrification, child labor laws, minimum wages and the 40-hour work week?
32. What are the top ten best things that conservatives have given to America?
33. If you were on life support, would you want a doctor you'd never met making a diagnosis about you via remote television?
34. Do you think man-made greenhouse gases have anything at all to do with depleting the ozone layer?
35. If Donald Rumsfeld had planned your daughter's wedding three years ago, and guests were still there, how many factions would they now be split into?
36. How good is it that the terrorist Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi was killed?
37. Are you aware that in 2002 the Pentagon knew where al-Zarqawi was and presented three separate plans to kill him, but the administration refused to act each time?
38. Is George W. Bush the kind of guy you'd want to sit down and have a beer with?
39. When he started talking about being a born again Christian, would you want to stay or leave?
40. Is Ray Romano the kind of guy you'd want to sit down and have a beer with?
41. Would you want him to be President?
42. Does the Administration have an environmental policy that benefits the environment?
43. Since George Bush campaigned for President strongly against nation building, in what ways are our actions in Iraq not nation building?
44. What's the maximum amount of time you'd want to spend alone with Dick Cheney?
45. After dismissing Saddam Hussein's old Iraqi army, was it a good idea to let them keep their rifles?
46. Would a policy that allows torture be something that makes you proud as an American?
47. Has the Mission been Accomplished?
48. Do you feel comforted that Dick Cheney is a heartbeat away from being President?
49. If Donald Rumsfeld had planned your daughter's wedding, and guests started fighting and were killed, would you expect to be allowed to view the caskets when they were returned home?
50. How glad do you think George Bush is that he's no longer active in the National Guard?
1. What are the top seven best things that the Bush administration has done?
2. Is the Iraq War is going well?
3. After three years thus far, when do you think Iraq might be able to "stand up" so that America can "stand down"?
4. For his part in the event, how would you rate the job the President did protecting New Orleans from devastation?
5. How do you think the rebuilding of New Orleans is going?
6. When Dick Cheney and the oil company and energy executives met in private to plan America's energy policy, how much of their goal was to benefit consumers?
7. Do you believe in the President's call for an Era of Personal Responsibility?
8. Since Republicans control the White House, Senate and House of Representatives, how personally responsible are they for conditions in America today?
9. Why do you think they haven't been able to find anyone who can verify that George Bush ever showed up for National Guard duty in Alabama?
10. Would you want Donald Rumsfeld to plan your daughter's wedding?
11. Are you aware that no government in the history of civilization, other than the Bush administration, has lowered taxes during a war?
12. Are you married?
13. Do you personally feel threatened by gay marriage?
14. Since getting elected, do you think the President has been more a uniter or a divider?
15. How do you explain the President's approval rating going from a high of 90% to the current mid-30%?
16. Do you like the government collecting personal data on you without a warrant?
17. How much money do you have in your bank account, stocks and investments?
18. What's your partner's favorite sex position?
19. If you have nothing to hide, why aren't you answering?
20. Should we build a wall along the Mexican border?
21. Why isn't anyone building a wall along the Canadian border?
22. Does that terrorist gang arrested in Canada count as a threat?
23. If you shot someone in the face while drinking, how fast would the police show up to arrest you?
24. If Donald Rumsfeld had planned your daughter's wedding three years ago, would the guests still be there?
25. Even if no laws are broken, do you think it's okay to reveal the name of a covert agent?
26. During your lifetime, approximately how often have you changed your mind?
27. Why shouldn't people dismiss you as a flip-flopper?
28. Where do you think the Weapons of Mass Destruction might be?
29. Where do you think Osama bin Laden might be?
30. Is it fiscally responsible to cut taxes, increase spending and create a $9 trillion federal debt?
31. Are you glad liberals passed such programs as Social Security, Medicare, the Civil Rights Act, women's suffrage, federal deposit insurance, unemployment compensation, rural electrification, child labor laws, minimum wages and the 40-hour work week?
32. What are the top ten best things that conservatives have given to America?
33. If you were on life support, would you want a doctor you'd never met making a diagnosis about you via remote television?
34. Do you think man-made greenhouse gases have anything at all to do with depleting the ozone layer?
35. If Donald Rumsfeld had planned your daughter's wedding three years ago, and guests were still there, how many factions would they now be split into?
36. How good is it that the terrorist Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi was killed?
37. Are you aware that in 2002 the Pentagon knew where al-Zarqawi was and presented three separate plans to kill him, but the administration refused to act each time?
38. Is George W. Bush the kind of guy you'd want to sit down and have a beer with?
39. When he started talking about being a born again Christian, would you want to stay or leave?
40. Is Ray Romano the kind of guy you'd want to sit down and have a beer with?
41. Would you want him to be President?
42. Does the Administration have an environmental policy that benefits the environment?
43. Since George Bush campaigned for President strongly against nation building, in what ways are our actions in Iraq not nation building?
44. What's the maximum amount of time you'd want to spend alone with Dick Cheney?
45. After dismissing Saddam Hussein's old Iraqi army, was it a good idea to let them keep their rifles?
46. Would a policy that allows torture be something that makes you proud as an American?
47. Has the Mission been Accomplished?
48. Do you feel comforted that Dick Cheney is a heartbeat away from being President?
49. If Donald Rumsfeld had planned your daughter's wedding, and guests started fighting and were killed, would you expect to be allowed to view the caskets when they were returned home?
50. How glad do you think George Bush is that he's no longer active in the National Guard?
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Friday, July 07, 2006
Binky withdrawal
The Peanut had the shakes this morning--the withdrawal was bad. Mr. Fraulein had taken the binky out of her mouth before she woke up. Given that she's 21 months old now, we only let her have the pacifier while she sleeps, and even that we feel like we should start cutting back on soon...so once she was fully awake and realized that her beloved binky was gone, she was one unhappy Peanut.
She started whimpering, looking around for it. Within seconds this escalated into a full-blown tantrum, complete with tears streaming down her face, heaving sobs, and screaming. Oh, the screaming.
"BINKY! BINKY! BINKY!"
This continued all through diaper changing and dressing. Why were we such cruel parents, ripping her heart out like this? I tried to explain that she is such a big girl now that soon she won't need the binky at all anymore. I tried hugs and kisses. We attempted to distract her with sippy cups and cereal, but the sobbing continued.
Then we switched gears into ignoring the tantrum, as all the books advise. She decided to lie down on the floor in the hallway in front of her room. There she stayed while we finished getting dressed and packing her lunch. Finally, realizing she wasn't getting attention anymore, she picked herself up, stopped crying, and came into the kitchen to have breakfast. The binky was not mentioned again, even during the car ride to day care.
With any luck we won't see too many more binky-withdrawal-related tantrums like that one. Mama's heart can't take it!
She started whimpering, looking around for it. Within seconds this escalated into a full-blown tantrum, complete with tears streaming down her face, heaving sobs, and screaming. Oh, the screaming.
"BINKY! BINKY! BINKY!"
This continued all through diaper changing and dressing. Why were we such cruel parents, ripping her heart out like this? I tried to explain that she is such a big girl now that soon she won't need the binky at all anymore. I tried hugs and kisses. We attempted to distract her with sippy cups and cereal, but the sobbing continued.
Then we switched gears into ignoring the tantrum, as all the books advise. She decided to lie down on the floor in the hallway in front of her room. There she stayed while we finished getting dressed and packing her lunch. Finally, realizing she wasn't getting attention anymore, she picked herself up, stopped crying, and came into the kitchen to have breakfast. The binky was not mentioned again, even during the car ride to day care.
With any luck we won't see too many more binky-withdrawal-related tantrums like that one. Mama's heart can't take it!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
June 30, 2002
On the night before my wedding, I didn't sleep at all. Not because I was particularly nervous. I'm actually not sure why I got no sleep. Somehow I made it through the whole wedding day craziness on adrenaline alone.
There are some things that remain seared on your memory; like everything that happened on the day the Peanut was born, my wedding day was one such event. The morning was a complete whirlwind. My parents' house was Hair and Makeup Central for myself, my mom, and my three bridesmaids. My mother, in her usual fashion, decided our hair stylist had done a crappy job, so with the limo minutes from arriving at the house to take us to the church, took a curling iron to her head to start over. I took a break from the photographer to run upstairs to tell her to get a move on, and when she took a good look at me in my dress and veil, she burst into tears.
My mom's hair crisis averted, we piled into the limo. The sun looked gorgeous on the trees, as well as, during the ceremony, pouring through the stained glass windows. My girls were perfection in their light purple silk Jackie O suits -- no stupid poofy bridesmaids dresses in this wedding! They walked into the church first, along with the groomsmen (Mr. Fraulein's brother and two friends). And then my dad and I came up the stairs and around the corner, to the beginning of the aisle.
And all our guests -- our family and friends -- STOOD UP, and the church lit up with flashing cameras. My dad and I took our walk to the altar, where Mr. Fraulein stood waiting, smiling at me.
An hour later, we were Mr. and Mrs. Fraulein, on our way to a massive party that included, among other things, several conga lines, many Ella Fitzgerald tunes, and the best dessert bar in the history of mankind. (People are still talking about it.) "This was the best party I've been to in 20 years," my Uncle Carmine said that night, giving me a hug. Like all the best celebrations, it was like a door opening, ushering in the beginning of something even bigger and better.
We've had four years of vacations and house buying, working and not working, cooking (mostly done by Mr. Fraulein!) and minor home renovations (also done by Mr. Fraulein). And laughing and crying and getting the hang of being parents to our Peanut.
Here's to 30 more years of celebrations to come!
There are some things that remain seared on your memory; like everything that happened on the day the Peanut was born, my wedding day was one such event. The morning was a complete whirlwind. My parents' house was Hair and Makeup Central for myself, my mom, and my three bridesmaids. My mother, in her usual fashion, decided our hair stylist had done a crappy job, so with the limo minutes from arriving at the house to take us to the church, took a curling iron to her head to start over. I took a break from the photographer to run upstairs to tell her to get a move on, and when she took a good look at me in my dress and veil, she burst into tears.
My mom's hair crisis averted, we piled into the limo. The sun looked gorgeous on the trees, as well as, during the ceremony, pouring through the stained glass windows. My girls were perfection in their light purple silk Jackie O suits -- no stupid poofy bridesmaids dresses in this wedding! They walked into the church first, along with the groomsmen (Mr. Fraulein's brother and two friends). And then my dad and I came up the stairs and around the corner, to the beginning of the aisle.
And all our guests -- our family and friends -- STOOD UP, and the church lit up with flashing cameras. My dad and I took our walk to the altar, where Mr. Fraulein stood waiting, smiling at me.
An hour later, we were Mr. and Mrs. Fraulein, on our way to a massive party that included, among other things, several conga lines, many Ella Fitzgerald tunes, and the best dessert bar in the history of mankind. (People are still talking about it.) "This was the best party I've been to in 20 years," my Uncle Carmine said that night, giving me a hug. Like all the best celebrations, it was like a door opening, ushering in the beginning of something even bigger and better.
We've had four years of vacations and house buying, working and not working, cooking (mostly done by Mr. Fraulein!) and minor home renovations (also done by Mr. Fraulein). And laughing and crying and getting the hang of being parents to our Peanut.
Here's to 30 more years of celebrations to come!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Down the rabbit hole
So MSNBC thinks it's reasonable to debate whether the New York Times -- taking a rare break from its usual non-stop promotion of Bush's interests -- is guilty of treason for reporting on some secret government plan to covertly track people's financial activities in the hunt for "terrorists."
A "news" network is home to this debate, in America in 2006. Somewhere, Edward R. Murrow is weeping, and Joseph Stalin is grinning.
A "news" network is home to this debate, in America in 2006. Somewhere, Edward R. Murrow is weeping, and Joseph Stalin is grinning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)