I've been feeling angry, impatient and I'm having difficulty maintaining control. I'm struggling to determine where these emotions are coming from and how best to deal with them.
Actually, I know why I'm feeling the way I am. I'm having trouble letting go of the reasons.
Unfortunately, this is the exact combination of volatility that makes me withdraw and pushes me into depression. Intellectually knowing this does not make it any easier to cope.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
I Know Everyone has Seen this Video...
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
You Know...
I was going to go off on a rant about the latest asinine comments coming out of the Vatican via the mouth of Cardinal Stafford, but I don't have enough energy to give it the proper take down it deserves.
Except to say that describing President-Elect Obama as "apocalyptic" is about as loud of a dog whistle as I have heard coming out of the church in a long time.
Except to say that describing President-Elect Obama as "apocalyptic" is about as loud of a dog whistle as I have heard coming out of the church in a long time.
Monday, November 17, 2008
I Cave
And go vain for one post. Because I've got nothing else to talk about right now. The temperature went from sixty to thirty overnight and there is snow on the ground.
I intentionally went shopping in a mall on Sunday. One of those old fashioned enclosed structures that sells overpriced goods and services. I was lured. Because this was no ordinary mall. This was the mall of high end shops extraordinaire. Nordstrom's, Kate Spade, Burberry and Tiffany's. Yes, a Tiffany's in a suburban Pittsburgh mall!
It was the promise of a merino and model blend sweater (on sale!) from Martin + Osa, and a well fitting undergarment (most emphatically not on sale) from Nordstrom's that lured me in. The scent of fresh Louie Vuitton leather, a comfortable overpriced beanbag chair from LoveSac (The BigOne is large enough to use as a bed), the sparkling diamonds at Tiffany's.
I tried on clothes. I wandered. I spent too much money on unmentionables. I resisted Godiva chocolates and factory cheesecake. It felt like a vacation.
It was a vacation of sorts, as I try to spend as little time as possible in malls. I exclude the cutting of my hair at a Regis salon in the mall near my home because A. I get my hair cut far less often then the industry standard of every six weeks, B. Regis is less expensive then the majority of independent stylists in the Pittsburgh area and C. I've had my hair done at Regis salons in cities all over the United States and had a positive experience at every single one of them. Which I can not say about a certain Pittsburgh based chain who consistently and without fail butchered my hair every single time I visited. The final straw cut was so awful that I walked into a Regis the next day and paid full price for a stylist to fix it.
And when I was finished, I got in my car and drove across town during the Steelers game. Because as any self-respecting resident of this city knows, the best time to go anywhere in the city and get there quickly is during a Steelers home game. Although a true Pittsburgh resident would not be running errands. They would be glued to their television or freezing in their nosebleed seats at Heinz Field.
I intentionally went shopping in a mall on Sunday. One of those old fashioned enclosed structures that sells overpriced goods and services. I was lured. Because this was no ordinary mall. This was the mall of high end shops extraordinaire. Nordstrom's, Kate Spade, Burberry and Tiffany's. Yes, a Tiffany's in a suburban Pittsburgh mall!
It was the promise of a merino and model blend sweater (on sale!) from Martin + Osa, and a well fitting undergarment (most emphatically not on sale) from Nordstrom's that lured me in. The scent of fresh Louie Vuitton leather, a comfortable overpriced beanbag chair from LoveSac (The BigOne is large enough to use as a bed), the sparkling diamonds at Tiffany's.
I tried on clothes. I wandered. I spent too much money on unmentionables. I resisted Godiva chocolates and factory cheesecake. It felt like a vacation.
It was a vacation of sorts, as I try to spend as little time as possible in malls. I exclude the cutting of my hair at a Regis salon in the mall near my home because A. I get my hair cut far less often then the industry standard of every six weeks, B. Regis is less expensive then the majority of independent stylists in the Pittsburgh area and C. I've had my hair done at Regis salons in cities all over the United States and had a positive experience at every single one of them. Which I can not say about a certain Pittsburgh based chain who consistently and without fail butchered my hair every single time I visited. The final straw cut was so awful that I walked into a Regis the next day and paid full price for a stylist to fix it.
And when I was finished, I got in my car and drove across town during the Steelers game. Because as any self-respecting resident of this city knows, the best time to go anywhere in the city and get there quickly is during a Steelers home game. Although a true Pittsburgh resident would not be running errands. They would be glued to their television or freezing in their nosebleed seats at Heinz Field.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
David Byrne as Minor Deity and the Cat Came Back
I say upfront that my ability to form coherent, interesting sentences seems to have taken a holiday with the last round of viruses. I hope for the return of my full facilities soon, as this odd feeling of dullness is becoming an irritant in my life. I can not seem to create or comprehend the world around me.
J and I went to see David Byrne at the Carnegie Music Hall in Oakland on Friday night. We stopped to have a drink at the Panther Hollow Inn, half a sandwich at Camille's and a short stroll through the neighborhood before the show.
Stopping at PHI was a bad idea. As the majority of PHI's sales are in the form of stiff drinks and beer, smoking is not only permitted (due to an exception in the law), it is actively encouraged. Unfortunately this last round of virus', which started with a case of food poisoning and evolved into step throat + a massive sinus infection with a finish of bronchitis have lowered my tolerance for cigarette smoke to z.e.r.o. As I have spent the better part of the last four weeks at home, forgoing the gym, outings with friends and hockey games, I'm not very keen (what a quaint word, "keen") to be sick again anytime soon. My list of tolerable venues grows ever shorter as an increasing number of bars and restaurants in the Pittsburgh area apply for an exception to the smoking ban.
Bah.
We wandered briefly around Oakland. It was warm and the streets were crowded with students and fellow concert goers. The city is celebrating it's 250 Anniversary with a Festival of Lights and some prominent Oakland buildings were lit with abstract designs and film of wild animals in hotel rooms. On our way to the hall a couple asked us for directions and I resisted the impulse to send them to the Carnegie Music Hall in Homestead instead. Submitting to my better angel did little to aid the large number of attendees who confused the two venues and arrived after the show was well underway. Late enough for Byrne, to note their arrival in between songs.
David Byrne as minor deity, attired in white shirt, white pants and white shoes to match his toned down (but still slightly flamboyant) white pompadour hair. The band, backup singers and dancers were also dressed completely in white, which lent an on-vacation-resort-wear vibe to the evening.
Oakland's Carnegie Music Hall is a tiny, high, tight venue used mostly for lectures. The music reverberated through the hall, filling it with sound without feeling too loud. The temperature rose quickly, from the heat of so many bodies packed so close together and I could see how uncomfortable the band was by the end of the show.
My favorite part was the end, watching the expressions of pleasure and disbelief cross his face as he listened to the applause from the audience, completely in the moment.
As for poor kitty, she is back at home, perfectly healthy (in better health than myself actually) and pain-free after a through cleaning and extraction of her lower left canine tooth, which had a lesion large enough to expose the nerve.
J and I went to see David Byrne at the Carnegie Music Hall in Oakland on Friday night. We stopped to have a drink at the Panther Hollow Inn, half a sandwich at Camille's and a short stroll through the neighborhood before the show.
Stopping at PHI was a bad idea. As the majority of PHI's sales are in the form of stiff drinks and beer, smoking is not only permitted (due to an exception in the law), it is actively encouraged. Unfortunately this last round of virus', which started with a case of food poisoning and evolved into step throat + a massive sinus infection with a finish of bronchitis have lowered my tolerance for cigarette smoke to z.e.r.o. As I have spent the better part of the last four weeks at home, forgoing the gym, outings with friends and hockey games, I'm not very keen (what a quaint word, "keen") to be sick again anytime soon. My list of tolerable venues grows ever shorter as an increasing number of bars and restaurants in the Pittsburgh area apply for an exception to the smoking ban.
Bah.
We wandered briefly around Oakland. It was warm and the streets were crowded with students and fellow concert goers. The city is celebrating it's 250 Anniversary with a Festival of Lights and some prominent Oakland buildings were lit with abstract designs and film of wild animals in hotel rooms. On our way to the hall a couple asked us for directions and I resisted the impulse to send them to the Carnegie Music Hall in Homestead instead. Submitting to my better angel did little to aid the large number of attendees who confused the two venues and arrived after the show was well underway. Late enough for Byrne, to note their arrival in between songs.
David Byrne as minor deity, attired in white shirt, white pants and white shoes to match his toned down (but still slightly flamboyant) white pompadour hair. The band, backup singers and dancers were also dressed completely in white, which lent an on-vacation-resort-wear vibe to the evening.
Oakland's Carnegie Music Hall is a tiny, high, tight venue used mostly for lectures. The music reverberated through the hall, filling it with sound without feeling too loud. The temperature rose quickly, from the heat of so many bodies packed so close together and I could see how uncomfortable the band was by the end of the show.
My favorite part was the end, watching the expressions of pleasure and disbelief cross his face as he listened to the applause from the audience, completely in the moment.
As for poor kitty, she is back at home, perfectly healthy (in better health than myself actually) and pain-free after a through cleaning and extraction of her lower left canine tooth, which had a lesion large enough to expose the nerve.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
The Day After
I'm tired this evening, after staying up until 1:30 am to watch the remaining returns and the speeches. I don't think I have fully processed the enormity of what we, as United States citizens, have achieved by electing Barack Obama as our president.
When I logged into my email this morning I had two messages from non-American friends.
“Congratulations. Well done. Lot of work ahead” one wrote.
“Yes, yes there is” I replied.
I voted in my fifth Presidential election yesterday. J and I woke early and were in line to vote at 6:50 A.M. I passed the time before polls opened entertained by the looks of shock and dismay on the faces of poll workers and voters. They were surprised by the line.
There were three electronic voting machines available for use in my precinct. At 7:00 am the polls opened. At 7:05 one of the three machines broke down. At 7:10 I was at a machine, reading through my options.
I waited a few moments before pressing the vote button at the top of the machine.
Riding the buses into downtown and Squirrel Hill, I saw Obama supporters standing on street corners, holding enormous Obama/Biden 2008 signs and cheering. Cars honked as they passed by. The sun was shining and the spirits of the people out on the street was high for so early in the morning.
I went outside after lunch for a short walk. Instead of tension, the mood was festive, almost holiday-like. Young college students walked the streets proudly sporting I Voted Obama/Biden 2008 stickers.
It was dark when I left work, yet there were even more people out on the street, eating Ben & Jerry's ice cream. The bus stop was as crowded as I have ever seen it, enough people to fill two buses completely.
Instead of thinking about the election outcome, I thought about the Festival of Lights and wondered if the Cathedral of Learning was lit up. It was not, but the outside of the Carnegie Museum of Art sported a moose wandering across the facade.
Determined to stick to my media blackout plan, I stopped at the gym and went for a swim.
The plan lasted until 10:00 pm. J, curious about the results, pulled up CNN.com and began reading returns and projections to me out loud. Around 11:00 pm the Daily Show called the election for Obama and we switched to CNN to watch the speeches.
And I sat, stunned, until almost 1:30, watching the footage of U.S citizens celebrating in the streets.
Extraordinary.
When I logged into my email this morning I had two messages from non-American friends.
“Congratulations. Well done. Lot of work ahead” one wrote.
“Yes, yes there is” I replied.
I voted in my fifth Presidential election yesterday. J and I woke early and were in line to vote at 6:50 A.M. I passed the time before polls opened entertained by the looks of shock and dismay on the faces of poll workers and voters. They were surprised by the line.
There were three electronic voting machines available for use in my precinct. At 7:00 am the polls opened. At 7:05 one of the three machines broke down. At 7:10 I was at a machine, reading through my options.
I waited a few moments before pressing the vote button at the top of the machine.
Riding the buses into downtown and Squirrel Hill, I saw Obama supporters standing on street corners, holding enormous Obama/Biden 2008 signs and cheering. Cars honked as they passed by. The sun was shining and the spirits of the people out on the street was high for so early in the morning.
I went outside after lunch for a short walk. Instead of tension, the mood was festive, almost holiday-like. Young college students walked the streets proudly sporting I Voted Obama/Biden 2008 stickers.
It was dark when I left work, yet there were even more people out on the street, eating Ben & Jerry's ice cream. The bus stop was as crowded as I have ever seen it, enough people to fill two buses completely.
Instead of thinking about the election outcome, I thought about the Festival of Lights and wondered if the Cathedral of Learning was lit up. It was not, but the outside of the Carnegie Museum of Art sported a moose wandering across the facade.
Determined to stick to my media blackout plan, I stopped at the gym and went for a swim.
The plan lasted until 10:00 pm. J, curious about the results, pulled up CNN.com and began reading returns and projections to me out loud. Around 11:00 pm the Daily Show called the election for Obama and we switched to CNN to watch the speeches.
And I sat, stunned, until almost 1:30, watching the footage of U.S citizens celebrating in the streets.
Extraordinary.
Monday, November 03, 2008
I Can't, But You Can
David Bryne sent me an email. A bulk email, but an email nonetheless.
I'm so weirdly excited by this that I'm a little bit stupid right now. So stupid that I answered it. I know he will never read it, but felt as if I needed to reassure him that someone was listening.
From David Byrne:
I Can't, But You Can
Pardon the bulk mailing. I Can't Vote. I am an immigrant with a Green Card and, therefore, I am not eligible to vote in a federal election. FYI - I can get drafted (luckily, Daniel Berrigan burned my draft board's records) and I pay taxes, yet I cannot vote for President. On Election Day, I see my neighbors heading to the nearby elementary school to cast their ballots. The voting booth joint is a great leveler; the whole neighborhood - rich, poor, old, young, decrepit and spunky - they all turn out in one day.
But most of you can vote. What can I say? The Republicans have made us less safe than before 9/11, bankrupted this economy, started an illegal war they can't - and don't intend to - finish, removed what sympathy (after 9/11) and respect the world had for the US, and have robbed US citizens of many of their basic rights. Global warming? What's that? Science and education? Investment in our future? No, thanks - we'll stick with a good 'ole hockey mom. Ignorant, and fucking proud of it, as is always the case.
Although it looks like a shoo-in, it ain't over 'til Florida. And there are plenty of racists in this country who will vote against their own best interests. So please, get to your local elementary school, post office, town hall, or whatever, and cast your vote and make this a country we can all be proud of. We can get out of this mess, and life can be better than it is.
David Byrne
NYC
I'm so weirdly excited by this that I'm a little bit stupid right now. So stupid that I answered it. I know he will never read it, but felt as if I needed to reassure him that someone was listening.
From David Byrne:
I Can't, But You Can
Pardon the bulk mailing. I Can't Vote. I am an immigrant with a Green Card and, therefore, I am not eligible to vote in a federal election. FYI - I can get drafted (luckily, Daniel Berrigan burned my draft board's records) and I pay taxes, yet I cannot vote for President. On Election Day, I see my neighbors heading to the nearby elementary school to cast their ballots. The voting booth joint is a great leveler; the whole neighborhood - rich, poor, old, young, decrepit and spunky - they all turn out in one day.
But most of you can vote. What can I say? The Republicans have made us less safe than before 9/11, bankrupted this economy, started an illegal war they can't - and don't intend to - finish, removed what sympathy (after 9/11) and respect the world had for the US, and have robbed US citizens of many of their basic rights. Global warming? What's that? Science and education? Investment in our future? No, thanks - we'll stick with a good 'ole hockey mom. Ignorant, and fucking proud of it, as is always the case.
Although it looks like a shoo-in, it ain't over 'til Florida. And there are plenty of racists in this country who will vote against their own best interests. So please, get to your local elementary school, post office, town hall, or whatever, and cast your vote and make this a country we can all be proud of. We can get out of this mess, and life can be better than it is.
David Byrne
NYC
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Apparently...
I have the face of a sixteen year old girl. At least that is what the (much younger) ticket seller at Loews seemed to believe, as he asked for identification before selling me two passes to Zach and Miri Make a Porno. J laughed while I showed my driver's license and paid for the tickets. And he continued giggling all the way into the theater.
On a side note, I have to share how much I love how Spielberg begins the opening scenes of Schindler's List. From the Germans collecting the names of Jewish citizens, to Oskar Schindler collecting names of SS officers in the club, the transition between drinking songs to the music and marching of war. The entire tone of the movie, the study of contrasts between poverty and decadence, the banality of evil, the increasing tension, all of these things and more are why I love this movie so very much.
On a side note, I have to share how much I love how Spielberg begins the opening scenes of Schindler's List. From the Germans collecting the names of Jewish citizens, to Oskar Schindler collecting names of SS officers in the club, the transition between drinking songs to the music and marching of war. The entire tone of the movie, the study of contrasts between poverty and decadence, the banality of evil, the increasing tension, all of these things and more are why I love this movie so very much.
Poor Kitty
I'm gearing myself up, mentally, for the well deserved tongue lashing I will receive from my cat's veterinarian when I call tomorrow to schedule an appointment for the oldest feline, Lucy Snowe*. Poor kitty has an infected tooth, needs a cleaning and has not been to the vet in three years.
In my defense, all three cats spend 100% of their time indoors, are very healthy (infected tooth notwithstanding) and have been taken to an open clinic to be vaccinated against rabies.
Same poor kitty is now hiding underneath the guest room bed, slightly woozy from the painkiller and very unhappy with with me for administrating the painkiller and antibiotic. The emergency vet prescribed the drugs to ease the infection in her tooth and to dope her up enough that she forgets it hurts when she eats. I caught her at the water bowl this morning and I'm going to put out some soft food to tempt her later today.
In the grand scheme of things, obsessing and spending considerable sums of money** on a thirteen year old, six pound Turkish Angora mix is a bad idea. With the economy diving ever closer to the bottom, I should be concerned about my retirement instead of squandering money on a cat. In fact, I should be embarrassed that I'm about to spend as much money as a month's rent to make sure that she feels better.
But I'm not. I'm thankful. I'm thankful that most of my friends are pet owners who understand the emotional benefit of outlaying large sums of cash to keep their feline and canine family members healthy. I'm thankful to have had so many years with a companion who serves as an anchor between my life as a single graduate student and my life now.
Like Lisa, I have looked at Lucy recently and realized that she is beginning the end of her life. At some point in the next several years I am going to have to make the painful decision to let her go. I'm not looking forward to that moment, to losing one of the constants of my life. But living creatures are never constant. Whether cat or dog or bird or human being, they grow, change and eventually leave us.
*Why yes, I'm a fan of Charlotte Bronte. Why do you ask?
**Cleaning a cat's teeth is expensive as they must be fully sedated with general anesthesia for the procedure.
In my defense, all three cats spend 100% of their time indoors, are very healthy (infected tooth notwithstanding) and have been taken to an open clinic to be vaccinated against rabies.
Same poor kitty is now hiding underneath the guest room bed, slightly woozy from the painkiller and very unhappy with with me for administrating the painkiller and antibiotic. The emergency vet prescribed the drugs to ease the infection in her tooth and to dope her up enough that she forgets it hurts when she eats. I caught her at the water bowl this morning and I'm going to put out some soft food to tempt her later today.
In the grand scheme of things, obsessing and spending considerable sums of money** on a thirteen year old, six pound Turkish Angora mix is a bad idea. With the economy diving ever closer to the bottom, I should be concerned about my retirement instead of squandering money on a cat. In fact, I should be embarrassed that I'm about to spend as much money as a month's rent to make sure that she feels better.
But I'm not. I'm thankful. I'm thankful that most of my friends are pet owners who understand the emotional benefit of outlaying large sums of cash to keep their feline and canine family members healthy. I'm thankful to have had so many years with a companion who serves as an anchor between my life as a single graduate student and my life now.
Like Lisa, I have looked at Lucy recently and realized that she is beginning the end of her life. At some point in the next several years I am going to have to make the painful decision to let her go. I'm not looking forward to that moment, to losing one of the constants of my life. But living creatures are never constant. Whether cat or dog or bird or human being, they grow, change and eventually leave us.
*Why yes, I'm a fan of Charlotte Bronte. Why do you ask?
**Cleaning a cat's teeth is expensive as they must be fully sedated with general anesthesia for the procedure.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Remedies
Remedy 1:
The waning days of this campaign have been tiresome. As Pennsylvania slips in and out of battleground status, the McCain ads have become increasingly negative and the rhetoric I am hearing has made me almost glad that my current battle with a massive sinus infection has stuffed my ears to the point that I barely hear myself speak, much less anyone else.
But I have found a remedy to the rhetoric. Every time I hear or read something completely asinine, I give money to the Obama campaign. I've only been doing this since October 10 and I have only made three donations, yet I feel as if I am doing something to combat the assholeness swirling around me.
My first donation came in the guise of a $15.00, long sleeved, Obama 08 campaign t-shirt. This purchase was precipitated by my accidental involvement in an email thread wherein the originator of the thread sent a link to a pro-Obama article, but forgot to BCC the recipients. As I was disinterested in a flame war, I sat back and practiced deep breathing in an attempt to lower my rising blood pressure. Yes, I should have hit the delete button, but I could not bring myself to look away from the train wreck.
It was the last message of the thread that provoked me to walk across the street to the Squirrel Hill Obama campaign office and purchase the t-shirt, as the sender stated “he looks good when he stands next to McCain on TV, and plenty of women will vote for him”.
Nice to know that a complete stranger has such a low opinion of women. The ritual of purchasing the t-shirt and chatting with the staff was soothing. “I know you are a Democrat” one staffers remarked as I waited behind a couple of middle aged women purchasing yard signs. “Because Democrats are patient, and you have that patient look about you”.
Fifteen dollars to Obama.
My second purchase was yesterday. Sick of the negative ads and given an opportunity to do a good deed, I trundled across the street to the campaign office, purchased $20.00 worth of swag in the form of a t-shirt, rally sign and buttons (including a “Steelers fan for Obama” pin) and mailed the entire bundle to a child in Canada.
Donation three came tonight, on the heels of one of my coworkers commenting that a vote for Obama was a vote for communism. Or was it socialism? The conversation began innocently enough, with him asking us if we were as ready for the election to be over as he was. Then it veered into crazy territory.
Presumably I will receive a special edition car magnet and possibly a t-shirt for my donation. When I suggested that I affix the magnet to a hidden spot on my right wing conservative B-I-L's car, as some sort of reverse voodoo curse, J rolled his eyes.
My only regret is that I did not do this sooner. I could have picked up a sterling silver Obama charm. Unfortunately, the website is sold out.
Remedy 2:
In addition to campaign fatigue, I have a sinus infection. Not just a little infection, but a full blown, head stuffing, ear clogging, sore throat, slowly losing my voice and developing a cough infection. So massive that I broke down and started taking full doses of day and night time cold medicines in the hope of mitigating some of the symptoms. I'm drinking so much water and herbal tea that I'm only sleeping three hours maximum at a stretch because that is the longest I can go without needing to use the bathroom. And I worry that one night I will not be able to wake up on time.
And none of it is working all that well. The cold medicine takes almost an hour to kick in and the effects last far less than the four hour claim on the box and makes me sick to my stomach. I'm having a little more success dealing with the sore throat with periodical doses of ibuprofen, but worry about how much damage I'm doing to my liver. The anesthetic throat drops are not all that numbing.
So tonight, in a last effort to bring myself some relief, I elected to experiment with a home remedy known as “irrigating the sinuses”. In other words, I shot warm saltwater up my nose.
I would not call it the most unpleasant experience, but the feel and taste of warm saltwater dripping down my throat into my mouth does not rank as the end all/be all of fun times. It did nothing to ease the pressure in my left ear, but did leave a pleasant tingling sensation and an urge to sneeze.
The waning days of this campaign have been tiresome. As Pennsylvania slips in and out of battleground status, the McCain ads have become increasingly negative and the rhetoric I am hearing has made me almost glad that my current battle with a massive sinus infection has stuffed my ears to the point that I barely hear myself speak, much less anyone else.
But I have found a remedy to the rhetoric. Every time I hear or read something completely asinine, I give money to the Obama campaign. I've only been doing this since October 10 and I have only made three donations, yet I feel as if I am doing something to combat the assholeness swirling around me.
My first donation came in the guise of a $15.00, long sleeved, Obama 08 campaign t-shirt. This purchase was precipitated by my accidental involvement in an email thread wherein the originator of the thread sent a link to a pro-Obama article, but forgot to BCC the recipients. As I was disinterested in a flame war, I sat back and practiced deep breathing in an attempt to lower my rising blood pressure. Yes, I should have hit the delete button, but I could not bring myself to look away from the train wreck.
It was the last message of the thread that provoked me to walk across the street to the Squirrel Hill Obama campaign office and purchase the t-shirt, as the sender stated “he looks good when he stands next to McCain on TV, and plenty of women will vote for him”.
Nice to know that a complete stranger has such a low opinion of women. The ritual of purchasing the t-shirt and chatting with the staff was soothing. “I know you are a Democrat” one staffers remarked as I waited behind a couple of middle aged women purchasing yard signs. “Because Democrats are patient, and you have that patient look about you”.
Fifteen dollars to Obama.
My second purchase was yesterday. Sick of the negative ads and given an opportunity to do a good deed, I trundled across the street to the campaign office, purchased $20.00 worth of swag in the form of a t-shirt, rally sign and buttons (including a “Steelers fan for Obama” pin) and mailed the entire bundle to a child in Canada.
Donation three came tonight, on the heels of one of my coworkers commenting that a vote for Obama was a vote for communism. Or was it socialism? The conversation began innocently enough, with him asking us if we were as ready for the election to be over as he was. Then it veered into crazy territory.
Presumably I will receive a special edition car magnet and possibly a t-shirt for my donation. When I suggested that I affix the magnet to a hidden spot on my right wing conservative B-I-L's car, as some sort of reverse voodoo curse, J rolled his eyes.
My only regret is that I did not do this sooner. I could have picked up a sterling silver Obama charm. Unfortunately, the website is sold out.
Remedy 2:
In addition to campaign fatigue, I have a sinus infection. Not just a little infection, but a full blown, head stuffing, ear clogging, sore throat, slowly losing my voice and developing a cough infection. So massive that I broke down and started taking full doses of day and night time cold medicines in the hope of mitigating some of the symptoms. I'm drinking so much water and herbal tea that I'm only sleeping three hours maximum at a stretch because that is the longest I can go without needing to use the bathroom. And I worry that one night I will not be able to wake up on time.
And none of it is working all that well. The cold medicine takes almost an hour to kick in and the effects last far less than the four hour claim on the box and makes me sick to my stomach. I'm having a little more success dealing with the sore throat with periodical doses of ibuprofen, but worry about how much damage I'm doing to my liver. The anesthetic throat drops are not all that numbing.
So tonight, in a last effort to bring myself some relief, I elected to experiment with a home remedy known as “irrigating the sinuses”. In other words, I shot warm saltwater up my nose.
I would not call it the most unpleasant experience, but the feel and taste of warm saltwater dripping down my throat into my mouth does not rank as the end all/be all of fun times. It did nothing to ease the pressure in my left ear, but did leave a pleasant tingling sensation and an urge to sneeze.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Eighteen
I had jury duty a few weeks ago. I learned something from jury duty.
I learned that that as much as I think that I believe in the idea of presumptive innocence, I can't practice it in some situations. There is a limit to my ability to put my personal experience and assumptions aside when asked to sit in judgment on another human being.
Such as when the defendant is accused of sexually assaulting, with penetration, his very young daughter.
When the clerk read the charges out loud, he finished by acknowledging the heinous nature of the charges and asking the jury pool if anyone had reservations about serving in an impartial manner.
My hand went up immediately. One of fifteen or twenty out of a pool of close to fifty potential jurors. I felt sick inside.
I was potential juror number four. Sitting in the front row.
When called, I walked up to the desk and sat down, said hello. Looked at the district attorney and the defense attorney straight in the eye. Could not bring myself to look at the defendant.
My interview with the attorneys was one question long. The defense attorney asked me what prejudice I had, I replied with a single sentence.
"Because I was sexually assaulted when I was eighteen".
I was immediately excused.
I rarely talk about what happened to me when I was eighteen and I don't intend to do so here. But I realized, sitting in that room, listening to those charges, that I am still giving too much mental and emotional real estate to a man who does not deserve it.
Some things are not easily forgotten.
I also want to believe that I did the correct thing by being honest, that I gave the defendant a better chance at a fair trial. But there is no nobility in prejudice, especially when the guilt or innocence of another human being is at stake.
Since that day in the jury selection room, I have combed the newspapers, trying to find out what happened to the defendant. Did he get a fair trial? Was he exonerated or found guilty?
And did I do the right thing?
I learned that that as much as I think that I believe in the idea of presumptive innocence, I can't practice it in some situations. There is a limit to my ability to put my personal experience and assumptions aside when asked to sit in judgment on another human being.
Such as when the defendant is accused of sexually assaulting, with penetration, his very young daughter.
When the clerk read the charges out loud, he finished by acknowledging the heinous nature of the charges and asking the jury pool if anyone had reservations about serving in an impartial manner.
My hand went up immediately. One of fifteen or twenty out of a pool of close to fifty potential jurors. I felt sick inside.
I was potential juror number four. Sitting in the front row.
When called, I walked up to the desk and sat down, said hello. Looked at the district attorney and the defense attorney straight in the eye. Could not bring myself to look at the defendant.
My interview with the attorneys was one question long. The defense attorney asked me what prejudice I had, I replied with a single sentence.
"Because I was sexually assaulted when I was eighteen".
I was immediately excused.
I rarely talk about what happened to me when I was eighteen and I don't intend to do so here. But I realized, sitting in that room, listening to those charges, that I am still giving too much mental and emotional real estate to a man who does not deserve it.
Some things are not easily forgotten.
I also want to believe that I did the correct thing by being honest, that I gave the defendant a better chance at a fair trial. But there is no nobility in prejudice, especially when the guilt or innocence of another human being is at stake.
Since that day in the jury selection room, I have combed the newspapers, trying to find out what happened to the defendant. Did he get a fair trial? Was he exonerated or found guilty?
And did I do the right thing?
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Fall Stories
1. I have the coolest doctor, ever. Bad allergies lead to significant breathing problems, which lead to a sinus infection, which lead my doctor to prescribe a steroid based inhaler, a course of antibiotics, an order to see an allergist and a set of instructions on how to make my home and office environment more bearable until it gets cold enough to kill all the remaining pollen.
The cool part came when she looked me straight in the eye and told me that I had to reduce the total number of books in the bedroom to three. When I looked at her in total shock (I had eleven books stacked next to the bed at the time of our conversation) she laughed and said "I have the best patients. Every patient I have given that instruction to has looked at me the same way you are looking at me right now."
2. Early darkness seems to have drawn the slightly eccentric out of their homes and out on to the streets, to linger at bus stops lecturing their fellow citizens about proper deportment on the streets.
I missed the initial incident that led to two black women lecturing a young, drunk, black man about the proper way to conduct himself as a salesperson on the street. (Bear with me. There is a point to identifying their race). As I approached the shelter I noticed that one of the women was smoking, so I elected to stand outside the shelter. But it was drizzling and I wanted to continuing reading one of the thirteen books (obviously I have not followed doctor's orders yet) that reside next to my bed, so I slipped inside the shelter and sat down next to the young man.
And was promptly assaulted by the distinct smell of beer. He was well on his way to drunk.
But he sat quietly while the two women lectured him, even when one of them said that his sales technique, which consisted of him saying "hey sweet baby, c'mere, I have some DVDs for youuuu" would scare white women like myself and a second woman standing in the shelter. *
Shortly after this statement, a bus came and took the two black women away. The young man slurred an apology for possibly scaring us, then tried to sell us a dvd. Failing that, he tried to get fifty cents off of us.
More buses started to pull up, three in a row. Mine was the third. As the first two pulled away, I noticed the third was not pulling up to the stop, so I began walking towards it. As I got closer I could hear the female driver shout for us to speed up and get on, before she was forced to let our young, drunk friend onto the bus.
I was shocked when she shut the door in his face and pulled away from the stop. Shock turned to relief when she explained (and other passengers verified) that he had been drunk, disorderly and had refused to pay the last time he rode her bus.
*Her exact phrase as she was explaining it to him, "No offense to you women; but if you talk like that a white woman, she is going to be afraid of you..."
The cool part came when she looked me straight in the eye and told me that I had to reduce the total number of books in the bedroom to three. When I looked at her in total shock (I had eleven books stacked next to the bed at the time of our conversation) she laughed and said "I have the best patients. Every patient I have given that instruction to has looked at me the same way you are looking at me right now."
2. Early darkness seems to have drawn the slightly eccentric out of their homes and out on to the streets, to linger at bus stops lecturing their fellow citizens about proper deportment on the streets.
I missed the initial incident that led to two black women lecturing a young, drunk, black man about the proper way to conduct himself as a salesperson on the street. (Bear with me. There is a point to identifying their race). As I approached the shelter I noticed that one of the women was smoking, so I elected to stand outside the shelter. But it was drizzling and I wanted to continuing reading one of the thirteen books (obviously I have not followed doctor's orders yet) that reside next to my bed, so I slipped inside the shelter and sat down next to the young man.
And was promptly assaulted by the distinct smell of beer. He was well on his way to drunk.
But he sat quietly while the two women lectured him, even when one of them said that his sales technique, which consisted of him saying "hey sweet baby, c'mere, I have some DVDs for youuuu" would scare white women like myself and a second woman standing in the shelter. *
Shortly after this statement, a bus came and took the two black women away. The young man slurred an apology for possibly scaring us, then tried to sell us a dvd. Failing that, he tried to get fifty cents off of us.
More buses started to pull up, three in a row. Mine was the third. As the first two pulled away, I noticed the third was not pulling up to the stop, so I began walking towards it. As I got closer I could hear the female driver shout for us to speed up and get on, before she was forced to let our young, drunk friend onto the bus.
I was shocked when she shut the door in his face and pulled away from the stop. Shock turned to relief when she explained (and other passengers verified) that he had been drunk, disorderly and had refused to pay the last time he rode her bus.
*Her exact phrase as she was explaining it to him, "No offense to you women; but if you talk like that a white woman, she is going to be afraid of you..."
Friday, September 19, 2008
A Collection of Random Randomness
1. Crazy people who argue about whether the dinosaur statue in Oakland is a rhinoceros or not make me edgy, especially when they attempt to involve me in their debate (thank you iPod with Bose in-ear headphones!) This pair rides my bus quite often, always sits in the last pair of seats in the back on the left-hand side and somehow believes that periodical ejaculations of "come awhnn" and "move bus, move" will make the bus go faster.
2. I think I witnessed a performance piece from my office window this morning. Across the street a group of college students took over a parking space, rolled out a section of fake turf carpet, set up a plastic table and chairs and a cast iron and wood park bench and proceeded to hang out in the space, playing cards, talking and entertaining visitors. I found myself wondering a. if they had put money in the meter and b. how they managed to score a parking space on Forbes Avenue in Squirrel Hill at noon-ish.
3. This afternoon on my way back downtown I actually listened to a young woman end every sentence with a question? Like this? You know? She was like, really into photography? And going to take pictures of a game on Sunday? And maybe [her friend] should come along?
4. Happiness really is a warm, purring, headbutting, cuddly kitty. And an empty house.
5. Chris Maverick.*
*He knows what this means.
2. I think I witnessed a performance piece from my office window this morning. Across the street a group of college students took over a parking space, rolled out a section of fake turf carpet, set up a plastic table and chairs and a cast iron and wood park bench and proceeded to hang out in the space, playing cards, talking and entertaining visitors. I found myself wondering a. if they had put money in the meter and b. how they managed to score a parking space on Forbes Avenue in Squirrel Hill at noon-ish.
3. This afternoon on my way back downtown I actually listened to a young woman end every sentence with a question? Like this? You know? She was like, really into photography? And going to take pictures of a game on Sunday? And maybe [her friend] should come along?
4. Happiness really is a warm, purring, headbutting, cuddly kitty. And an empty house.
5. Chris Maverick.*
*He knows what this means.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Hockey Season
It is uncomfortably warm today, a bookend to yesterday's high humidity. The air is deeply saturated with pollen, making my over medicated self (inhaler + antihistamine/asthma pill) barely north of miserable. It has been one of those days when my clothes don't seem to fit properly – the bras are too tight, the t-shirts too small, the pants too snug. I could put on the same clothes tomorrow and everything will fit fine. Today though, I am uncomfortable.
J and I gathered with the rest of our merry group of Penguins fans last night to split up the season tickets. Every year I am amazed at how civilized it is. We sit around a table, order food and alcohol and proceed to calmly negotiate who will get each game. Every year every one at the table walks away happy.
There are some rules. D and B get the season opener, as they hold the account and must deal with the hassle of paying for the tickets. J and I usually get the last home game, as we buy in for the most number of games (15 this year). B also likes to attend any game that is giving away a bobble head doll, but willing to trade those games away in exchange for us giving one of the dolls to her. I love seeing all the Leafs fans in the Igloo, so one of the two Leafs games goes to J and myself every year. Everything else is open for discussion.
This year is a little bit different, as we initially gave up both Leaf games because of prior commitments. Ironically, one of those commitments fell through less than 18 hours after the ticket split, so now I am emailing and pleading for the October 18th game back.
Also different this year was the number of cross conference games we will be attending. The NHL adjusted to the schedule to ensure that each team plays every other team in the league at least once. So J and I will not only (hopefully) be attending our annual Leafs game (same conference, but whatever), we will also have an opportunity to see the Penguins play against Los Angeles, Minnesota, Edmonton and Calgary.
And, painfully, the Detroit Red Wings. J and I may sell the tickets to that one. It is not the Hossa deal. I still think that anyone who believed for a second that he would stay with the Penguins after the end of the season needed to step outside and get some fresh air. And stay outside until their head cleared. However long it would take.
I still believe it was a bad trade that netted zero long term prospects for success and resulted in the loss of two excellent forwards in Christensen and Armstrong.
Putting all of that aside, the most painful part of losing to the Red Wings in the Stanley Cup finals (because they were the better team) was that Ty Conklin could not find one damn team willing to pay him more more money then... Detroit.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
J and I gathered with the rest of our merry group of Penguins fans last night to split up the season tickets. Every year I am amazed at how civilized it is. We sit around a table, order food and alcohol and proceed to calmly negotiate who will get each game. Every year every one at the table walks away happy.
There are some rules. D and B get the season opener, as they hold the account and must deal with the hassle of paying for the tickets. J and I usually get the last home game, as we buy in for the most number of games (15 this year). B also likes to attend any game that is giving away a bobble head doll, but willing to trade those games away in exchange for us giving one of the dolls to her. I love seeing all the Leafs fans in the Igloo, so one of the two Leafs games goes to J and myself every year. Everything else is open for discussion.
This year is a little bit different, as we initially gave up both Leaf games because of prior commitments. Ironically, one of those commitments fell through less than 18 hours after the ticket split, so now I am emailing and pleading for the October 18th game back.
Also different this year was the number of cross conference games we will be attending. The NHL adjusted to the schedule to ensure that each team plays every other team in the league at least once. So J and I will not only (hopefully) be attending our annual Leafs game (same conference, but whatever), we will also have an opportunity to see the Penguins play against Los Angeles, Minnesota, Edmonton and Calgary.
And, painfully, the Detroit Red Wings. J and I may sell the tickets to that one. It is not the Hossa deal. I still think that anyone who believed for a second that he would stay with the Penguins after the end of the season needed to step outside and get some fresh air. And stay outside until their head cleared. However long it would take.
I still believe it was a bad trade that netted zero long term prospects for success and resulted in the loss of two excellent forwards in Christensen and Armstrong.
Putting all of that aside, the most painful part of losing to the Red Wings in the Stanley Cup finals (because they were the better team) was that Ty Conklin could not find one damn team willing to pay him more more money then... Detroit.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
Monday, September 08, 2008
My Faith in Humanity...
...of the personal and the universal has taken a beating in the past week. So much so that I actually lost my normal reserve of self control towards friends of other political persuasions and called a Republican acquaintance a “raving lunatic asshole” after reading his “Democrats hate women” crack on Facebook. My friend took the full text of my comment down (his right, his page) but also seems to have reined in the snark some. Mind you, the crack came on the heels of a slam against Obama for not supporting a half brother in Kenya (who has stated he does not want Obama's assistance), one he never knew existed until several years ago.
I'm not ashamed of what I said. John McCain choosing Palin as his running mate makes me insane. It makes me insane that woman who got where she is because of the hard work and devotion of thousands of feminist predecessors is fully prepared to dismantle everything those women fought for.
It makes me insane that McCain chose Palin to pander to a segment of the population that is disaffected with the Democrats over the treatment of Hillary Clinton. It makes me even more insane to know that some people are going to fall for it.
It makes me insane to hear McCain and Palin and other Republican water carriers
And he might win. That is the most crazy making thought of all. McCain might win and my country will continue its right wing nutjob slide towards oblivion.
People suck.
Compounding my frustration is the fact that I did a favor for a friend a week ago and have received no acknowledgment for my effort. My follow-up emails have been ignored and I am feeling bruised and used. And not just a little bit pissed about it.
Throw in the postal employee who got angry and yelled at me for coming to his window before he was ready and the mean people who made YouTube take down all the McCain Barack Rolling videos and I'm just about ready to call it a night on the universe.
I'm not ashamed of what I said. John McCain choosing Palin as his running mate makes me insane. It makes me insane that woman who got where she is because of the hard work and devotion of thousands of feminist predecessors is fully prepared to dismantle everything those women fought for.
It makes me insane that McCain chose Palin to pander to a segment of the population that is disaffected with the Democrats over the treatment of Hillary Clinton. It makes me even more insane to know that some people are going to fall for it.
It makes me insane to hear McCain and Palin and other Republican water carriers
And he might win. That is the most crazy making thought of all. McCain might win and my country will continue its right wing nutjob slide towards oblivion.
People suck.
Compounding my frustration is the fact that I did a favor for a friend a week ago and have received no acknowledgment for my effort. My follow-up emails have been ignored and I am feeling bruised and used. And not just a little bit pissed about it.
Throw in the postal employee who got angry and yelled at me for coming to his window before he was ready and the mean people who made YouTube take down all the McCain Barack Rolling videos and I'm just about ready to call it a night on the universe.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Laughing my *** Off
Because there have been too many moments in the past several days when I have just wanted to cry...
From the following delightful news:
1. Simon Pegg will be starring in an adaptation of Toby Young's How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. As a closet Graydon Carter fan, I loved Young's recounting of his disastrous stint working for Carter and Vanity Fair.
2. John McCain gets Barack Rolled!
As a side note, that one phrase at the beginning of the video is the most I have heard out of John McCain's mouth. I don't think there is any surprise about where my loyalties lie this election cycle.
From the following delightful news:
1. Simon Pegg will be starring in an adaptation of Toby Young's How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. As a closet Graydon Carter fan, I loved Young's recounting of his disastrous stint working for Carter and Vanity Fair.
2. John McCain gets Barack Rolled!
As a side note, that one phrase at the beginning of the video is the most I have heard out of John McCain's mouth. I don't think there is any surprise about where my loyalties lie this election cycle.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Just a Little Fun for Labor Day
Regular posting to begin again soon as the Steelers are in season, the Penguins are about to begin training camp and it is fall, so the crazies will be returning to the bus lines.
Until then, courtesy of xkcd...
Until then, courtesy of xkcd...
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Exhausted
Last night I was so tired that when I went through my bag this morning at the gym to pull out my work clothes I discovered that I had three pairs of clean underwear, but no bra.
Technically I had a bra, the sports bra I was wearing underneath my workout clothes. The one that was about to get extremely damp and smelly from my workout. The one with a really thick band that dries really slowly and itches like crazy until it does.
A kind woman rescued me from potential sweaty or bra-less misery by loaning me a spare she had in her bag. It was too small, too loose and had no elastic left, but it was something. I wore it to work and as soon as I could, I bolted across the street to a truly awesome lingerie store to purchase one that fit.
Since I started this new job I have been going to the gym in the morning. I can't say that I enjoy waking up between 5:00 and 6:00 AM to pull on workout gear and catch the bus. In fact, I can sincerely state that I really hate it.
It is a combination of factors, the least which how damn early it feels. I'm not as tolerant of people's foibles that early in the morning. The bus is surprisingly crowded at 5:45 AM. Unfortunately it is not crowded with people, but people's stuff. I counted three seats this morning I could have sat in if the occupants had not decided to spread out their possessions and then go to sleep. And I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt with the sleeping.
Especially exasperating was one man located on an outer seat near the front of the bus. Not only did he refuse to move when the woman sitting in the inner seat rose to leave, he also refused to slide over and refused to move when I attempted to take the inner seat.
So I hit him in the head with my very heavy, very full gym bag when I squeezed past him and sat down. And I did not apologize for it. Even after I clocked him in the head he refused to move when I rose to get off the bus. I nearly hit him again. And I did not apologize to him for it a second time.
I hate the gym in the mornings. It is almost unbearably hot and incredibly loud. Hot because the Y turns the air conditioning down at night and there are no windows for ventilation in the cardio / weight rooms. Loud because there is a group of middle-aged men who scream comments and hold conversations with each other from opposite sides of the room. They are so loud that I can not drown them out with my Shuffle on full blast.
And now, I go to bed.
Technically I had a bra, the sports bra I was wearing underneath my workout clothes. The one that was about to get extremely damp and smelly from my workout. The one with a really thick band that dries really slowly and itches like crazy until it does.
A kind woman rescued me from potential sweaty or bra-less misery by loaning me a spare she had in her bag. It was too small, too loose and had no elastic left, but it was something. I wore it to work and as soon as I could, I bolted across the street to a truly awesome lingerie store to purchase one that fit.
Since I started this new job I have been going to the gym in the morning. I can't say that I enjoy waking up between 5:00 and 6:00 AM to pull on workout gear and catch the bus. In fact, I can sincerely state that I really hate it.
It is a combination of factors, the least which how damn early it feels. I'm not as tolerant of people's foibles that early in the morning. The bus is surprisingly crowded at 5:45 AM. Unfortunately it is not crowded with people, but people's stuff. I counted three seats this morning I could have sat in if the occupants had not decided to spread out their possessions and then go to sleep. And I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt with the sleeping.
Especially exasperating was one man located on an outer seat near the front of the bus. Not only did he refuse to move when the woman sitting in the inner seat rose to leave, he also refused to slide over and refused to move when I attempted to take the inner seat.
So I hit him in the head with my very heavy, very full gym bag when I squeezed past him and sat down. And I did not apologize for it. Even after I clocked him in the head he refused to move when I rose to get off the bus. I nearly hit him again. And I did not apologize to him for it a second time.
I hate the gym in the mornings. It is almost unbearably hot and incredibly loud. Hot because the Y turns the air conditioning down at night and there are no windows for ventilation in the cardio / weight rooms. Loud because there is a group of middle-aged men who scream comments and hold conversations with each other from opposite sides of the room. They are so loud that I can not drown them out with my Shuffle on full blast.
And now, I go to bed.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
I'm Not Going to Pile on John Edwards
Because, as I've stated before, marriage is difficult enough lived in the private sphere of family and friends. Lived in the public eye, sometimes I think it must be fucking impossible.
Reading the comments and commentaries on other sites, I've noticed a distinct pattern of response to the news. They are, in no particular order:
1.John Edwards is an asshole for cheating on the Democratic Party while running for the presidential nomination and/or cheating on Elizabeth while she had cancer. It is fifty-fifty on which of these things is worse. I got the distinct impression from some remarks that the betrayal to his party was worse then the betrayal to his marriage.
2.Elizabeth Edwards is a horrible woman for knowing about the affair and continuing to support her husband and encouraging other to support him as well instead of booting him out on his ass.
3.John and Elizabeth's marriage is none of our business and we should stay out of it.
I've addressed response one before. If you place a man or woman on a pedestal, inevitably they will fall off it. Every single time. Edwards has taken responsibility for his actions, has admitted to hubris and fault and worked towards making reparations to his wife and children. He does not owe anyone else on this planet a damn thing. Including an adequate apology.
As for response 2, WTF? Either Elizabeth Edwards is a woman with her own agency or she is not. Her decision to remain in her marriage is hers alone to make and it is not for anyone else to condemn, condone or otherwise speculate. There is this insane notion in American society that every bound couple is required to have the same kind of marriage and anything outside the narrowest of boundaries is unhealthy.
I've lost track on the commentary of my marriage, primarily because I have learned to close my ears over the years. And there has been plenty of commentary on my un-wifely, inappropriate behavior. Refusing to be the only one responsible for the house keeping. Making J buy his own socks and underwear. Traveling solo. And uncounted other actions which scream of how fully uncommitted I am to my relationship.
Except for the whole standing up at an altar making vows in front of a hundred of our closest friends and family and trying my hardest to make it work even when it is hard. Even when both J and myself has screwed up royally, in ways that would be an absolute deal breaker in other relationships.
No, I'm not going to pile on John or Elizabeth Edwards. For those who would judge the Edwards because their own marriage is so flawless, I say congratulations. I'm glad you found your one-true-love and soul mate and never have to worry about conflict or your spouse's flaws.
Now leave the rest us alone to muddle through.
Reading the comments and commentaries on other sites, I've noticed a distinct pattern of response to the news. They are, in no particular order:
1.John Edwards is an asshole for cheating on the Democratic Party while running for the presidential nomination and/or cheating on Elizabeth while she had cancer. It is fifty-fifty on which of these things is worse. I got the distinct impression from some remarks that the betrayal to his party was worse then the betrayal to his marriage.
2.Elizabeth Edwards is a horrible woman for knowing about the affair and continuing to support her husband and encouraging other to support him as well instead of booting him out on his ass.
3.John and Elizabeth's marriage is none of our business and we should stay out of it.
I've addressed response one before. If you place a man or woman on a pedestal, inevitably they will fall off it. Every single time. Edwards has taken responsibility for his actions, has admitted to hubris and fault and worked towards making reparations to his wife and children. He does not owe anyone else on this planet a damn thing. Including an adequate apology.
As for response 2, WTF? Either Elizabeth Edwards is a woman with her own agency or she is not. Her decision to remain in her marriage is hers alone to make and it is not for anyone else to condemn, condone or otherwise speculate. There is this insane notion in American society that every bound couple is required to have the same kind of marriage and anything outside the narrowest of boundaries is unhealthy.
I've lost track on the commentary of my marriage, primarily because I have learned to close my ears over the years. And there has been plenty of commentary on my un-wifely, inappropriate behavior. Refusing to be the only one responsible for the house keeping. Making J buy his own socks and underwear. Traveling solo. And uncounted other actions which scream of how fully uncommitted I am to my relationship.
Except for the whole standing up at an altar making vows in front of a hundred of our closest friends and family and trying my hardest to make it work even when it is hard. Even when both J and myself has screwed up royally, in ways that would be an absolute deal breaker in other relationships.
No, I'm not going to pile on John or Elizabeth Edwards. For those who would judge the Edwards because their own marriage is so flawless, I say congratulations. I'm glad you found your one-true-love and soul mate and never have to worry about conflict or your spouse's flaws.
Now leave the rest us alone to muddle through.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Dear Gods Above...
Please bring Hockey season back soon. One more story about how Big Ben had to leave Steelers training camp early for the second day in the row just might kill me.
Thanks.
Me.
Thanks.
Me.
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