Tonight I had dinner with Massachusetts Senator Jamie Eldridge. He came to my apartment, at my invitation, as a result of an email I sent to him a few weeks ago. An article in the local newspaper detailed Senator Eldridge's efforts to get laws changed regarding state aid to low income families. I pay close attention to articles like this as it effects myself and my son. My email to the senator detailed my current situation but more pointedly, I simply stated that breaking the cycle of poverty is extremely difficult and unless he's lived in that cycle, it is hard to make him understand what it's truly like. I was not being disrespectful but truthful.
Senator Eldridge received my email and called me the same day. I was stunned to say the least - I can count the times on one hand I've written to politicians so his phone call really caught me off guard. I reiterated to him that I meant no disrespect when I told him that while I appreciated his efforts, he really cannot understand the difficulties I face in my life and he did agree so I said "well, why don't you come to my place and have dinner and see how the other half lives."
He accepted my invite and I nearly crashed my car at his response.
Jamie was a complete surprise to me - he was not what I expected although his photos and my subsequent research on him had given me a fairly good idea of the kind of man - and politician - he is.
Turns out that Jamie is a REALLY really nice, laid back guy who is truly interested in helping families like mine. He is intelligent and obviously well-informed. Our dinner was a very relaxed meal although I killed the chicken cacciatore I made in the crock pot and stated same to him. But the lasagna I served (with meat sauce at his request :) came out perfect and I told Jamie that for a moment I was more excited that I actually got to cook for someone than the fact a senator was coming to dinner!!! Thank God he laughed at that comment!
And I found I could be myself with him - I spent a good portion of today stressing out about this dinner and as soon as I met him, I realized how much energy I wasted on that stress!
Jamie is defintely NOT one of those stuffy, button-up-to-the-neck stiff collared politicians. And contrary to what his assistant Neal told me, Jamie DOES own a pair of jeans LOL!
And he's really tall! The last thing Jake asked me before he fell asleep tonight is "how tall is the Senator?" Amazing what kids want to know these days LOL!
Our conversation ran the gamut of subjects and I pointedly asked him what exactly does he do! (Well, what ELSE would I ask him!) He explained in detail what a senator's job entails and I wish we had more time because I wanted to know more.
The highlight of the evening was when I asked him if had a choice to be at the White House having a beer with President Obama, Mr. Gates and Sgt. Crowley or dinner with me, he replied without batting an eyelash, "With you, of course." Ya think? I am still laughing about that.
I have to apologize to Jamie because I am so used to getting up to clean off the table after I am done eating while my son lollygags at the table taking until next Jalemba to finish eating that I actually did the same thing tonight with the Senator still eating at the table! Talk about complete and utter embarrassment. And yes, I have to admit that I started to stick my foot down my throat with some of the things I said (and my twisted sense of humor interlacing some of those questionable comments and questions I was peppering Jamie about) but that's me and everyone told me to be myself and I was. I just hope Jamie wasn't offended !!!!
There is so much more I could write about tonight but I'll conclude with this pearl of wisdom: Expect the unexpected. Jamie is an amazing person and having him over for dinner tonight was a wonderful experience but more importantly, it made me realize that I have a voice and what I say really does matter because Jamie listened and it meant enought to him to accept my invite and "see how the other half lives." Turns out, he and I are not so different after all.
Oh, and I sent the Senator home with a plate of lasagna.
Way better than having a beer on the White House lawn don't ya think?????
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
What Would Our World Be Without Color?
I was at Stop and Shop in Framingham this morning and happened to walk down an aisle when a little boy beamed the biggest smile at me and held up his cars - one in each fist. He must have been about two years old and apparently, my enthusiasm for his cars was infectious because his smile got wider when I acknowledged him and his cars. I saw my son when he was that age. I saw innocence, I saw joy, I saw simplicity and happiness. I did not notice the child's color. Perhaps someone else may have - his skin was a beautiful dark chocolate color but that smile of his - and his cars held tightly in his hands - was all I saw.
I am saddened every day when I hear stories about racism, about people who protest against the marriage of same-gendered humans. Why is color - and love between two human beings - so horribly scrutinized and so terribly railed against?
I recently wrote about the incident in Boston where a white cop arrested a black man on a disorderly conduct charge. The "white cop" was no ordinary cop - he is a very well respected police officer and a racial profiling instructor at a police academy. This cop teaches people how NOT to racially profile anyone. The "black man" is a Harvard University scholar professor. The furor of the arrest has somewhat died down but its effects may be long-lasting. Even President Obama inserted himself into this highly controversial situation by making some lame comments about the Cambridge police department and its decision to make the arrest. But the president backpedaled amid a firestorm of criticism of his comments and called each man separately and then offered to "have a beer" with both men at the White House. (Gee, how can I get that kinda invite sans the beer?
If only the prejudices of our world could be settled on the back porch of the White House with a cold beer or two. A pipe dream at best.
What would our world be without color? What if we were all just a pale blah shade of grey? Would we have peace? Probably not because some moron would point at me in public and scream "she's a different shade of grey than I am and that makes her DIFFERENT."
Blah blah blah. You get my point.
The prejudice against gays is mind-boggling. I wish I could stand someplace in the world with a megaphone that had amplification enough to reach into every corner, every town and my four words would echo in everyone's ears: MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.
Isn't that what it really comes down to? Why are people so anti-gay? What is it exactly that repulses people? Let's break this down: You have 2 humans who are in love and want to marry. Nothing unusual there. They want to marry to be afforded the same benefits as other married couples. That's pretty standard wouldn't you say? And they would like to have a family - a couple of kids, a couple of dogs, a home, a place they, too, can feel serenity.
Why are the wants of two members of the human race so fought against, so despicably judged against and rallied against and worse - murdered over?
Having grown up with a father who give racism an entirely new meaning, I could never understand why my father hated people of color, gays, anyone who wasn't "like him." I spent my entire life trying to figure out why he thought people of color, men who fell in love with men, women who fell in love with women and men and women who fell in love with each other - were so different than him - or me for that matter. I was always searching for a plausible answer. I saw people of color laugh, smile, eat, drink, clap, cry, do laundry, go grocery shopping and have families like all the "white people" I knew. I saw gay men holding hands, kissing each other with love that outshined many of my own past relationships, I saw women hug and touch their foreheads together and laugh themselves silly over some joke only they knew about. And as I watched this scenarios at different times in my life, I was left with the same question: Why did my father think these people were any different than he? And one day, I realized I knew the answer all along: they are NOT different. They are humans, with needs and wants and desires - so very much the same as the rest of the human race. So why is there so much hatred, so much prejudice against members of the human race?
We are all of the same race - the human race. The colors of human only add to what we are: an amazingly extrodinary race, capable of extrodinary accomplishments. Why can't those who hate so deeply look beyond the color and see the person? Why can't those who feel deep-rooted anger and rage when they see same-gendered members of our human race express their desire to be an equal representative of the human race see beyond that? Just what kind of horrific emotion drives these people to hate so deeply and so disturbingly?
I was brought up Catholic but I was never comfortable with the history of the religion. Matter of fact, I was pretty much appalled. And the thought of one man making rules about marriage, about women's bodies, what's a sin and what's not - I don't particularly care for that kind of anarchist rule. And isn't that what religion does to a lot of people? It rules them, it makes them believe that their way is the only way and everyone else is a sinner. I'm sorry but since when did "your" way become the only way or the right way?
Why should anyone make a law or a rule about exactly "who" can marry? I think that's so preposterous. No one should have that kind of authority, or leverage or anything remotely resembling that kind of rule. The Catholic church thinks that homosexuality is a sin, blah blah blah. C'mon - do people really believe that homosexuality didn't exist a bazillion years ago? And so what if it did? What is the big deal???????
I know "straight" people who do mondo-bizarro quad-X things in their sexual relationships. Does anyone make a stink about that? No - because IT'S NONE OF ANYONE'S DAMNED BUSINESS! And there are countries in this world where the practiced religion makes it ok to murder your wife, or murder your own children or stone someone in public because they commited a sin. And I suppose all you naysayers against gay marriage would cringe in horror at that, wouldn't you? Isn't what those countries do to their own family members seem a little bit more of an OUTRAGE than gay marriage? Does anyone have any brains in their heads whatsoever?
I want to scream when people start protesting about gays wanting rights that they should have because they are members of the human race - that really fries my behind. It always has.
No one on this planet should have the authority to decide who should marry and who shouldn't. Religion is not a tangible and if want to believe in something, that's your right. But do not get up on your little podium and point fingers at people just because they want the same thing you have - equality as a member of the human race - because I may be right there to knock you right on your prejudiced behind.
I am saddened every day when I hear stories about racism, about people who protest against the marriage of same-gendered humans. Why is color - and love between two human beings - so horribly scrutinized and so terribly railed against?
I recently wrote about the incident in Boston where a white cop arrested a black man on a disorderly conduct charge. The "white cop" was no ordinary cop - he is a very well respected police officer and a racial profiling instructor at a police academy. This cop teaches people how NOT to racially profile anyone. The "black man" is a Harvard University scholar professor. The furor of the arrest has somewhat died down but its effects may be long-lasting. Even President Obama inserted himself into this highly controversial situation by making some lame comments about the Cambridge police department and its decision to make the arrest. But the president backpedaled amid a firestorm of criticism of his comments and called each man separately and then offered to "have a beer" with both men at the White House. (Gee, how can I get that kinda invite sans the beer?
If only the prejudices of our world could be settled on the back porch of the White House with a cold beer or two. A pipe dream at best.
What would our world be without color? What if we were all just a pale blah shade of grey? Would we have peace? Probably not because some moron would point at me in public and scream "she's a different shade of grey than I am and that makes her DIFFERENT."
Blah blah blah. You get my point.
The prejudice against gays is mind-boggling. I wish I could stand someplace in the world with a megaphone that had amplification enough to reach into every corner, every town and my four words would echo in everyone's ears: MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.
Isn't that what it really comes down to? Why are people so anti-gay? What is it exactly that repulses people? Let's break this down: You have 2 humans who are in love and want to marry. Nothing unusual there. They want to marry to be afforded the same benefits as other married couples. That's pretty standard wouldn't you say? And they would like to have a family - a couple of kids, a couple of dogs, a home, a place they, too, can feel serenity.
Why are the wants of two members of the human race so fought against, so despicably judged against and rallied against and worse - murdered over?
Having grown up with a father who give racism an entirely new meaning, I could never understand why my father hated people of color, gays, anyone who wasn't "like him." I spent my entire life trying to figure out why he thought people of color, men who fell in love with men, women who fell in love with women and men and women who fell in love with each other - were so different than him - or me for that matter. I was always searching for a plausible answer. I saw people of color laugh, smile, eat, drink, clap, cry, do laundry, go grocery shopping and have families like all the "white people" I knew. I saw gay men holding hands, kissing each other with love that outshined many of my own past relationships, I saw women hug and touch their foreheads together and laugh themselves silly over some joke only they knew about. And as I watched this scenarios at different times in my life, I was left with the same question: Why did my father think these people were any different than he? And one day, I realized I knew the answer all along: they are NOT different. They are humans, with needs and wants and desires - so very much the same as the rest of the human race. So why is there so much hatred, so much prejudice against members of the human race?
We are all of the same race - the human race. The colors of human only add to what we are: an amazingly extrodinary race, capable of extrodinary accomplishments. Why can't those who hate so deeply look beyond the color and see the person? Why can't those who feel deep-rooted anger and rage when they see same-gendered members of our human race express their desire to be an equal representative of the human race see beyond that? Just what kind of horrific emotion drives these people to hate so deeply and so disturbingly?
I was brought up Catholic but I was never comfortable with the history of the religion. Matter of fact, I was pretty much appalled. And the thought of one man making rules about marriage, about women's bodies, what's a sin and what's not - I don't particularly care for that kind of anarchist rule. And isn't that what religion does to a lot of people? It rules them, it makes them believe that their way is the only way and everyone else is a sinner. I'm sorry but since when did "your" way become the only way or the right way?
Why should anyone make a law or a rule about exactly "who" can marry? I think that's so preposterous. No one should have that kind of authority, or leverage or anything remotely resembling that kind of rule. The Catholic church thinks that homosexuality is a sin, blah blah blah. C'mon - do people really believe that homosexuality didn't exist a bazillion years ago? And so what if it did? What is the big deal???????
I know "straight" people who do mondo-bizarro quad-X things in their sexual relationships. Does anyone make a stink about that? No - because IT'S NONE OF ANYONE'S DAMNED BUSINESS! And there are countries in this world where the practiced religion makes it ok to murder your wife, or murder your own children or stone someone in public because they commited a sin. And I suppose all you naysayers against gay marriage would cringe in horror at that, wouldn't you? Isn't what those countries do to their own family members seem a little bit more of an OUTRAGE than gay marriage? Does anyone have any brains in their heads whatsoever?
I want to scream when people start protesting about gays wanting rights that they should have because they are members of the human race - that really fries my behind. It always has.
No one on this planet should have the authority to decide who should marry and who shouldn't. Religion is not a tangible and if want to believe in something, that's your right. But do not get up on your little podium and point fingers at people just because they want the same thing you have - equality as a member of the human race - because I may be right there to knock you right on your prejudiced behind.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Profile This
There's a huge story out of Boston that has made national headlines and I feel compelled to write about my own views of this because when this story broke, my subjectivity led me to side with the alleged "victim" but now after a day of wrapping my head around this entire fiasco (and it is a fiasco), I believe I will now stand firm on my belief that the cop involved is not the bad guy but the stranger (a woman) who created her own profile which led to this ridiculous incident.
Quick review: Recently, Henry Louis Gates Jr., a renowned Harvard scholar, and a black man, arrived at his home in a very upscale, wealthy Harvard neighborhood to find that his front door was jammed. He asked his driver - also a black man - to assist him in trying to open the door. Apparently, both men were leaning their shoulders against the door attempting to gain entry into Gates' home, which, by the way, is owned by Harvard University.
A female passerby saw two black men trying to gain entry into a home and immediately called the Cambridge police department to report a possible burglary.
Sgt. James Crowley, a very well respected high ranking police officer appeared on scene. Gates had gained entry into his home and apparently called the real estate office that handles the property management of Gates' home to inform it of the problem. This is where the story gets blurry and plainly confusing. Gates claims that Crowley illegally entered his home and asked Gates for identification. Initially, Gates refused and asked Crowley for his name and badge number. Gates continued to badger Gates even after Gates produced ID which clearly indicated that the home was, indeed, Gates residence. Gates allegedly became belligerent, calling Crowley a racist, accused Gates of "racist profiling" and god only knows what else.
This tirade of Gates continued onto his porch and apparently, Sgt. Crowley had enough of Gates' rantings and ravings about racism and racial profiling and arrested Gates for disorderly conduct.
This is when the firestorm began.
The arrest has sparked outrage beyond comprehension. President Obama got involved - making the statement that the "Cambridge police department acted stupidly" by arresting Gates.
Such is this country where I get to state my opinion about our president and not get arrested but President Obama was extremely out of line with that comment.
Crowley defends the arrest, defends everything he did as "procedural" and the Cambridge chief of police stated that Crowley's actions were "consistent with national law enforcement protocol."
The charges of disorderly conduct have been dropped but Gates is making a federal case out of his arrest. I'm sure Al Sharpton will get involved and a host of other anti-racist activists.
But frankly, I think the woman who made the initial call to the police is the true profiler here, the true racist. In a neighborhood of mansions where wealth weaves itself like golden fibers in kings'
gossamer-spun robes, she saw two black men allegedly tearing at that fiber, staining the neighborhood robe by appearing to break into one of the kings' mansions. Well, that mansion happened to belong to one of those black men. But she did not know that and her actions created a horrendous domino effect which has caused a very well-respected cop to come under fire for doing his job. He responded to a possible burglarly, he asked a man for his identification and arrested same when the man became belligerent and offensive.
Gates was arrested on a charge of disorderly conduct which is a broad term but used when police are attempting to keep the peace "when a person is behaving in a disruptive manner, but presents no serious public danger." Gates apparently was behaving in that manner which prompted Crowley to arrest him.
Gates accused Crowley of racial profiling. Let me fill you in on two very important facts about Sgt. James Crowley. First fact: Sgt. James Crowley was at the Boston Garden the night that Reggie Lewis collasped (and later died). Reggie Lewis was a member of the Boston Celtics, a very talented young black man (yes, I said black) and Crowley rushed to his aid, administering CPR (yes, to a black man) in a futile attempt to save Lewis' life. Lewis' death was a result of a heart ailment. Hmmm. Gates accuses Crowley of racial profiling but Crowley's history includes attempting to save a very famous sports athlete's life - a black sports athlete's life. Doesn't quite fit that racial profile now does it?
Second fact: Sgt. Crowley is and has been an instructor and co-instructor for the past five years at the Lowell, Massachusetts Police Academy teaching a racial profiling course. According to Deborah Friedl, deputy superintendent of the police department, Crowley "seems to be a highly regarded instructor at the academy. He consistently received high praise from students."
Apparently Gates did not know these very two important facts about the man he accused of racial profiling.
But I am going to get on the fence and sit in the middle for a minute and try to see both sides.
Should Gates have simply produced his ID without indignation and simply asked Sgt. Crowley to take leave of his home at that point? Yes. Should Sgt. Crowley have accepted the ID as valid and wished Mr. Gates a good day, thank you for your cooperation yadayada? Yes. Should Sgt. Crowley have simply listened to Mr. Gates rantings and ravings and then tipped his hat and left Mr. Gates home without making the arrest? Yes.
None of these things happened. What was a sensitive local situation has escalated into national news in which our own president has become involved and in which a police officer has been put in the middle of a highly charged alleged racial firestorm.
Black and white, black and white. Why are two colors that are perhaps the most boring colors in a crayon box the most highly charged and volatile colors in our world? What is wrong with you people? What if Mr. Gates and his driver were pink? Or purple? Or part of the Blue Man Group? Or a member of the Evil Empire? Would the woman who called the Cambridge police made the same call of a possible burglarly? I can just imagine the call to 911:
"911 What's your emergency?"
"Hi. I am on Our Shit Don't Stink Street in the Harvard University neighborhood and good heavens, there is a little man - why its ET and a man - good lord it's Darth Vader trying to get into one of the houses here on my street. And they left their silver something running! Someone could just come along and steal their vehicle!"
"I understand Ma'am. We'll send someone out right away. Are you taking any prescription medications? Have you been drinking?"
"Young man, I resent those questions. I can see perfectly well, I only had three whiskey sours at lunch and I took my qualudes a few hours ago. The men have backpacks on. I can just imagine what is inside those backpacks. Someone needs to come out here right now and investigate."
"Thank you ma'am. We'll send someone out right away. Do you live close by?"
"Why, no, I don't. I am from Takagongakajagoogoo. I just happen to be walking through this lovely neighborhood which so reminds me of my neighborhood back home. No one of "color" comes into our neighborhoods back home - at least not without a restraint of some sort. Good heavens. That's against the law."
"Thank you again, ma'am for your call. We appreciate your, uh, keen sense of observation Have a nice day."
Click.
My point is the tattletale who started all this is the racial profiler - not the cop. If she has just minded her damned business and kept walking all the way back to Takagongakajagoogoo, Gates would have been in his house screaming at the real estate office about his door and Sgt. James Crowley could have sat in his backyard the last couple of nights enjoying the summer air and grilling up a few steaks for he and his family.
Instead, controversy swirls around him like an Arabian desert dust storm which doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon.
Gates wants an apology from Crowley. Crowley states he is not going to apologize for doing his job.
And this opinionated blogger who remains objective. I think Gates was extremely subjective in his assumptions of racial profiling and Crowley simply should have walked away, having the foresight perhaps to know that an arrest would make an already volatile situation worse.
This story is not going away anytime soon - kind of like poison ivy. Once you touch it, it spreads it's nastiness all over you because you just keep scratching and scratching and making it worse and pretty soon you are so far beyond miserable you wish you'd never touched it in the first place.
"
"
Quick review: Recently, Henry Louis Gates Jr., a renowned Harvard scholar, and a black man, arrived at his home in a very upscale, wealthy Harvard neighborhood to find that his front door was jammed. He asked his driver - also a black man - to assist him in trying to open the door. Apparently, both men were leaning their shoulders against the door attempting to gain entry into Gates' home, which, by the way, is owned by Harvard University.
A female passerby saw two black men trying to gain entry into a home and immediately called the Cambridge police department to report a possible burglary.
Sgt. James Crowley, a very well respected high ranking police officer appeared on scene. Gates had gained entry into his home and apparently called the real estate office that handles the property management of Gates' home to inform it of the problem. This is where the story gets blurry and plainly confusing. Gates claims that Crowley illegally entered his home and asked Gates for identification. Initially, Gates refused and asked Crowley for his name and badge number. Gates continued to badger Gates even after Gates produced ID which clearly indicated that the home was, indeed, Gates residence. Gates allegedly became belligerent, calling Crowley a racist, accused Gates of "racist profiling" and god only knows what else.
This tirade of Gates continued onto his porch and apparently, Sgt. Crowley had enough of Gates' rantings and ravings about racism and racial profiling and arrested Gates for disorderly conduct.
This is when the firestorm began.
The arrest has sparked outrage beyond comprehension. President Obama got involved - making the statement that the "Cambridge police department acted stupidly" by arresting Gates.
Such is this country where I get to state my opinion about our president and not get arrested but President Obama was extremely out of line with that comment.
Crowley defends the arrest, defends everything he did as "procedural" and the Cambridge chief of police stated that Crowley's actions were "consistent with national law enforcement protocol."
The charges of disorderly conduct have been dropped but Gates is making a federal case out of his arrest. I'm sure Al Sharpton will get involved and a host of other anti-racist activists.
But frankly, I think the woman who made the initial call to the police is the true profiler here, the true racist. In a neighborhood of mansions where wealth weaves itself like golden fibers in kings'
gossamer-spun robes, she saw two black men allegedly tearing at that fiber, staining the neighborhood robe by appearing to break into one of the kings' mansions. Well, that mansion happened to belong to one of those black men. But she did not know that and her actions created a horrendous domino effect which has caused a very well-respected cop to come under fire for doing his job. He responded to a possible burglarly, he asked a man for his identification and arrested same when the man became belligerent and offensive.
Gates was arrested on a charge of disorderly conduct which is a broad term but used when police are attempting to keep the peace "when a person is behaving in a disruptive manner, but presents no serious public danger." Gates apparently was behaving in that manner which prompted Crowley to arrest him.
Gates accused Crowley of racial profiling. Let me fill you in on two very important facts about Sgt. James Crowley. First fact: Sgt. James Crowley was at the Boston Garden the night that Reggie Lewis collasped (and later died). Reggie Lewis was a member of the Boston Celtics, a very talented young black man (yes, I said black) and Crowley rushed to his aid, administering CPR (yes, to a black man) in a futile attempt to save Lewis' life. Lewis' death was a result of a heart ailment. Hmmm. Gates accuses Crowley of racial profiling but Crowley's history includes attempting to save a very famous sports athlete's life - a black sports athlete's life. Doesn't quite fit that racial profile now does it?
Second fact: Sgt. Crowley is and has been an instructor and co-instructor for the past five years at the Lowell, Massachusetts Police Academy teaching a racial profiling course. According to Deborah Friedl, deputy superintendent of the police department, Crowley "seems to be a highly regarded instructor at the academy. He consistently received high praise from students."
Apparently Gates did not know these very two important facts about the man he accused of racial profiling.
But I am going to get on the fence and sit in the middle for a minute and try to see both sides.
Should Gates have simply produced his ID without indignation and simply asked Sgt. Crowley to take leave of his home at that point? Yes. Should Sgt. Crowley have accepted the ID as valid and wished Mr. Gates a good day, thank you for your cooperation yadayada? Yes. Should Sgt. Crowley have simply listened to Mr. Gates rantings and ravings and then tipped his hat and left Mr. Gates home without making the arrest? Yes.
None of these things happened. What was a sensitive local situation has escalated into national news in which our own president has become involved and in which a police officer has been put in the middle of a highly charged alleged racial firestorm.
Black and white, black and white. Why are two colors that are perhaps the most boring colors in a crayon box the most highly charged and volatile colors in our world? What is wrong with you people? What if Mr. Gates and his driver were pink? Or purple? Or part of the Blue Man Group? Or a member of the Evil Empire? Would the woman who called the Cambridge police made the same call of a possible burglarly? I can just imagine the call to 911:
"911 What's your emergency?"
"Hi. I am on Our Shit Don't Stink Street in the Harvard University neighborhood and good heavens, there is a little man - why its ET and a man - good lord it's Darth Vader trying to get into one of the houses here on my street. And they left their silver something running! Someone could just come along and steal their vehicle!"
"I understand Ma'am. We'll send someone out right away. Are you taking any prescription medications? Have you been drinking?"
"Young man, I resent those questions. I can see perfectly well, I only had three whiskey sours at lunch and I took my qualudes a few hours ago. The men have backpacks on. I can just imagine what is inside those backpacks. Someone needs to come out here right now and investigate."
"Thank you ma'am. We'll send someone out right away. Do you live close by?"
"Why, no, I don't. I am from Takagongakajagoogoo. I just happen to be walking through this lovely neighborhood which so reminds me of my neighborhood back home. No one of "color" comes into our neighborhoods back home - at least not without a restraint of some sort. Good heavens. That's against the law."
"Thank you again, ma'am for your call. We appreciate your, uh, keen sense of observation Have a nice day."
Click.
My point is the tattletale who started all this is the racial profiler - not the cop. If she has just minded her damned business and kept walking all the way back to Takagongakajagoogoo, Gates would have been in his house screaming at the real estate office about his door and Sgt. James Crowley could have sat in his backyard the last couple of nights enjoying the summer air and grilling up a few steaks for he and his family.
Instead, controversy swirls around him like an Arabian desert dust storm which doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon.
Gates wants an apology from Crowley. Crowley states he is not going to apologize for doing his job.
And this opinionated blogger who remains objective. I think Gates was extremely subjective in his assumptions of racial profiling and Crowley simply should have walked away, having the foresight perhaps to know that an arrest would make an already volatile situation worse.
This story is not going away anytime soon - kind of like poison ivy. Once you touch it, it spreads it's nastiness all over you because you just keep scratching and scratching and making it worse and pretty soon you are so far beyond miserable you wish you'd never touched it in the first place.
"
"
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
An Insincere Apology from Chris Brown
My first thought when I heard & read that Chris Brown - the loser who beat up Rihanna) had issued a "video" apology, the sound that came out of me was unquestionably a sound of blatant derision. I did not view the video nor did I listen to ANYTHING that came of out Brown's mouth. Fact: He is a loser, a coward, a spineless jellyfish of a nothing. He is not a man. Men who hit women are worse than pond scum and no words, no apologies, nothing will ever change that fact. I saw the photos of Rihanna that were splashed all over the net. The beating she received at the hands of Brown was beyond appalling, beyond disgusting.
How dare he attempt to make good on his behavior? And by the way, did he ever serve any prison time - at all? Anyone else - any Joe Blow off the street would have served time but oh no, not Chris Brown. What is it with these so called famous morons who somehow manage to avoid jail time for domestic violence crimes like this?
What's really pathetic is that people will actually believe that Chris Brown is sincere about his apology. He's not. And it's not that I speak from experience because no one has ever dared to lay a hand on me and the one person who did threaten me - one night a very, very long time ago - was told in no uncertain terms that he should not go to sleep that night because if he did, he would wake up less a crucial body part. He left and I never saw or heard from him again. A very smart move on his part.
I simply believe that men who inflict physical beatings upon women do not change. All the rehab in the world, all the anger management classes, all the video apologies (gaack) are not going to change these facts: Jellyfish remain jellyfish. Zebras don't change their stripes. And men who beat are gutless spineless nothings. Chris Brown took advantage of the fact that he was physically stronger than Rihanna and whatever the reason the fight began - over an alleged text message Brown received from another woman - he decided to beat the shit out of her. Period. And now he thinks that issuing a video apology is going to garner forgiveness? And what's really lame is that there ARE people who will forgive him!
I sleep with a Louisville slugger wooden baseball bat and a "rainstick" that looks like a tree branch. It is not by choice but because a woman was sexually assaulted here where I live. Management did nothing to protect us so I armed myself accordingly. I personally would have no problem inflicting physical harm upon someone that threatened me in any way, shape or form. Perhaps because I watched my own father lay his hands on my mother a few times that I empowered myself emotionally that I would never allow that to happen to me. Perhaps men who have met me knew instinctively that I was not someone to cross - ever. They were correct in their assessment of me.
What Chris Brown did to Rihanna is unforgiveable. No woman should take any kind of physical abuse. I am at a loss as to how many women - as shocking as it may be - "accept" the beatings because that is all they know. The beatings become part of their daily lives, part of their routine. And sadly for many, they are convinced there is no escape and there is nothing else for them because they are so-called "damaged goods." They have no self-esteem, no self-worth. Restraining orders? Pieces of worthless paper that mean nothing. Remember that song "Goodbye Earl" by The Dixie Chicks? One line "he walked right through that restraining order and put her in intensive care." Many women WON'T file police reports because they are so embarrassed and humiliated by the beatings that they believe it's no one's business. So they are physically abused, day after day and suffer in silence.
Farrah Fawcett's movie "The Burning Bed" was an example of a woman who eventually did fight back and won but her victory resulted in a death - but not hers. A woman who chooses that route is choosing it because it is her last option and perhaps her only way out.
In my opinion, the saddest aspect of domestic violence is that the children of these domestic violence cases view the beatings on a daily basis and believe that form of behavior is acceptable. If the mother doesn't take a stand and fight back, her sons will think it's OK for men to beat up on women and her daughters will gradually lose their self-esteem because they will become mirrors of their own mother's - lacking the strength and character to fight back. Or if they are really lucky, they may develop the keen sense to avoid these kinds of men. And the children of these domestic violence cases themselves will most likely grow up to either be victims or perps in the very same type of situations.
I think Chris Brown's so-called apology is a pathetic attempt to bolster his own ego and make himself look good because he believes people will accept that he is allegedly "manning up" and making the apology. In my opinion, he has failed miserably because men like him just do not change. Ever. They may hide it for a while after they get caught the first time but that coiled up, poisonous cobra in every man who has beat or hit a woman is just waiting to strike out again.
How dare he attempt to make good on his behavior? And by the way, did he ever serve any prison time - at all? Anyone else - any Joe Blow off the street would have served time but oh no, not Chris Brown. What is it with these so called famous morons who somehow manage to avoid jail time for domestic violence crimes like this?
What's really pathetic is that people will actually believe that Chris Brown is sincere about his apology. He's not. And it's not that I speak from experience because no one has ever dared to lay a hand on me and the one person who did threaten me - one night a very, very long time ago - was told in no uncertain terms that he should not go to sleep that night because if he did, he would wake up less a crucial body part. He left and I never saw or heard from him again. A very smart move on his part.
I simply believe that men who inflict physical beatings upon women do not change. All the rehab in the world, all the anger management classes, all the video apologies (gaack) are not going to change these facts: Jellyfish remain jellyfish. Zebras don't change their stripes. And men who beat are gutless spineless nothings. Chris Brown took advantage of the fact that he was physically stronger than Rihanna and whatever the reason the fight began - over an alleged text message Brown received from another woman - he decided to beat the shit out of her. Period. And now he thinks that issuing a video apology is going to garner forgiveness? And what's really lame is that there ARE people who will forgive him!
I sleep with a Louisville slugger wooden baseball bat and a "rainstick" that looks like a tree branch. It is not by choice but because a woman was sexually assaulted here where I live. Management did nothing to protect us so I armed myself accordingly. I personally would have no problem inflicting physical harm upon someone that threatened me in any way, shape or form. Perhaps because I watched my own father lay his hands on my mother a few times that I empowered myself emotionally that I would never allow that to happen to me. Perhaps men who have met me knew instinctively that I was not someone to cross - ever. They were correct in their assessment of me.
What Chris Brown did to Rihanna is unforgiveable. No woman should take any kind of physical abuse. I am at a loss as to how many women - as shocking as it may be - "accept" the beatings because that is all they know. The beatings become part of their daily lives, part of their routine. And sadly for many, they are convinced there is no escape and there is nothing else for them because they are so-called "damaged goods." They have no self-esteem, no self-worth. Restraining orders? Pieces of worthless paper that mean nothing. Remember that song "Goodbye Earl" by The Dixie Chicks? One line "he walked right through that restraining order and put her in intensive care." Many women WON'T file police reports because they are so embarrassed and humiliated by the beatings that they believe it's no one's business. So they are physically abused, day after day and suffer in silence.
Farrah Fawcett's movie "The Burning Bed" was an example of a woman who eventually did fight back and won but her victory resulted in a death - but not hers. A woman who chooses that route is choosing it because it is her last option and perhaps her only way out.
In my opinion, the saddest aspect of domestic violence is that the children of these domestic violence cases view the beatings on a daily basis and believe that form of behavior is acceptable. If the mother doesn't take a stand and fight back, her sons will think it's OK for men to beat up on women and her daughters will gradually lose their self-esteem because they will become mirrors of their own mother's - lacking the strength and character to fight back. Or if they are really lucky, they may develop the keen sense to avoid these kinds of men. And the children of these domestic violence cases themselves will most likely grow up to either be victims or perps in the very same type of situations.
I think Chris Brown's so-called apology is a pathetic attempt to bolster his own ego and make himself look good because he believes people will accept that he is allegedly "manning up" and making the apology. In my opinion, he has failed miserably because men like him just do not change. Ever. They may hide it for a while after they get caught the first time but that coiled up, poisonous cobra in every man who has beat or hit a woman is just waiting to strike out again.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I'll have 23 quadrillion of that, please
I just read the most hilarious storythat has prompted me to knock out a quick blog. A man in New hampshire went to a local gas station in his town, purchased a pack of cigarettes and was charged - are you ready for this? - 23 quadrillion dollars by Bank of America AND worse, a $15 overdraft fee LMAO ROFL!!!!!! Wow. That was one expensive pack of smokes. And for those of you who are zero challenged, that 23 followed by 15 zeros. Now can you just imagine getting your bank statement and seeing THAT figure on there? Would it even FIT on the bank statement?
John Muszynski checked his bank balance online (which I also do pretty much every day) and when he saw that debit to his account he was quoted as saying "I thought someone had bought Europe with my debit card." At least his sense of humor was intact even if his bank account wasn't!
Mr. Muszynski apparently tried to get the cashier at the gas station to help him without success. Can you just imagine the conversation:
John: "Hi. I was here a little while ago and bought a pack of cigarettes and you charged me twenty three, uh, quadrillion dollars."
Cashier: "Like what? What's a quadrillion? Is that like the national debt or something?"
I can see the eye rolling that went on all the way here in Massachusetts.
You get the picture. Clearly, the cashier was not at fault.
Mr. Muszynski then spent another unsucessful two hours on the phone with Bank of America trying to get it to restore his account. And (why am I not surprised by this) Bank of America could not fix the problem until the next day. I think, for all intensive purposes, that he should print out his bank statement, black sharpie marker out all his personal information (or cut it out) and sell that bank statement on ebay. There's gotta be a market for a collectible mistake like that!!!!
I'm trying to picture this guy calling Bank of America to report the problem.
First thing he hears: "Please enter your 16 digit debit card number followed by the pound sign."
"Um, hello - can I just get a human being on the phone PLEASE?"
"Press 1 for checking, press 2 for savings, press 3 ..."
He presses zero (15 times just for laughs?????)
"That is an invalid entry. Press 1 for checking, press 2 for savings ..." I am sure he spent a better part of that 2 hours just pressing buttons to get someone on the phone.
"Hi. This is Jane Doe. How may I help you?"
"Yah, uh, there is a 23 - wait a sec - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15 - yah, there's a charge on my account - a 23 followed by 15 zeros - my buddy tells me it's 23 quadrillion dollars that I was charged for a pack of smokes. I think that's a mistake."
Silence.
"Hello? I think it's a mistake."
"Hold on, sir. Let me get my supervisor."
The endless finger drumming and eye rolling as minutes tick by.
"Hello this is John Smith. May I have your name, please?"
"I already gave my name, my debit card number, everything you need. I have a twenty three quadrillion dollar charge on my account that I really need you people to take care NOW."
"Sir, I need you to verify your identity before I can answer any questions."
"What part of twenty three quadrillion dollars didn't you people understand? Get it OFF of my acount now! I know cigarettes are expensive but this is ridiculous. Oh, and you had the audacity to charge me an ADDITIONAL fifteen dollar overdraft fee?"
"Sir, I really need to verify your identity in order to continue this conversation."
"Obviously you know who I am or you wouldn't have charged me twenty three quadrillion dollars for a pack of cigarettes! How many other customers have called you today with a twenty three quadrillion dollar issue?"
And on and on I imagine it went.
In the end, Bank of America (day late and lessee, smokes are about $7.00 a pack - what's 23 quadrillion minus $7.00?) did fix the error (BTW, Bank of America called it an "accident" which is kinda funny because isn't that what puppies have when they are being potty trained? Kind of a shitty thing, eh?)
But what's even worse is that apparently, this 23 quadrillion dollar mistake occurred to other Visa debit card holders! Yet another victim of bank error, one father reported that his teenage daughter spent "$23, 148,855,308,184,500 at CVS!!!!!!" Can you just imagine the father's reaction when he saw THAT????? And of course, that heart-attack inducing shock was followed by the prerequisite "You are grounded for all eternity. Now go to your room. No cell phone, no computer, no Blackberry, no strawberry, blueberry or apple pie. Err, whatever. Your mother will call you when it's time for dinner."
Visa issued a statement to CNN that blamed the mess on a "temporary programming error at Visa Debit Processing Services ... [which] caused some transactions to be inaccurately posted. Visa reports that all of the 23 Quadrillion dollar charges have been fixed and any overdraft fees refunded. Well, thank you very much.
Bottom line: Either don't smoke or cut a hole in your mattress and use it as your bank. Can't go wrong with a cash stash.
What's after quadrillion anyways?
John Muszynski checked his bank balance online (which I also do pretty much every day) and when he saw that debit to his account he was quoted as saying "I thought someone had bought Europe with my debit card." At least his sense of humor was intact even if his bank account wasn't!
Mr. Muszynski apparently tried to get the cashier at the gas station to help him without success. Can you just imagine the conversation:
John: "Hi. I was here a little while ago and bought a pack of cigarettes and you charged me twenty three, uh, quadrillion dollars."
Cashier: "Like what? What's a quadrillion? Is that like the national debt or something?"
I can see the eye rolling that went on all the way here in Massachusetts.
You get the picture. Clearly, the cashier was not at fault.
Mr. Muszynski then spent another unsucessful two hours on the phone with Bank of America trying to get it to restore his account. And (why am I not surprised by this) Bank of America could not fix the problem until the next day. I think, for all intensive purposes, that he should print out his bank statement, black sharpie marker out all his personal information (or cut it out) and sell that bank statement on ebay. There's gotta be a market for a collectible mistake like that!!!!
I'm trying to picture this guy calling Bank of America to report the problem.
First thing he hears: "Please enter your 16 digit debit card number followed by the pound sign."
"Um, hello - can I just get a human being on the phone PLEASE?"
"Press 1 for checking, press 2 for savings, press 3 ..."
He presses zero (15 times just for laughs?????)
"That is an invalid entry. Press 1 for checking, press 2 for savings ..." I am sure he spent a better part of that 2 hours just pressing buttons to get someone on the phone.
"Hi. This is Jane Doe. How may I help you?"
"Yah, uh, there is a 23 - wait a sec - 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15 - yah, there's a charge on my account - a 23 followed by 15 zeros - my buddy tells me it's 23 quadrillion dollars that I was charged for a pack of smokes. I think that's a mistake."
Silence.
"Hello? I think it's a mistake."
"Hold on, sir. Let me get my supervisor."
The endless finger drumming and eye rolling as minutes tick by.
"Hello this is John Smith. May I have your name, please?"
"I already gave my name, my debit card number, everything you need. I have a twenty three quadrillion dollar charge on my account that I really need you people to take care NOW."
"Sir, I need you to verify your identity before I can answer any questions."
"What part of twenty three quadrillion dollars didn't you people understand? Get it OFF of my acount now! I know cigarettes are expensive but this is ridiculous. Oh, and you had the audacity to charge me an ADDITIONAL fifteen dollar overdraft fee?"
"Sir, I really need to verify your identity in order to continue this conversation."
"Obviously you know who I am or you wouldn't have charged me twenty three quadrillion dollars for a pack of cigarettes! How many other customers have called you today with a twenty three quadrillion dollar issue?"
And on and on I imagine it went.
In the end, Bank of America (day late and lessee, smokes are about $7.00 a pack - what's 23 quadrillion minus $7.00?) did fix the error (BTW, Bank of America called it an "accident" which is kinda funny because isn't that what puppies have when they are being potty trained? Kind of a shitty thing, eh?)
But what's even worse is that apparently, this 23 quadrillion dollar mistake occurred to other Visa debit card holders! Yet another victim of bank error, one father reported that his teenage daughter spent "$23, 148,855,308,184,500 at CVS!!!!!!" Can you just imagine the father's reaction when he saw THAT????? And of course, that heart-attack inducing shock was followed by the prerequisite "You are grounded for all eternity. Now go to your room. No cell phone, no computer, no Blackberry, no strawberry, blueberry or apple pie. Err, whatever. Your mother will call you when it's time for dinner."
Visa issued a statement to CNN that blamed the mess on a "temporary programming error at Visa Debit Processing Services ... [which] caused some transactions to be inaccurately posted. Visa reports that all of the 23 Quadrillion dollar charges have been fixed and any overdraft fees refunded. Well, thank you very much.
Bottom line: Either don't smoke or cut a hole in your mattress and use it as your bank. Can't go wrong with a cash stash.
What's after quadrillion anyways?
Monday, July 13, 2009
Racism still exists
I have been following the story out of Huntingdon Valley, Pennsylvania where an alleged "diverse" swim Club named Valley Club and some of its Neanderthal-thinking members complained that a summer camp group who came to use the pool (said camp consisting of mostly black and Hispanic children) would "change the complexion and atmosphere" of the club and forced the children to leave.
Reports were that some members of this swim club asked "why are there black children in the pool" and one mother was reported to have said she was worried that the children of the Creative Steps summer camp would "do something to her child." Yah, probably teach your lily white butt kid how to swim like Michael Phelps.
Of course, the director of the swim club - John Duesler - with his buttoned-up to the neck sky blue polo shirt (so THAT's why he was choking on his words) has defended himself against allegations of racism by claiming that the club didn't have enough lifeguards for the number of children who were in the pool blah blah blah. Yah, right.
If I were the director of a swim club, and someone contacted me about the use of my pool for children in a summer camp, one of the FIRST questions the director would be "how many children will be swimming at any given time?" Obviously, the need for extra lifeguards would have to be considered and put into place in order to accommodate the extra bodies. Duh. That's just plain common sense.
The director's lame excuse for canceling the contract and removing these kids from the pool is beyond appalling, beyond comprehension and reeks of blatant racism. Was Mr. Duesler afraid that the white lockerroom walls might turn brown or black or pink or purple or yellow or orange?
And what about these members of this club who made the "complexion" and "atmosphere" comments? Nevermind the mother who was worried that her child might be robbed of his styrofoam "bubble" by a black or Hispanic five year old. Give me a freaking break. Are these members still members? You bet they are. I bet that mother installed an alarm system in her child's swim bubble just to ward off potential theft. What did she think the kids in the summer camp would use as a weapon? A pool noodle?
Kudos to Girard College - a private college in the Philly area - that contacted Alethea Wright, the Creative Steps' summer camp director - that the kids in the Creative Steps camp could use its pool and facilities for the rest of the summer.
On Sunday afternoon, Valley Club called a "hastily" put together meeting of (racists) of its directors and apparently invited the Creative Camps back to the club. I'm sure that this alleged meeting ONLY took place because (a) "the club has been subpoenaed by the state Human Rights Commission, which has begun a fact-finding investigation, " and (b) "The Pennsylvania Human Rights Commission launched an investigation last week after allegations of racism at the Valley Club."
Duesler's wife, Bernice Duesler stated she wasn't sure how the club would "reach out" to the Creative Steps camp director in finding resolution to this blatant racist attack on bubble-wearing, Spongebob Squarepants/Spiderman/Transformer/Little Mermaid swim suit and swim-trunk clad children.
My heart goes out to those kids who may end up (if not already) emotionally scarred from this swim club's disgusting, pathetic blatant display of racism.
I've taught my son that we are of ONE race: the human race, and that everyone on this planet is just like a big huge box of Crayons: we come in all different colors but either individually or blended together we can make some pretty amazing creations. Let me remind the director of this swim club that if he opens a box of crayons (the big box) he, too, will find a plethora of colors - including white - which incidentally fits in nicely as a part of all those colors.
Reports were that some members of this swim club asked "why are there black children in the pool" and one mother was reported to have said she was worried that the children of the Creative Steps summer camp would "do something to her child." Yah, probably teach your lily white butt kid how to swim like Michael Phelps.
Of course, the director of the swim club - John Duesler - with his buttoned-up to the neck sky blue polo shirt (so THAT's why he was choking on his words) has defended himself against allegations of racism by claiming that the club didn't have enough lifeguards for the number of children who were in the pool blah blah blah. Yah, right.
If I were the director of a swim club, and someone contacted me about the use of my pool for children in a summer camp, one of the FIRST questions the director would be "how many children will be swimming at any given time?" Obviously, the need for extra lifeguards would have to be considered and put into place in order to accommodate the extra bodies. Duh. That's just plain common sense.
The director's lame excuse for canceling the contract and removing these kids from the pool is beyond appalling, beyond comprehension and reeks of blatant racism. Was Mr. Duesler afraid that the white lockerroom walls might turn brown or black or pink or purple or yellow or orange?
And what about these members of this club who made the "complexion" and "atmosphere" comments? Nevermind the mother who was worried that her child might be robbed of his styrofoam "bubble" by a black or Hispanic five year old. Give me a freaking break. Are these members still members? You bet they are. I bet that mother installed an alarm system in her child's swim bubble just to ward off potential theft. What did she think the kids in the summer camp would use as a weapon? A pool noodle?
Kudos to Girard College - a private college in the Philly area - that contacted Alethea Wright, the Creative Steps' summer camp director - that the kids in the Creative Steps camp could use its pool and facilities for the rest of the summer.
On Sunday afternoon, Valley Club called a "hastily" put together meeting of (racists) of its directors and apparently invited the Creative Camps back to the club. I'm sure that this alleged meeting ONLY took place because (a) "the club has been subpoenaed by the state Human Rights Commission, which has begun a fact-finding investigation, " and (b) "The Pennsylvania Human Rights Commission launched an investigation last week after allegations of racism at the Valley Club."
Duesler's wife, Bernice Duesler stated she wasn't sure how the club would "reach out" to the Creative Steps camp director in finding resolution to this blatant racist attack on bubble-wearing, Spongebob Squarepants/Spiderman/Transformer/Little Mermaid swim suit and swim-trunk clad children.
My heart goes out to those kids who may end up (if not already) emotionally scarred from this swim club's disgusting, pathetic blatant display of racism.
I've taught my son that we are of ONE race: the human race, and that everyone on this planet is just like a big huge box of Crayons: we come in all different colors but either individually or blended together we can make some pretty amazing creations. Let me remind the director of this swim club that if he opens a box of crayons (the big box) he, too, will find a plethora of colors - including white - which incidentally fits in nicely as a part of all those colors.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Fourth of July Blues
OK - this is supposed to be my favorite holiday because I love sparklers, I love fireworks, I love the noise and the music and celebration. But tonight I am alone because my son is with my ex-husband who may as well live in Egypt and I have no one to "do" sparklers with. Since my son was old enough, I've conned friends to smuggle me sparklers so I can relive some happy memories of my own childhood with my son. I remember the first time he held a sparkler - Jake looked so intensely at it and then cried when it went out. "More light, more light!" he screamed. So I lit another one and the intensity of his first stare transformed into sheer joy. I got it. I felt the same way when I was a kid. There was just something about sparklers that made me squeal with delight.
But tonight I am sad because my son is not with me and I am here alone blogging about this feeling of almost being cheated out of spending the Fourth of July with my son. We went to the town parade and I watched him jockey for position with other kids to scrabble for the candy being thrown from the parade floats to all the waiting hands at the sides of the rode along the parade route.
I watched him today with almost a bittersweet feeling - he is still at that age where getting this candy is a big deal but so close to an age where it's not going to matter to him anymore. His enthusiasm is infectious but I dread the bag of candy that will lay around and end up forgotten. God forbid I attempt to toss it - my son will know it's gone. That bag represents a conquest of his youth as do all the other bags of candy that lay discarded and uneaten until enough time had passed where I could deep six the candy and my son none the wiser.
I envy all the people celebrating with family and friends now. I do not have any immediate family within 100 miles. My Mom lives in another state and she is 78 years old. She does not like to celebrate with loud music and fireworks and such. She prefers the quiet of her chair, reading her book and falling asleep at 7:30 p.m. And that's OK. I have a small circle of friends who all have their own families and I never want to feel like an intruder at their festivities. I have grown accustomed to being alone - I've raised my son pretty much all by myself for the past nine years so this is not really a big deal. But there are times in the deepest parts of night when I wake up and find myself wishing for a good guy with a big family of which I can be a part on holidays like these.
I find myself wishing for a real home - a place where serenity exists 24/7 365 and where I can walk in the door every day and not look down for pieces of paper with the words "lease violation" or "inspection scheduled for your apartment" or anything that reminds me every single day of my life that the only thing that I own is the dirt that sticks to my shoes.
I feel like a bottle floating on the ocean - I go where the tide takes me because I am unable to see the shore. I am not grounded, I do not have roots. I simply exist. I am not "lost" in the sense of the word - I just don't feel like I belong.
I am sure there are many single parents who are lucky to be surrounded by loving family and loving friends. But there are many of us like myself who would give anything in the world just to have a place in this world, solid footing on ground on which to build a foundation for a better life for my son and I than the one I am giving him right now.
I wish for a life that would make me feel like the Fourth of July every day.
But tonight I am sad because my son is not with me and I am here alone blogging about this feeling of almost being cheated out of spending the Fourth of July with my son. We went to the town parade and I watched him jockey for position with other kids to scrabble for the candy being thrown from the parade floats to all the waiting hands at the sides of the rode along the parade route.
I watched him today with almost a bittersweet feeling - he is still at that age where getting this candy is a big deal but so close to an age where it's not going to matter to him anymore. His enthusiasm is infectious but I dread the bag of candy that will lay around and end up forgotten. God forbid I attempt to toss it - my son will know it's gone. That bag represents a conquest of his youth as do all the other bags of candy that lay discarded and uneaten until enough time had passed where I could deep six the candy and my son none the wiser.
I envy all the people celebrating with family and friends now. I do not have any immediate family within 100 miles. My Mom lives in another state and she is 78 years old. She does not like to celebrate with loud music and fireworks and such. She prefers the quiet of her chair, reading her book and falling asleep at 7:30 p.m. And that's OK. I have a small circle of friends who all have their own families and I never want to feel like an intruder at their festivities. I have grown accustomed to being alone - I've raised my son pretty much all by myself for the past nine years so this is not really a big deal. But there are times in the deepest parts of night when I wake up and find myself wishing for a good guy with a big family of which I can be a part on holidays like these.
I find myself wishing for a real home - a place where serenity exists 24/7 365 and where I can walk in the door every day and not look down for pieces of paper with the words "lease violation" or "inspection scheduled for your apartment" or anything that reminds me every single day of my life that the only thing that I own is the dirt that sticks to my shoes.
I feel like a bottle floating on the ocean - I go where the tide takes me because I am unable to see the shore. I am not grounded, I do not have roots. I simply exist. I am not "lost" in the sense of the word - I just don't feel like I belong.
I am sure there are many single parents who are lucky to be surrounded by loving family and loving friends. But there are many of us like myself who would give anything in the world just to have a place in this world, solid footing on ground on which to build a foundation for a better life for my son and I than the one I am giving him right now.
I wish for a life that would make me feel like the Fourth of July every day.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Today's Weather Report
Enough already. I've come to understand that there is a black cloud hanging over my head sometimes but this is ridiculous. I count back to my son's birthday - June 3rd - as when this all began - Jake fell on his head that morning and now I am convinced that the black cloud formed that very minute. So let's do the calculation: 35 days since June 3rd and how many nice days have we had here in Massachusetts since then? I think I can count those days on one hand. So let's try to figure out specifically what things the rain is good for: Ducks. Ducks don't mind the rain (well, I can't say for sure because I've never asked a duck that very question) but let's assume they don't care one way or the other. They swim in water, they dive under the water and they can hide their heads in their feathers to avoid the really big raindrops. We humans use umbrellas that have metal tips and therefore attract lightning, hence the term "sitting (or walking) ducks." I wonder if ducks realize the connotation to that term. ... Robins: this is the kind of weather where robins think they are at one of those all-u-can-eat buffets (not Chinese, though). Worms abound. Breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, all day, 24/7 (yuck). Do robins ever get sick of eating the same thing over and over? I know I would. Lucky for the robins that hang around my apartment that they get (a) crust from cinnamon raisin bread; (c) bagels; (d) stale 40 calorie-a-slice light wheat bread and (c) toasted english muffin with peanut butter leftover pieces that my son did not eat. A veritable gourmet as a compliment to the raw worm bar. What else? Grass. Where I live - we now have the greenest grass this side of the Mississippi. It is emerald green. Not to mention that the property management company spends more money on the landscaping budget for this complex than it does fixing all the building code violations in this place (uh, did I just write that? I feel a lease violation coming on). Cars: If nothing else, this rain has kept cars relatively clean (mine for one). And this rain also cuts down on the need to scrub vigorously when washing away the dirt and the bird crap. A hard rain will most likely take care of that. What else? Driveways. Rain washes away the built up leaf/dirt/debris that accumulates on driveways. But of course, it washes all the debris down the driveway and just sits there making a big muddy leaf stick debris mess that we end up tracking back UP the driveway and into the house because it's all stuck to the bottoms of our shoes which will then cause mothers and fathers to scream at their children for tracking that stuff into homes with white floors and white rugs (people who have kids should be fined and/or jailed for the utter stupidity of having kids AND white floors/rugs) and then the children scream back that if the driveways were cleaned they wouldn't be tracking this stuff in in the first place and then the parents scream at each other about whose job it is to clean the bottom of the driveway and then everyone looks skyward and screams at Mother Nature and God for all the rain. It is a vicious circle, end of story. So the bottom line is - there is no bottom line. The rain will fall until it's damn well done falling so shut up and stop complaining. You could live in the Sahara desert and have scorpions taking up residence in your last year's Prada shoes. My advice? Get a really nice umbrella and a pair of rainboots and take it like a duck!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Little Ballie Hell
I took this photo of the inside of a kaleidescope and it reminded me of the game I play on Facebook called "Chain Reaction." Now keep in mind I am a 47 year old college-educated professional woman who has far better things to do with her time than to sit and click and watch hundreds of little colored ballies explode for points. Sounds rather mundane and mindless, correct? Well add me to the list of gamers - perhaps not the ones that are so far gone that they've superglued the controllers to their hands, or the ones who's faces have melded into the computer monitor, or the ones who tear off their clothes, paint their bodies in an array of pastel colors and run screaming down their neighborhood street repeating over and over "IT IS NOT GAME OVER, IT IS NOT GAME OVER." Nah, I haven't even begun to spiral down into that kind of game hell. I am simply in little ballie hell. See, the manipulative Spock personality who created this game realized that in order to draw in as many losers like myself who would sit and play this game for hours and hours would have to create a "nice" game, with soothing, serene sounds (like waves lapping at the shore or birds singing in the morning or those other lovely wake up sounds that are on alarm clocks which cause people to grab and promptly throw out of the nearest window - you get the idea) - the gag me sounds. Well, the creator (or creators because I can't believe that ONE human being possessed the absolute power to realize the control under which we players would fall) used the 'ol "gentle breeze blowing through wind chimey" sounds to lure us suckers in. See, the object of the game is to place the first ball in a position where the little colored ballies (and there are a lot of them) can "hit" that first one and create a succession of explosions, hence the chain reaction tag. No, not THOSE kinds of explosions - there is no blood and gore, no maiming, no decaptitations and the likes thereof (c'mon - do you think I'd be playing that kind of game? What kind of psycho do you think I am???) And as the succession of explosions is created, thus the point total climbs. And when the ballies explode, I hear those "gentle breeze blowing through wind chimey" sounds. But THEN, oh yes, there is a then and there is a catch. See, if you don't complete the level - explode the correct numbers of little ballies for that level - there is this "dah nah" sound which I have come to the conclusion is really the encrypted voice of an institutionalized former Chain Reaction player - long gone insane - who is saying to us losers: "you suck." Listen closely to the "dah nah" sound. If you popped that sound into some CIA/NSA high tech sound decoder machine, it would read out in large blinking yellow neon lights the words "you suck." So here I am forced to listen to "you suck" at the end of each level I do NOT complete which of course renders my brain even more mushlike than it already is from playing the game in the first place AND causes my rage level of not being able to get those effing balls to ALL explode to ratchet up a few notches above madwoman level. My foot has a life of its own when I play this game -it raises itself up, points itself right at my monitor and it is only with sheer strength that I hold it back from launching itself right into my monitor - for destruction and elimination of Chain Reaction game purposes, of course. Not to mention the complete annilation of my computer. This is what this game has done to me. I've become a frenzied hair-pulling gaming monster who hunkers down at night trying to achieve - what? Points? Is that what I am doing this for? All for points? You bet your ass I am. It is all about becoming one of "them" - those people who have managed to score enough points in this godforsaken game to make it onto the sacred list of "Top Ten Scorers." I made the mistake of clicking on the list of top scorers and nearly had a Michael Jackson (oh did I just say that???) when I saw that some of the, ahem, "top scorers" (I'm gagging here) managed to achieve a point total of 99 million plus. Now either those gamers have figured out that the game is rigged and have managed to unrig it, or those are the people aforementioned - the ones who probably have a cattle prod attached to them and shocks them every time they attempt to stop playing Chain Reaction. My high score to date is 63 million plus. I am the No. 1 scored just amongst my friends. Woopee DOO!!!! A few nights ago I had about 28 million at the completion of Level 11. I racked up 49 million for Level Twelve and had one little ballie left to explode and what do you think happened? It managed to avoid the ball it was SUPPOSED to hit, I FAILED to complete that level and then I heard that sound "duh nuh" - you suck. I ended up with some lame final score and went to bed mad. This game is making me crazy. I actually played before I wrote this blog just to get me in the mood. Imagine what I can do if I end up with 99 million someday. But this game has got me in its clutches. I hear it calling my name when I turn on my computer in the morning and if I forget to turn it off before I leave or work, it calls to me from afar. I have somehow managed to avoid playing it at work and do not attempt to play before suppertime otherwise my son would starve, wither away to nothing and DSS would come and take him away and the funny farm people would haul me away and put me in a room probably wallpapered with little colored ballies and sheet and towels imprinted with the words CHAIN REACTION just to make me crazier than I aleady am. I'm telling ya - this game is a prelude to a frontal lobotomy. Perhaps I should find a hobby before I succumbe to the alluring sounds of the "gentle breeze wind chimey sounds" and finally fall head first into the abyss of little ballie hell.
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