Some things are just too good to keep to oneself.
The GOP’s Guide on How to Talk To Women.
I found this on TalkingPointsMemo. Of course, I can’t wait for the other films in the series:
How To Talk To Black Folks
How To Talk To Hispanics
How To Talk To Non-Millionaires
And hopefully this series will have a spin-off:
GOP: How To Talk To Yourself, Because Nobody Else Is Listening Anymore
Filed under Campaigning, Conspicuous consumption, Criminal Activity, Disgustology, Elections, Family, Health and Medicine, History, Huh?, Humor, Hypocrisy, Politics, Stupidity, Voting
We had had such a lovely evening, Goliath, John and I in January 1985. And so two weeks later, Goliath and I went back without John. What could possibly go wrong? Of course you’re thinking that with Goliath, something was bound to. You would think I’d have learned. And you’d be right on both counts.
The Jefferson Memorial is a lovely place – always. There is something peaceful in the round, unadorned dome, of Mr. Jefferson standing majestically in the center of the white marble atrium. In the quotes from the Declaration of Independence and my favorite:
“…I have sworn upon the altar of god eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.”
Photo: The Washington Post
Goliath, of course, wasn’t allowed in. But he was pretty used to me tying him to a tree to go inside to use the bathroom. So John and I left Goliath briefly and went inside for a quick visit to Mr. Jefferson.
It was a beautiful winter evening – late January, 1985. And John and I were falling in love.
It had been cold as could be in Washington for weeks. So cold, in fact, that the outdoor ceremonies for Ronald Reagan’s second inaugural had to be mostly cancelled or moved indoors. Washington was in a deep freeze.
Still, Goliath had to go out.
Besides, a quarter moon shone, lighting up the gray bark of the famous cherry trees that ring the Tidal Basin. The Tidal Basin had frozen over and the moon shimmered on that too. It was the perfect night for a romantic night-time stroll with my two guys.
Goliath fell in love with John at first sight, just a few days earlier. And that night at the Jefferson Memorial cemented the affection. John fell in love with my crazy dog too. Not that he had any choice; Goliath and I were a package deal.
What happens when you combine a frozen pond, sticks, a crazy dog and two lovesick people? A night to remember.
The Tidal Basin was completely frozen. At first Goliath was reluctant to step down off the concrete onto the ice of the Tidal Basin. It was about a foot down, and Goliath, the Goose, was cautious. Once John stepped down onto the ice, though, Goliath was game. The three of us slid and slipped as we threw sticks, watched Goliath imitate Bambi on the ice, and rough-housed a bit. John and I managed a smooch or two along the way.
Yup. A memorable night.
So nice, in fact, that about two weeks later, Goliath and I went back, unfortunately without John. Tess was with us, though. Goliath’s girlfriend. After all, it is a very romantic place. Somebody needed a date.
This Malamute looks very much like Tess
Tess was an Alaskan Malamute, and she and Goliath were in love. She belonged to our neighbor and friend, Linda and her two daughters, 8 and 5. Tess was a beautiful, gentle, huge furball of a dog with a thick white and gray and black coat. Linda and I had long been walking the two dogs together. Tess had a calming influence on Goliath, and he behaved better when Tess was around. Well, usually.
In fact, Goliath was so well behaved when he was out with Tess that it was generally easier to walk the two dogs together. Sometimes Linda would join me and we’d go to the Capitol. Other times I took the two of them on late night walks; Linda and her two daughters often did the after-work walk. It was a terrific partnership. Goliath always behaved for Linda and Corbin and Ashley. And he behaved better for me when we brought Tess along. Goliath would rarely come when I called him, but when Tess was with us, I could always get him to come. Because Goliath was a show-off.
Since capturing Goliath was such a challenge, I’d leave Goliath’s leash attached to his collar when we walked. I’d drop it when it was time to let him run by himself or with other dogs, and he’d drag it around after him as he ran and played. Linda and I left Tess’ leash on too.
When it was time to leave, I would say to Goliath:
“Go get Tess,” and he would run, pick up the end of her leash and bring it back to me. I’d grab his leash too, and we were ready to go home, without the usual 30 minutes of me chasing my dog like a dork.
Anyway, about two weeks after that memorable night with John, Goliath, Tess and I went to the Jefferson Memorial to walk around the Tidal Basin. The moon was full, and it was a beautiful night. It had, thankfully, warmed up. The deep freeze of late January had ended, and bundled up, I was quite comfortable as we started around the cement path next to the water.
And that of course, was the problem. The Tidal Basin had thawed. There was still a layer of ice on top, but it wasn’t nearly thick enough to support any weight. There were puddles everywhere, and the ice had pulled back from the concrete edge leaving a rim of water. Seriously cold water.
Enjoying the beautiful evening, I let my two charges go, and I watched the two doggy lovers play. Of course, I thought of John and the lovely, fun walk we’d had here so recently.
Goliath remembered it too. I’m sure of that. Because he wanted to play on the ice again. And so he used his head and the force of his body to push Tess off the sidewalk and into the water of the no-longer-frozen-solid Tidal Basin.
“Goliath, NO!” I shouted.
Tess, suddenly finding herself in icy water over her head, panicked.
I leaned over the edge to get her. While frozen, the surface of the Tidal Basin had been about a foot below the edge, because ice has more volume than water. The surface was now two to two-and-a-half feet below the edge.
I ran to Tess, reached way down to her, and tried to calm her while I grabbed her collar and her front leg and started hauling her out of the water.
“Good Girl, Tess. I’ll get you out of there,” I said with a calm resolve I didn’t feel.
But Goliath wanted to play. On the ice. With Tess. And with me. Just like that other night. He rammed his head into me in an attempt to push me onto what he no doubt thought was ice.
“Goliath NO! BAD DOG! NO!”
His eyes sparkled as he pushed me again.
(“Come on, Mom, remember how much fun we had?”)
He didn’t understand that there was no ice. And that he was going to end up playfully drowning his two best girls.
Just when I nearly had poor, soaking wet, panicky Tess pulled out, Goliath pushed us both again, after getting a running start. Tess slipped from my hands, and she fell back in again. I managed to stay out of the water, somehow. But I thought of stories where a drowning person surfaces three times before drowning. I wondered how many times a dog could go under. How would I be able to explain to Linda that Goliath had killed her dog?
There was no way around it. If I was going to save Tess, I had to do something about my own crazy dog first.
I reluctantly left terrified Tess, and chased after Goliath. When I caught him I tied him firmly to a tree and went back for Tess.
Tess was tiring, giving up. She had no energy left when I got back to her. Thankfully, she had stayed close to the edge. Without Goliath’s, ummm, assistance, I was able to reach down, grab Tess’ collar and then her legs. I hauled her out of the water. We both fell backwards; Tess landed on me in a heap. We sat there on the sidewalk at the edge of the Tidal Basin and rested. I comforted her while the water from her thick coat soaked through the few dry spots on my coat, my pants, my shoes and deep into my skin and down into my bones.
“Good girl, Tess,” I said, “good girl.” When we had caught our breath, I grabbed her leash and led her back over to our abuser. I have rarely been so cold.
Goliath was still ready to play. After all, we hadn’t been there for more than half an hour. He was delighted to be untied from the tree, but I held fast to his leash. And I led him away from the water — the long way back to the car. I took no more chances.
“Too bad, you maniac,” I told him as he tried to pull away to go off and play. I pulled him towards the car to leave. “It’s your own fault we had to cut the walk short.”
We drove back home, and dry Goliath and wet me returned a soaking wet Tess home to Linda.
“What happened?!?” she asked, not surprisingly.
“My dog is nuts,” I replied.
Tess managed to forgive Goliath pretty quickly, even before we got back to the car. Me, I waited to determine if I was going to die of pneumonia before forgiving the Goose completely. But of course I did as soon as I was warm and dry.
We scratched the Jefferson Memorial off our list of places to walk.
******
Dog owner alert: Don’t be stupid like I was — Don’t leave your dog’s leash on him. It is a stupid, dangerous thing to do with a dog. A dog can get it caught in something and break his/her neck, hang himself, or injure himself in a zillion different ways. Don’t do this to your furry friend. In fact, do not take any dog tips from me. I did an incredible number of stupid things with Goliath.
Filed under Dogs, Family, Goliath Stories, History, Huh?, Humor, Pets, Stupidity, Wild Beasts
Well, it’s the moment of, ummm, truth. Truth to tell, I don’t know exactly how many puns I can lie down in this here post before I get to the actual admission of guild. Or guilt.
First of all, this five truths and a lie is a really fun thing to do. Thank you Sips of Jen and Tonic!
Because, well, we all know so much about each other. We have shared opinions, histories, illnesses, family – just about everything. A quiz is in order. Have you been reading my posts? Really? We will soon find out how well you know me.
Now I must fess up. Damn it.
I asked you to choose which of these six items is a lie.
People seemed to like my Thurgood Marshall story, but they believed it. They believed that my house was haunted, too. So which is it? Which is the lie?
Have I put off the inevitable confession long enough?
* * *
I DID meet Justice Thurgood Marshall in 1978. I was in a small group of people escorting Justice Marshall to the elevator at the law school where I worked, but I was. And he did tell this story to a small group of people.
Photo Credit here
“Not long after I was confirmed,” he said, “I was in a special elevator at the Supreme Court reserved for ‘Justices Only.’ I was thinking to myself, “WOW! — I get to ride a special elevator!” when the door opened and an elderly couple stepped in.’
“’Basement, please,’ they said to me. They seemed to think I was the elevator operator.”
Justice Marshall looked straight at me, smiled and said:
“So I shuffled. Said ‘Yes m’am’ and ‘what floor you say you goin’ to?’” And he shuffled his feet and swung his head to demonstrate.
Everybody in that little group was white. There were several nervous chuckles, including mine. Only one person laughed at the story – Justice Marshall.
* * *
I took a great course on “The World of Work” my first semester in college. The professor was terrific. It was a humanities class – designed to introduce business majors (of which I was one, albeit briefly) to real stories of working people and the things like government, society, economics, that impact workers. The professor and I seemed to be the only ones interested in the class, actually. But the syllabus was full of wonderful books chosen to instilling a more rounded view of the world in folks who would be focusing mostly on numbers and not people. The professor liked me and suggested that I take a course he was teaching the next semester — on the Kennedys. He thought I was clever, and I participated in his class. He was enthusiastic about my writing. But I had no real interest in the Kennedys. I only took it because I knew that I would get an A. (I did. And I got one in the first semester class, too.) And it did open my eyes to politics, politicians and government. The next fall I moved to Washington, DC. And actually, one of the books I read for that class, The Making of the President 1960 by Theodore White, helped me get promoted in my next job. So my real deep, abiding interest in politics came about because I wanted an A. True Story.
By Theodore White
A BRILLIANT book
Barnes & Noble Image
* * *
I misled you intentionally with my Peter, Paul and Mary story, although it is completely true. I DID have a front row seat at the Lincoln Memorial to protest the start of the Iraq War. Me and a pitifully small crowd of about 300 other folks. I brought a folding chair and plopped it down, front and center. PP&M were wonderful, but sadly, they did not stop the Iraq War. Bombs started falling the next day. That night in 2003, me, Peter, Paul and Mary and the assorted small crowd looked up as Marine 1 – the President’s helicopter, circled over us. Oh, for a stinger … Another true story.
* * *
My mother DID in fact, contract polio when she was pregnant. But I lied. Because it happened not when she was pregnant with me. She was in her first trimester with my eldest brother Bob (2nd of the 5 of us). Bob is the family member I rarely speak of — the only staunch conservative in the bunch. I blame the electric shock and drug therapy Mom received when she was carrying him. Yup. That’s the reason he is the way he is. You can believe me, I AM a fake medical professional after all.
* * *
And hardly anybody doubted that I grew up in a house that the whole neighborhood thought was haunted. OK, so you guys are smart. I can handle that. My childhood home was located next to the railroad tracks. The previous owner had been the guy who threw the switch to change the train from one track to the other. He died on the tracks. His sister who lived with him inherited the house. But she couldn’t maintain it, and it fell into disrepair. It was a mess when my dad bought it, sight unseen, in 1963. Everybody in the neighborhood really did think it was haunted. Part of me will always believe that it WAS haunted. We moved in on Halloween and my Halloween candy disappeared that very night.
* * *
To those of you who believe that I would never, ever, ever, under any circumstances lobby for the Koch Brothers, I love you all. Each and every one of you. Because I never would have done it knowingly. Certainly not if I’d known what they would become. Or even knowing what they probably were back then (assholes, I’m bettin’).
And I am sooooooo ashamed.
The Catholic girl in me comes out at last.
Bless me friends, for I have sinned. It has been at least 25 years since my last project for David and Charles, but I did work for a law firm as a (very very low level) lobbyist. And the Koch Brothers were, gulp, one of our clients.
Our energy clients were a bunch of small to medium companies – oil, gas, synthetic, alternative. At the time I felt pretty proud that we didn’t represent any of the big guys. Little guys (a category to which Koch Industries then belonged) were OK. Right? You there, Right?
Now some of you may have an inflated view of exactly what a lobbyist does. The top ones – the ones who make the big bucks – pick up the phone and schmooze with big wigs. They play tennis and golf with them. Have lunch. Liquid lunches.
Me? I went to hearings and wrote memos. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. I ate Milky Way bars in the hall waiting for hearings to start instead of going out to fancy restaurants for four martinis.
So it is safe to say that I did not plant the seed that became the Koch Brothers. I didn’t water it. I might have thrown dirt at them had I known what they would become, but I didn’t even do that. I wrote memos about what was happening in Congress. Not what should happen to facilitate the taking over of America by the crazy people.
It was only in the last few years when I read or heard about David and Charles that I went “OH SHIT” . Because I remembered that they were one of the old firm’s clients.
David and Charles were different back then. I know that even though I can say that for certain as I never laid eyes on them. They hadn’t yet become the evil twins. They were not yet trying to take over the world. They didn’t even know that they could buy votes in such volumes. It took Justice Roberts’ court to do that. (Did I mention that I used to hang out with Justice Roberts years ago ? … And when he was nominated for the Supreme Court nobody asked me a single question about him. Oh, never mind.)
And you want to know the weirdest thing? The Koch Brothers were very secretive. Even back then, when they had much less to hide. I may be assassinated just for admitting that I once worked for somebody who once worked for them. You never know with guys with that much money and no conscience. If I don’t post in the next couple of days, please send help.
In the meantime, please send soap. “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!”
Filed under Bloggin' Buddies, Books, Campaigning, Childhood Traumas, Criminal Activity, Disgustology, Family, History, Huh?, Humor, Hypocrisy, Law, Mom, Stupidity
It was a Friday and I was bored. What was I thinking?
It was a Friday at lunchtime, when I thought, what the heck. I’d always wanted to do it. But it’s in November. When I work on elections. November. Thanksgiving when I have lots of guests every year and cook for days. November when I already had a vacation planned. Oh, and November, when I planned to continue along with, you know, my life.
November, when I start getting into my pre-Holiday “just get me through to February-s.”
November, when I’d already been in a writing funk since my dog Cooper died in August. Nothing I’d written worked since then except when I was ranting (and how difficult is that?)
So naturally, with no preparation, no ideas, and precious little time, I signed on to NaNoWriMo.
What was worse was that I announced it to everybody in my office (they’re all supportive of my writing). They were duly impressed and asked for advanced, autographed copies.
I blogged about it here: https://fiftyfourandahalf.com/2013/11/01/am-i-a-total-idiot/.
The answer to the question posed was/is: Yes. A big fat Y-E-S. I am a total idiot.
But I did learn from my experience. I think the thing that I learned most was:
Look before you leap
You Nincompoop.
(Google Image)
On the bright side, I have been able to write a bit again. And that was my true goal in signing up. I wanted to force myself to write again. And I have been able to. So I did meet that goal.
And as a wanna-be funny person, I learned a valuable lesson from a true funny person:
Charlie Chaplin
Image Doctormacro.com
Thanks, Charlie. I think I have that down.
Unless you’re like me, you probably won’t believe this story.
No, this time it didn’t happen to me. I don’t even know the principle characters involved in the story. But I’m sure it’s true.
You see, there are some folks whose lives are filled with bizarre, inexplicable experiences. Adventures.
I’m one of them. After I was once held for ransom by the Washington Post, my friend Diana shook her head, laughed and said,
“Elyse, everywhere you go, you have adventures.”
She kindly refrained from inserting the word “stupid” in that sentence. Still, she was right.
And I’m not alone. In fact, based on the comments I received to my I Was Held For Ransom by the Washington Post story, there are a whole lot of us out there.
But perhaps no one is as “out there” – literally – as Nathan Baron, a high school student from Maine whom I just read about.
Yes, friends, Nathan is one of us. Weird things just happen to him. And last Saturday, well, something really strange happened while he was out there. As in outside. While he was hunting.
Nathan was sitting in a chair with his Remington .30-06 rifle, hunting. No, sitting while hunting wasn’t the strange part. But can I just please interject here that my image of the masculine hunter bringing home dinner has never before involved a collapsible Coleman chair? Isn’t there some sort of stalking and movement involved in hunting? Shouldn’t you at least have to stand for a while to make it more sporting?
Why be uncomfortable?
(Google Image)
Well, fortunately for Nathan, he was hunting in the woods just across from his house, because he had to poo (see, I told you that Nathan was just like me – I always have to go at the most inconvenient times). Nathan plopped his gun up against a tree, climbed onto his 4 wheeler, and headed home to do his business comfortably.
[I gotta say it: Nathan is not a bear. So he doesn’t, you know … ]
Anyway, when he got back to his comfy chair in the woods from which he could shoot things, he couldn’t find his gun. And that, of course, makes hunting that much more difficult. What could possibly have happened to his gun?
As Nathan reported to the Bangor Daily News:
“There was a stream that was running about 100 feet away from me. I look, and there’s a beaver hauling that gun into the water,” he said.
The article continued: ” Let’s take a moment to let that sink in. A beaver. Stole. His gun.”
Yes, apparently, the beaver just hauled it on home to his lodge without even getting a background check.
I will say that I’ve had many weird things happen to me, but none involved beavers. Moreover, none of my guns has ever been taken by a wild animal. Perhaps that is because I am smart enough to not have guns, which are dangerous in the wrong, ummm, paws. And of course not having any guns makes it that much easier to keep them away from wildlife. And bad guys.
But you know, I completely believe Nathan’s story. Because weird, hard to believe things have happened to me my whole life.
Besides, who could make up such a stupid story?
I wonder if Nathan has a blog.
* * *
This is my 300th post! Thanks everybody for making blogging such a delightful way to spend time.
Filed under Bloggin' Buddies, Childhood Traumas, Gun control, Huh?, Humor, Maine, Stupidity, Wild Beasts
I got TWO!
I recommend Karen Kingsley and Kingsley Ink
The Highest Honor
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FiftyFourandAHalf 
