Monthly Archives: November 2011

November 18, 2011 · 0:00

A Better Way

The answer is easier than we think.  Yup, I’ve figured out how we can come up with a Republican nominee!  Now why didn’t anyone think of it before?  I’m smart, but you know I’m not getting paid for this type of work.  Do I get a bonus?  A finder’s fee?  A spot on Mount Rushmore?

Limbo.  That’s all we need.  Two upright bars, one horizontal one, a drum beat — and we have our candidate!  It’s easy!  It’s cheap!  We don’t have to spend two years doing it.  More importantly, we don’t have to suffer through another debate!

You know how it’s done, don’t you?  Here’s what Wikipedia, my oracle, says about it:

Limbo is a popular form of dance that originated on the island of Trinidad.  The dancer moves to a Caribbean rhythm, then leans backward and dances under a horizontal pole without touching it. Upon touching it or falling backwards, the dancer is “out.”  When several dancers compete, they travel in single file, and the stick is gradually lowered until only one dancer — who has not touched either the pole or the floor — remains.

We can cut to the chase and get a nominee lickety-split.  Whoever goes lowest, gets the nod.  It works for me.  And isn’t that where they’re heading anyway — and at much greater cost?

I came to this conclusion after stumbling upon a discussion on the New York Times website, captioned:  “Should Candidates Have to Pass a Civics Test?”

My answer, in a word is:  “YES.”  My answer, in a string of profanities, is  longer.

And I’m afraid I have to ask myself: “This is a question we are asking ourselves about our potential future President?”  Golly gee.  Do ya think that the potential leaders of our nation should be familiar with how the damn nation works?

You know what they say about menus without prices:  If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.  In this case, if you have to ask, you’re supporting the wrong candidate.  The bar here is pretty damn low.

And, realistically, this question is geared at REPUBLICAN candidates.  Because I think we can assume that a former Constitutional Law Professor knows, at a minimum, that there are three branches of government.  At least there are under the U.S. Constitution — you know, that document that holds up the 2nd Amendment?

A bit of disclosure is needed here, I guess.  I lecture on Civics as part of my job.  I work in a small company that has an international staff.  I’ve realized that it’s not just foreign-born, foreign-educated folks who need to learn how the U.S. Government works.  It’s been a long time since 7th grade civics for most adults, and everyone who works with us gets a refresher course.

What I didn’t realize is that folks who are running for the highest office in the nation might need my 30 minute lecture, too.  Do you think I can command Newt-like speaking fees to give it?

So here is my plan:  We’ll have Mitt, Rick, Michelle, Herman, Ron, Newt, Rick, and John Huntsman do the Limbo.  Whoever wins, by which of course I mean, whoever  gets down-est and dirty-est, well, they get the nomination.  Then I’ll give them my 30 minute lecture about how the government works.  They’ll be ready to govern!

The only problem is with those pesky military details, the Commander-in-Chief BS.  Well, that’s where I put my foot down.  Someone else is going to have to teach them which buttons to press, and which ones NOT to press.

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November 14, 2011 · 0:00

Gunsmoke

I’m not really big on guns.  I don’t carry one.  I don’t feel safe around folks who do.   And I am baffled by U.S. gun laws (see https://fiftyfourandahalf.com/2011/07/11/dont-tread-on-me/).

And it’s probably just as well that I don’t do guns.  You see, I tend to be a bit clumsy, and I like my body parts just where they are.  And while losing some flesh wouldn’t be such a bad thing, I don’t want to lose a love handle and have to live with one lonely “apparently nobody loves me” handle.  A married woman like me needs both.

Besides, I do have a wee bit of a temper.  Just try leaving a shopping cart outside of the cart return at the grocery store within drifting range of my car.  You’ll see why there are folks who just shouldn’t “carry.”

Actually,  it always astonishes me that folks around here are allowed to pack heat.  Carry hand guns.  Concealed weapons.  To me, it’s a recipe for disaster.  And personally, I prefer recipes that aren’t lethal.  Recipes that result in baked goods are good.

So today when I learned that a man drove himself, his wife and their four children to the grocery store here in Virginia where he accidentally shot himself in the femoral artery while taking off his seatbelt, well, I got pretty angry.  And since it doesn’t pay to get mad at him (well, not any more it doesn’t), I’ll direct my anger where it belongs:  at the idiots who passed a law allowing that man to put a loaded gun into his pocket.  And get into a car that contained four children under twelve.

Those four kids had an outing they won’t soon forget.  They heard a bang when their father tried to undo his seatbelt.  Only it was louder than the usual click that the buckle makes.  Whoa!  Instead, Dad shot himself in his femoral artery – the I-95 of blood vessels.  When that artery is severed, it generally takes 2 minutes for shock to set in, and 4 minutes to die.  I bet his last conscious thought was: “I’ll give you my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands!”  I’m sure that’s exactly what the EMTs did.

Now I can just see the NRA logic behind this tragedy.  You know, he was trying to take off his seat belt when he accidentally hit the trigger.  So guns don’t kill people, and bullets don’t kill people.  Seat belts kill people.

And this totally avoidable tragedy led me to look up some information to see just how pissed off I should be at the folks in Virginia and 34 other states who have passed similar laws allowing just about any idiot to carry a loaded weapon wherever he or she decides to take it.  Bars.  Restaurants.  Sporting events.  Church.  Doctor’s offices.  Schools.  Grocery stores.  Yup, all good places to carry a gun.  Hey, relax!  What could possibly go wrong?

As I was saying, I looked up some stats, because that’s what I do when I am pissed off.  It is a healthier reaction to anger than murder, and much harder to prosecute.  And I learned that our priorities as a nation have changed. We used to try to save people’s lives. 

For example, beginning in the 1980s, here in the U.S. we started requiring people to wear seat belts to reduce fatalities.  (In case you didn’t know it, fatalities are BAD.)

The results from seat belt laws have been fabulously successful.  The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration’s latest statistics state that 15,147 Americans survived accidents in 2007 that would have been fatal without seat belts.  That’s a lot of people saved by a law that doesn’t really inconvenience us all that much.

By contrast, that same year, the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control reported 12,608 homicides where a gun was the weapon of choice.   Guns were the No. 2 cause of violent death (homicides) in the U.S. that year.  But guns did win the “overall cause of violent death in America” reality TV contest that year.  Because homicides by gunfire was trumped by the 17,350 suicides using a firearm, the number one cause of violent death in the U.S.  Way to go guns!  Nobody can kill more people than you!  When there are guns around, the Grim Reaper can just sneak up on a person, when they least expect it.

Silly me, I like to think that a significant portion of those 20,000 people killed by guns in that year, along with the other thousands in other years, might be alive today if there were reasonable gun laws.  But I’m just a progressive talking.  Why should we care if folks kill each other off with guns?  Or if they kill themselves off with guns?  Or if they kill themselves accidentally in front of four children and in a parking lot full of other folks who won’t forget today either?

So buckle up, my friends.  And think about whether you’re safer with or without that handgun.

Me, I’m going to get off my soapbox now, very carefully.  I’ll  unbuckle first.

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November 10, 2011 · 0:00

Adoption Day!

It’s a snark-free post this time.  I promise it won’t happen too often.  I don’t want to ruin my reputation.

But Friday, 11/11/11 is a big day in my family.  It’s Adoption Day.  Our 20th.

You see, on November 11, 1991, my husband John and I adopted our son, Jacob.  He was 3-1/2 months old at the time.  Jacob was born in Chile, and John and I literally traveled to the end of the earth to turn a happy couple into a happier three-some.   It was on 11/11 when the Chilean court approved us and said, yes, Elyse and John, “You’re Parents!”

For years, I’ve told Jacob that I knew something was up with that number.  As a teenager, I was fixated on 11:11.  I got a clock radio for my 16th birthday – it was an old-fashioned “digital” clock, with numbers that literally flipped on a carousel.  Every night I waited until 11:11 before I could go to sleep, no matter how tired I was.  I’ve always told Jacob that, even though I didn’t know what it meant then, well, my heart obviously knew that 11:11 meant something.  Something big.

But I didn’t know just how big or just how wonderful.

Because 11/11 = Jacob.  Our son, my baby, our boy, our young man.  Our hilariously funny, nutty, astute guy.  Our pride and joy.   Jacob, you continue to delight, amuse and inspire us.  We love you, Peanut.

My favorite picture: Jacob and his puppy Charlie in the leaves

And don’t worry, Kiddo.  Nobody you know reads this blog!

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November 6, 2011 · 0:00

You’ve Got a Friend

This time it wasn’t my fault.  I didn’t break it.  John did.

Well, we had been meaning to replace the stereo for a while.  It went on without our help, changed from the radio to a CD and would often stop playing for no reason.  Other times it just wouldn’t turn off.  Perhaps it didn’t like our choice in music.  There was a short in it that no one could find.  Well, either that or we had to admit it was haunted.  We decided that broken is way better than spooky.

So that very day when I was writing about how I like to smack stuff, my husband was putting the nail in our stereo’s coffin.

You see, it was playing a song by Steely Dan.  John hates Steely Dan.  He hit the button on the remote, but the song continued.

Ricky don’t lose that number. 

John rushed over to the stereo and pushed the button, gently the first time.  Harder and harder with each successive, um, press of the button.  Until it stopped.  Permanently.   He smacked the stereo’s power button so hard that Ricky lost the number.  Ricky, in fact, would never come back, at least not through that stereo.  It’s dead.

So today we got a new, shock absorbing model.  And putting it onto the shelf sent me back to the last time music haunted me.

We had just moved to Geneva; it was 1997.  Living full-time in a place where they speak another language makes you long for English.  Passionately.  Desperately.  So when my new friend Allison Dornstauder informed me, a mere month after my arrival that there was an English language radio station in Geneva, I was delighted.  WRG – World Radio Geneva.  All English broadcasting.  I knew now that I would survive my Swiss adventure.

But it was weird.  Every time I turned on the radio, whether it was in the car or at home, it played the same song.  It played You’ve Got A Friend.  You know, the Carole King song, also sung by James Taylor?  Both versions are terrific.  I heard neither.

Someone else was always singing it.

At first I thought it was odd; I mean, the Jackson Five singing You’ve Got A Friend?  Why would anyone want to listen to that?  I heard a different version of the song, every time I turned on the radio.  Roberta Flack sang it, Barry Manilow did a duet with Melissa Manchester, and Barbara Streisand belted it.  Every single time I turned on the radio when I was alone, it happened.

Did you know that song has been recorded by at last count, 752 different artists.  And I use the term “artists” loosely.  I heard each and every one of them.

I started to get spooked.  There was nobody I could talk to about this, other than my husband, who thought I was nuts anyway.  That’s why he married me.  But we were new to town, I didn’t know anyone yet, I had no friends.  Who could I talk to about this unnerving phenomenon?  There was my friend Allison, and a couple of other parents I’d chatted with at Jacob’s school.  But I was not yet comfortable confiding such an eerie experience to strangers.

Finally, I did tell Allison.  I tried to be casual about hearing the song so much, and by so many different artists.  She laughed; she didn’t believe me.  But it was true.  Really it was.  I honestly started to think I must be going, well, slightly, insane.  But if I was, I would be damned if it would be to the generic version.  Give me Carole King – it was her song.  Give me James Taylor – he made it a No. 1 hit.  Michael Jackson, Roberta Flack and the rest?  No.  Not good enough.  And don’t give me Barry Manilow doing anything.

Remember, this happened before you could just look up programming online.  Before you could pause and replay.  Before you could record on your computer just what weird thing you were streaming online.  It was the olden days.  Before Google.  Imagine that.

Allison started teasing me about it.  She wouldn’t even humor me; she thought it couldn’t be happening.  But I got back at her.  Whenever it happened and I was at home, I would call her.  Invariably she wasn’t home, and so I put the phone up to the stereo, and I let her know, well, Allison, “You’ve got a friend.”  No message, just the song.  After she was serenaded by 4 or 5 different versions of the song on her answering machine, Allison finally agreed that, well, maybe they were doing something weird with that song.  We became fast friends.

So today, when we plugged in our new stereo, we tuned it in to our favorite pop station and turned it on.  I heard those first few notes and thought, “Oh no.”

And then I heard it, Carole King singing

When you’re down and troubled
And you need some loving care
And nothing, nothing is going right
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest night

You just call out my name
And you know wherever I am
I’ll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there
You’ve got a friend

 It’s good to be back in the States.

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November 4, 2011 · 0:00

Morning!

I’m a violent morning person.  It starts even before I’m awake.  It starts when the alarm goes off.  In this case, my violence would, I’m sure, be excused in a court of law.  I am not fully conscious when I SMACK that alarm clock.  Sadly, I don’t succeed in killing it.  I merely stun it into five precious minutes of silence.  Repeatedly.

This behavior baffles my husband.  More so on those days when he doesn’t set his alarm as usual to off 30 minutes before mine.  On those days when he plans to sleep in a bit. On those days he is “perturbed.”

“Why don’t you just set it for 15 or 20 minutes later?” John asks.

He will never understand me.

“When I hit the snooze button, I feel all-powerful,” I respond.  “Like I have total control over my life.  Even more so when I hit it repeatedly.”

He will never understand me.

Tomorrow is Saturday, and I won’t be turning my alarm on tonight when I go to bed.  But Saturdays are dangerous mornings for my husband.  Because the only thing within smacking distance is him.

I’ve always wondered why he gets up so early on weekends.

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