4.29.2008
Gratitude Part 1
Gratitude is, of course, a natural antidote to unrelenting cynicism. Life is only getting more complicated, and on days like today, I feel incredibly small and alone in the world. Wah. However, the few friends I have are true gifts. To those who are here and notice when I'm feeling deflated and take the time to remind me of connections, I thank you. To those I never get to see--I miss you.
3.31.2008
Detachable Vagina
A friend sent me this clip and I laughed because I recall having a conversation with some friends about how great this would be--especially when we had our periods. I wonder if Hillary Clinton would've had an easier time as a Senator and presidential candidate. I can just imagine her opening remarks at each debate. Moderator: "Senator Clinton, how do you answer your critics who say that his country is not ready for a woman President?" Hillary: "Well,Ted, it doesn't matter because my pussy is in a safe deposit box for the duration of this campaign, and it will remain there as long as I am President!"
3.29.2008
Not a Great News Week for Dallas
While driving to work earlier this last week, I heard a story on NPR about a "cheese" heroin epidemic among children in my old home town of Dallas. Drug treatment professionals must now ponder how to treat addicts as young as 9 years old (or even younger, probably). In Dallas anyway, known users are apparently predominantly Latino/Latina. However, I think the likely key word is "known". A police detective with Dallas Public Schools admitted that "this isn't a problem we can arrest ourselves out of." I wonder if he realizes that with that one sentence he acknowledged the futility of most state and federal illegal drug policy and enforcement.
In other news, I hear that results of the 2006 census showed that the Dallas-Ft. Worth metro area grew more than any other metropolitan area in the country--adding over 162,000 souls. One wonders where they all came from--and if they still think they made a good decision.
Equally and exceedingly more nauseating (but not too surprising) news is that a Dallas titty-bar will not be required to close its doors simply because underage girls as young as 12 perform there from time-to-time. Evidently the license of the Diamond Cabaret could potentially expire this November, but revocation at this point is only possible if "the club knowingly allows prostitution, the sale or use of drugs at the club, or if there are two convictions for sex-related crimes at the club within a 12-month period". Twisty says it better here.
In more local news for me--I recently started work on a committee at work charged with the task of writing an emergency-reponse plan for all of our clinical activities (read: everything). We are to "consider all hazards" including, but not limited to: a flu or SARS pandemic, a terrorist biological attack, other types of terrorist attacks (the Democratic National Convention is here in August, so thinking of worst-case scenarios for that is already underway), or contamination of the water supply (a legitimate concern considering the plight of our Alamosa neighbors to the south).
In more uplifting news, despite the fact that we could possibly still get a bit of snow and that it still gets down in the 30's at night, it looks like Spring has arrived here at last. Sophie found patches of green grass to pee on today and I could get away with wearing short-sleeves and sandals! Perhaps friends who anticipate onset of yet another Texas summer will consider the fabulousness that is a Colorado spring and summer--particularly those who may need time away from the prying eyes of the Ladies of Chador.
In other news, I hear that results of the 2006 census showed that the Dallas-Ft. Worth metro area grew more than any other metropolitan area in the country--adding over 162,000 souls. One wonders where they all came from--and if they still think they made a good decision.
Equally and exceedingly more nauseating (but not too surprising) news is that a Dallas titty-bar will not be required to close its doors simply because underage girls as young as 12 perform there from time-to-time. Evidently the license of the Diamond Cabaret could potentially expire this November, but revocation at this point is only possible if "the club knowingly allows prostitution, the sale or use of drugs at the club, or if there are two convictions for sex-related crimes at the club within a 12-month period". Twisty says it better here.
In more local news for me--I recently started work on a committee at work charged with the task of writing an emergency-reponse plan for all of our clinical activities (read: everything). We are to "consider all hazards" including, but not limited to: a flu or SARS pandemic, a terrorist biological attack, other types of terrorist attacks (the Democratic National Convention is here in August, so thinking of worst-case scenarios for that is already underway), or contamination of the water supply (a legitimate concern considering the plight of our Alamosa neighbors to the south).
In more uplifting news, despite the fact that we could possibly still get a bit of snow and that it still gets down in the 30's at night, it looks like Spring has arrived here at last. Sophie found patches of green grass to pee on today and I could get away with wearing short-sleeves and sandals! Perhaps friends who anticipate onset of yet another Texas summer will consider the fabulousness that is a Colorado spring and summer--particularly those who may need time away from the prying eyes of the Ladies of Chador.
3.22.2008
Tired
toothpastefordinner.com
I keep hearing (and feeling too sometimes) of the "you've come a long way, baby" argument when talking and thinking about the place and role of women in American life and culture. Of course, this affirmation originated from a print ad campaign for Virginia Slims cigarettes which always depicted examples of ideal American femininity: slender, smiling, athletic, and sophisticated, but not so smart to figure out that smoking would eventually wreck their looks and give them lung cancer. In 1902, Susan B. Anthony wrote to Elizabeth Cady Stanton:
"It is fifty-one years since first we met and we have been busy through every one of them, stirring up the world to recognize the rights of women. The older we grow, the more keenly we feel the humiliation of disfranchisement and the more vividly we realize its disadvantages in
every department of life and most of all in the labor market. We little dreamed that when we began this contest, optimistic with the hope and buoyancy of youth, that half a century later we would be compelled to leave the finish of the battle to another generation of women. But our
hearts are filled with joy to know that they enter upon this task equipped with a college education, with business experience, with the fully admitted right to speak in public--all of which were denied to women fifty years ago. These strong, courageous, capable young women will take our place and complete our work. Ancient prejudice has become so softened, public sentiment
so liberalized and women have so thoroughly demonstrated their ability as to leave not a
shadow of doubt that they will carry our case to victory. "
I laughed at the thought of two 19th century women feeling so optimistic as to think their "contest" would finish in their generation. There have been "strong, courageous, capable" women who have worked hard to further "soften" and liberalize public sentiment and while I'm usually grateful for "how far we've come" I have little hope that things will advance beyond my own "blessings of liberty" and be different for women of my niece's generation. Yes, I was able to vote for a woman in the recent primary, and may yet still have the chance to vote for her in the general election for President, but the contest between HIllary Clinton and Barak Obama has painfully shown that while public expression of racial prejudice and hatred must be unspoken or at least successfully masked, hatred of women may be expressed with impunity. I'm tired, heartbroken and discouraged by this. Last night ABC and 20/20 devoted TWO HOURS of airtime to the subject of prostitution in America. Let's talk about the sad, misbegotten lives of these whores (this word wasn't used but implied of course) but let us not talk about the overall patriarchial political and economic frame that really places ultimately all women as members of the sex class. We just don't all work on the Vegas Strip or at the Bunny Ranch.
Everyone is talking about Barak Obama's speech last week about race--when will Hillary talk about gender? Without doubt she is one of those next generation women that Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton envisoned, but she could also tell them from personal experience that hatred of women didn't go away when women got the vote, when more of us started going to college and/or postponing marriage and childrearing (or eschewing one or both altogether), when more of us became politicians, doctors, lawyers, astronauts, pilots, ministers, and officers in the military. All those advances just made them hate us more. She'll never speak of it as the only thing more unpalatable to many Americans than actually having a woman President is one that talks about how women are still an oppressed class in our culture. So what can I do now to try and help my now 9-year old niece prepare for the obstacles she will have to overcome?
3.15.2008
How Much Do You Love America?
I'd meant to throw out some thoughts about Peggy Noonan's recent column (actually a couple of weeks ago now) in The Wall St. Journal in which she begrudgingly acknowledges Barak Obama's ability to draw and then wow a crowd, but dismisses others' attributions of eloquence. She states that "with Mr. Obama, the deep thought part is missing." "He doesn't unpack his thoughts" but rather "asserts and keeps on walking." Now, I find this humorous as her former and now dead boss could indeed turn a phrase (that someone else had written for him) but failed to impress a broad spectrum of people as to his ability to unpack anything, much less thought.
At any rate, Ms. Noonan's true point seems to be in suggesting that Barak and Michelle Obama are really just two highly educated, wealthy, connected, (and possibly snobbish) white people whose skin color happens to be black and who, from the "liberal cocoon" they were raised in are likely woefully out of touch with the daily realities of most Americans. Are they any different from Bill and Hillary, the ultimate "cosseted yuppies"? Quelle horreur! It would seem that perhaps the Obama's are "more inspired by abstractions like international justice than by old visions of American as the city on a hill." Peggy Noonan takes issues with Michelle Obama's recent comment that "for the first time" in her life she is proud of her country. See, Mrs. Obama has enjoyed such privilege that she doesn't have the proper appreciation or an "old-fashioned love for America" in the way that some "working-class Americans" who were "raised by a TV and a microwave and love our country anyway, every day, do.
However, I thought about this idea again yesterday, during a required "Let's Talk Diversity" class at work. I was a bit surprised when the facilitator began talking about white privilege and handed out the questionnaire that Peggy McIntosh developed--one could practically hear the sound of defensive white sphincters contracting. One of my coworkers was offended by the idea that different groups enjoy different aspects of privilege in this country. It is so negative to talk in these terms. After all, we have a woman AND a black man running for President. Isn't this evidence of how far we've come? Why can't we focus on the positive! Well, golly gee, Wally.
Perhaps Ms. Noonan feels that the Obama's haven't enough performed enough public patriotic genuflecting to those "old-fashioned" values and priorities of white Christian America. She asks, "if America's leaders don't love America tenderly, who will?" How do you love America, hum?
At any rate, Ms. Noonan's true point seems to be in suggesting that Barak and Michelle Obama are really just two highly educated, wealthy, connected, (and possibly snobbish) white people whose skin color happens to be black and who, from the "liberal cocoon" they were raised in are likely woefully out of touch with the daily realities of most Americans. Are they any different from Bill and Hillary, the ultimate "cosseted yuppies"? Quelle horreur! It would seem that perhaps the Obama's are "more inspired by abstractions like international justice than by old visions of American as the city on a hill." Peggy Noonan takes issues with Michelle Obama's recent comment that "for the first time" in her life she is proud of her country. See, Mrs. Obama has enjoyed such privilege that she doesn't have the proper appreciation or an "old-fashioned love for America" in the way that some "working-class Americans" who were "raised by a TV and a microwave and love our country anyway, every day, do.
However, I thought about this idea again yesterday, during a required "Let's Talk Diversity" class at work. I was a bit surprised when the facilitator began talking about white privilege and handed out the questionnaire that Peggy McIntosh developed--one could practically hear the sound of defensive white sphincters contracting. One of my coworkers was offended by the idea that different groups enjoy different aspects of privilege in this country. It is so negative to talk in these terms. After all, we have a woman AND a black man running for President. Isn't this evidence of how far we've come? Why can't we focus on the positive! Well, golly gee, Wally.
Perhaps Ms. Noonan feels that the Obama's haven't enough performed enough public patriotic genuflecting to those "old-fashioned" values and priorities of white Christian America. She asks, "if America's leaders don't love America tenderly, who will?" How do you love America, hum?
2.28.2008
Colorado Human Life Amendment
In 1992, Colorado became known as "The Hate State" after voters approved Amendment 2, which banned any law offering protection for employment discrimination based upon sexual orientation and was later overtuned by the Supreme Court. The 6th district of Colorado elected Tom Tancredo, Congress' most famous xenophobe, and the good people in Colorado's 4th district saw fit to send Marilyn Musgrave to Congress. She works hard for her constituents--that is if they are White, heterosexual, and conservative evangelical Christian. And then of course we have James Dobson and Focus on the Family.
Which is why it is not surprising that Colorado voters may have to decide about the Colorado Human Life Amendment--which would grant the same legal protections some Americans enjoy--to a fertilized egg. Mike Huckabee has of course endorsed the measure, saying that "Colorado has an opportunity to send a clear message that every human life has value." That is, unless you are a woman. Huckabee added that "passing this amendment will mean the people of Colorado will protect the sanctity of life from conception until natural death occurs." So does this mean the people of Colorado will start being more concerned about the number of Coloradoans who do not have access to decent health care, safe housing, or food? Actually, I think the definition of "sanctity of life" to Huckabee et al, is limited to existing only. Sanctity has actually little or nothing to do with quality of life.
If this affront to the innate value, sanctity, rights and freedoms of individual women is passed and becomes law in Colorado, it will be quite interesting to see how appellate "originalist" judges like Scalia and Thomas come down on a law that would have absolutely no Constitutional basis. whatsoever.
Which is why it is not surprising that Colorado voters may have to decide about the Colorado Human Life Amendment--which would grant the same legal protections some Americans enjoy--to a fertilized egg. Mike Huckabee has of course endorsed the measure, saying that "Colorado has an opportunity to send a clear message that every human life has value." That is, unless you are a woman. Huckabee added that "passing this amendment will mean the people of Colorado will protect the sanctity of life from conception until natural death occurs." So does this mean the people of Colorado will start being more concerned about the number of Coloradoans who do not have access to decent health care, safe housing, or food? Actually, I think the definition of "sanctity of life" to Huckabee et al, is limited to existing only. Sanctity has actually little or nothing to do with quality of life.
If this affront to the innate value, sanctity, rights and freedoms of individual women is passed and becomes law in Colorado, it will be quite interesting to see how appellate "originalist" judges like Scalia and Thomas come down on a law that would have absolutely no Constitutional basis. whatsoever.
1.30.2008
1.27.2008
Clinic Sunday
I hate being sick, and I usually deny it until feverish delirium sets in or I cannot travel beyond a 18" radius of the toilet. About half-way during "There Will Be Blood", I started shivering from the cold and as the credits were rolling, my friend looks at me askance and asserts that it isn't cold in the theatre. I figured all I needed was a restorative steaming and spicy bowl of pho, but but the time I got home and dug out my old-fashioned mercury filled thermometer, I had a 102.5 temperature. Anyway, I dragged my feverish ass to the urgent clinic this morning and got sent home with a heavy duty antibiotic. I was even offered cough syrup with coedine--which for some reason I declined. Now if there's such a thing as cough syrup with percocet...
Anyway, the real purpose here is to vent my frustrating encounter with my employer and health insurance provider. I arrive with a fever, horrible headache and ear aches, disturbing cough, and my throat so raw and tight I can barely speak above a whisper. It is a Sunday morning, and it is quite clear why I'm there. The nurse who checks me in does the requisite blood pressure, weight check, pulse and taking of the temperature. She then starts asking me when was the last time I had a pap smear and mammogram. Now, my employer and health care provider as spent over a BILLION dollars on an electronic medical record system, which I use myself on a daily basis to reference patient charts (I'm forbidden to access my own). But I knew that all this nurse had to do was hit a button and she could clearly see that I had a pap smear less than 3 months ago, and that I'm overdue for a mammogram. So I get a mini-lecture on the importance of mammography--how early detection can SAVE LIVES! Really? I'd never heard that! She seemed reassured that I do routine self-exams and am scheduled for a mammogram soon. All of this while I'm staring at her glassy-eyed and hacking up orange phlegm. She then notices my neck scar and asks about my thyroid. After I mention that she should be able to find my latest TSH levels under the flowsheet section of my chart, a light goes on in her head and she figures out I must be familiar with the system. What do I do? Well, I'm a social worker in palliative care. "I LOVE SOCIAL WORKERS" she gushes and goes on and on about how angelic we are to so unselfishly devote ourselves to the betterment of ALL MANKIND. All of this before I've been able to see the freakin' doctor--the one with the DRUGS. I don't remember if I said anything about the fact I'm an anti-social social worker or not, but she finally hustled out of there and finally saw the doctor, for whom I had to describe my symptoms and their onset for the THIRD damn time since I'd walked in the building.
So I'm sorry this is the first post after a rather long haitus, but I needed to post something new, and this is as good as it gets today.
Oh, and by the way--Daniel Day Lewis is beautiful and amazing.
Anyway, the real purpose here is to vent my frustrating encounter with my employer and health insurance provider. I arrive with a fever, horrible headache and ear aches, disturbing cough, and my throat so raw and tight I can barely speak above a whisper. It is a Sunday morning, and it is quite clear why I'm there. The nurse who checks me in does the requisite blood pressure, weight check, pulse and taking of the temperature. She then starts asking me when was the last time I had a pap smear and mammogram. Now, my employer and health care provider as spent over a BILLION dollars on an electronic medical record system, which I use myself on a daily basis to reference patient charts (I'm forbidden to access my own). But I knew that all this nurse had to do was hit a button and she could clearly see that I had a pap smear less than 3 months ago, and that I'm overdue for a mammogram. So I get a mini-lecture on the importance of mammography--how early detection can SAVE LIVES! Really? I'd never heard that! She seemed reassured that I do routine self-exams and am scheduled for a mammogram soon. All of this while I'm staring at her glassy-eyed and hacking up orange phlegm. She then notices my neck scar and asks about my thyroid. After I mention that she should be able to find my latest TSH levels under the flowsheet section of my chart, a light goes on in her head and she figures out I must be familiar with the system. What do I do? Well, I'm a social worker in palliative care. "I LOVE SOCIAL WORKERS" she gushes and goes on and on about how angelic we are to so unselfishly devote ourselves to the betterment of ALL MANKIND. All of this before I've been able to see the freakin' doctor--the one with the DRUGS. I don't remember if I said anything about the fact I'm an anti-social social worker or not, but she finally hustled out of there and finally saw the doctor, for whom I had to describe my symptoms and their onset for the THIRD damn time since I'd walked in the building.
So I'm sorry this is the first post after a rather long haitus, but I needed to post something new, and this is as good as it gets today.
Oh, and by the way--Daniel Day Lewis is beautiful and amazing.
12.07.2007
12.03.2007
11.30.2007
11.25.2007
Thanksgiving Leftovers
One major holiday down, one to go. The attached photo of Sophie sums up how we spent a portion of our down-time.
Off to New Orleans tomorrow for work--am going with mixed feelings as it is the first time I've been since Katrina.
11.04.2007
10.30.2007
Because It Isn't Enough Just HAVING Breast Cancer...
Ford Motor Company, in concert with the Susan B. Komen foundation (natch) is "powering" the "Warrors in Pink" campaign, featuring American Idol Kelly Clarkson. So while you are receiving chemo infusions, pulling chunks of your hair out and otherwise just feeling like shit, you can "rock the cause" like the true pink warrior you're supposed to be. Like Kelly, you can wear your rockin' Warrior gear, and imagine the day that your hair will grow out think and full again and blow seductively like Kelly's--all while rockin' the cure, baby! You can "wear it straight up or rock it. Either way, you can rock the world!"
This is a campaign for Breast Cancer awareness. Which means that the money dumped for all this pink crap goes toward manufacturing more pink crap, including those annoying giant pink ribbons that adorn buildings during Breast Cancer Awareness Month. The website states that 100% of proceeds goes to the Susan B. Komen foundation. What I'd like to know is what percentage of that actually goes to research. Greater awareness, the story goes, increases the rates of early detection--but I wonder if there has been a randomized controlled trial that shows that wearing a Warrior Hoody or sending Yoplait stick pink yogurt lids has actually been a statistically significant factor in higher rates of early detection.
I think of the breast cancer patients who have come through our program--like the 42 year-old whose main goal was to have her pain managed without becoming too sedated so that she can still communicate with her 10 year-old daughter. When I think of patients like her, and see this Warrior Rockin The Cure shit--it makes me a bit crazy. When Barbara Ehrenreich wrote her piece for Harper's--"Welcome to Cancerland", I wonder if she had any idea things would get to Warriors in Pink--Powered by Ford. Because Ford Cares. If you have never read Barbara's piece, you can do so here.
Have a great day everyone. I'm off to test-drive a new Warrior Mustang.
10.27.2007
The End Is Near (Again)
Last night my brother, sister-in-law and mother (along with several hundred others) attended a lecture by someone named Joel Rosenberg, a Messianic Jew, best-selling author (Tom Clancy meets Tim LaHaye) and celebrity eschatological swami beloved by the likes of Rush Limbag and Sean Hannity. Afterwards, I inquired about the lecture (e.g. was there any rubbing of a crystal ball involved, etc.) and the summing up involved the following: "of course there is no claim that anyone truly knows the exact time when the Lord will come back." My response of "but why not sell a few hundred thousand books off a gullible public in the meantime" was met with a disgusted harrumphing, a "you're so cynical" with a side order of glare for good measure.
Normally, and for good reason, that would've been the end of my curiosity about Joel Rosenberg. This isn't a blog-rant about why smart people like my aforementioned family members would find this sort of thing worth their time. I'm more than adequately accustomed to their exasperation with my unabating cynicism and my tendency to be pretty pissed off a good deal of the time (although I'm not like that at work or with other people in my life--I wonder why that is?). Many Christians have been curious about/obsessed with "the end times" for a very long time, and modest fortunes have been made by those deluded and ego-centric enough to suggest that he or she had discovered the eschatalogical equivalent of the Rosetta Stone. My pastor-ex-husband used to avoid asking parishoners what they'd like to hear from him about as inevitably someone would request an indepth exegesis on Revelation. Cue yawn.
I won't be able to contain my sudden interest in this topic with one post, so I'll end this one with the following questions that are on my mind today:
1) Why doesn't anyone ever suggest that the Anti-Christ could be an American? In my mind--there are some pretty strong contenders:
Normally, and for good reason, that would've been the end of my curiosity about Joel Rosenberg. This isn't a blog-rant about why smart people like my aforementioned family members would find this sort of thing worth their time. I'm more than adequately accustomed to their exasperation with my unabating cynicism and my tendency to be pretty pissed off a good deal of the time (although I'm not like that at work or with other people in my life--I wonder why that is?). Many Christians have been curious about/obsessed with "the end times" for a very long time, and modest fortunes have been made by those deluded and ego-centric enough to suggest that he or she had discovered the eschatalogical equivalent of the Rosetta Stone. My pastor-ex-husband used to avoid asking parishoners what they'd like to hear from him about as inevitably someone would request an indepth exegesis on Revelation. Cue yawn.
I won't be able to contain my sudden interest in this topic with one post, so I'll end this one with the following questions that are on my mind today:
1) Why doesn't anyone ever suggest that the Anti-Christ could be an American? In my mind--there are some pretty strong contenders:
2) Apparently Mr. Rosenberg's primary sage advice for those worried that the world will end before the Rockies have a few more chances to win the World Series is this: pray for peace and prepare for war ("oh Lord please help the US kick some Islamic ass). My reponse to this is "whaaa?"
3) Rosenberg mentions that conspiciously absent in the cast of characters involved in the War of Gog and Magog is Iraq and Egypt. I wonder how he would classify the absence of......China?
Next time: The Geography of Gog and Magog.
10.21.2007
9.25.2007
8.31.2007
Too Much Time On His Hands, Or Clever and Creative? You Decide.
Someone by the name of Reverend Brendan Powell Smith has taken the time to recreate stories from the Bible completely in Legos. So far, my favorites are how Moses and the Hebrews escape from Egypt, Paul's exhortations about marriage and proper deportment for Christian women, and the desert trial and temptation of Jesus.
8.30.2007
Shorter John Eldridge: Nice Guys Not Only Finish Last, But They're Less-Than-Godly Pansies Too.
Regular readers here have not likely heard of John Eldridge, best-selling Christian author and genius behind revolutionary new theory of human (and by human, he mainly means men) development. Normally I remain out of the loop about stuff like this, but several important men in my life have either embraced and/or opened their minds to this misogynistic and paternalistic view of the world--repackaged as a way for men to reassert their "wild hearts" (as the heart of God himself is "wild") while asserting all the benefits of male privilege and the more natural submissive position of women.
You see, the modern church has turned Christian men into a punch of overly sensitive, pussy-whipped sensitivoes like Mr. Rogers, where the true model of a Christian manly man is William Wallace (as portrayed by Mr. Manly himself, Mel Gibson, in Braveheart). Bitchy hairy-legged and overly independent feminists have spoiled everyone's fun---what with their pesky tendency to demand things like control of their own bodies and equal protection under the law. So here are the developmental differences:
Men pass through several bibically based stages in life: 1) boyhood; 2) cowboy; 3) warrior; 4) king; and 5) sage. Women, not surprisingly, want and need to know they are desired. While men want to paint their faces, grunt and tear other men from limb to limb, women want to be pursued and fought for. Men watch "Lord of the Rings" and "Gladiator." Women bond while watching "Sense and Sensibilities" and "Sleepless in Seattle." Women are the ballroom dancer who enjoys following the man's lead, and becomes more beautiful in the process! Like magic! Women are the responder to the man's sexual prowess. A woman's need for control is born out of....you guessed it....fear.
None of this claptrap is new, nor is it limited to a the world view of this particular flavor of Christianity. but I wonder if Mr. Eldridge has actually read the New Testament, in particular the teachings of Jesus?
You see, the modern church has turned Christian men into a punch of overly sensitive, pussy-whipped sensitivoes like Mr. Rogers, where the true model of a Christian manly man is William Wallace (as portrayed by Mr. Manly himself, Mel Gibson, in Braveheart). Bitchy hairy-legged and overly independent feminists have spoiled everyone's fun---what with their pesky tendency to demand things like control of their own bodies and equal protection under the law. So here are the developmental differences:
Men pass through several bibically based stages in life: 1) boyhood; 2) cowboy; 3) warrior; 4) king; and 5) sage. Women, not surprisingly, want and need to know they are desired. While men want to paint their faces, grunt and tear other men from limb to limb, women want to be pursued and fought for. Men watch "Lord of the Rings" and "Gladiator." Women bond while watching "Sense and Sensibilities" and "Sleepless in Seattle." Women are the ballroom dancer who enjoys following the man's lead, and becomes more beautiful in the process! Like magic! Women are the responder to the man's sexual prowess. A woman's need for control is born out of....you guessed it....fear.
None of this claptrap is new, nor is it limited to a the world view of this particular flavor of Christianity. but I wonder if Mr. Eldridge has actually read the New Testament, in particular the teachings of Jesus?
8.26.2007
Free Bryce!
I realize that this writer occasionally opines on the subject of children--and usually not that positively. This post is no exception--so you have been warned. Although, this really speaks more those challenged adults who felt confident enough in their parenting skills to inflict the products of such misguided thinking on the rest of us.
Saturday morning, after having a relaxing morning I headed out for some power shopping with two primary goals in mind: 1) floor lamp, and; 2) new bed for the guest room. I'm in Lamps Plus five minutes or so when I hear a thump, then a crash, then a shrill voice that I'm sure Sophie can hear back at home imploring an obstreperous delinquent by the name of "Bryce" to pull it together, shut up, and act his age. I'm always struck by what many parents today are willing to put up with. One thump, much less a crash, and my happy ass would've been ordered outside to sit and wait. But no. All of us in the store were regaled alternately by pleading ("I'm just trying to pick out some cool lighting for your room" ) to shaming ("I'm so embarassed for you--a boy your age acting like this"). Now, by this time, my allegiance had switched to Bryce. I wondered if his acting this way was a cry for help--a deliberate attempt to push his mother over the edge so that he could be rescued by a relative whose voice didn't cause coyotes to weep. This woman clearly had lost any sense that there were other people in the store who could hear her futile screeching. Now, I know people who know the challenges inherent in taking children out in public and would' ve tsked disapprovingly in Bryce's direction--understanding the frustration that Bryce's mother was feeling. However, why is it I have a strong hunch that Bryce's behavior in Lamps Plus that day is part of a giant chicken coming home to roost in a nest built by Medusa?
Later same day....I'm loading Sophie in the truck when I look across the parking lot and see a lone toddler--maybe 3-4 years old, standing on a curb only inches from being in a busy parking lot. Parking lot is relatively quiet, but I start to walk across in case I need to snatch her out of harm's way. Suddenly a voice from somewhere yells "TAMRA--don't you dare step off that curb--don't make me come out there!" Tamra promptly steps into the street and at any minute I expect to see a panicked parent come running. Instead, The Voice tells someone to "go get your sister out of the street." Mere moments later an older boy comes out, picks up Tamra and disappears back into some apartment.
And still later the same day... I'm leaving my mother's house and I pass a man riding a bicycle. He has all the required accessories, including a helmet. But, he also has a small child riding on his shoulders--with no helmet. So, the one who is clearly already brain damaged wears the helmet and leaves the child open to serious injury should he lose control of the bike and drop her. What the hell???
And yes, still later...I get in the drive-thru queue at Wendy's to get a Diet Coke and in front of me is a mini-van with a licence plate frame that informed disterested people that someone associated with said van is an alumni of Brigham Young University. I'll admit my brain fetched the most easily accessible stereotype and I muttered to myself that that van was probably full of more children. A fatherly head sticks out from said van and yells into the drive-thru ordering-thing: "We need 5 junior cheeseburgers, 3 orders 99 cent chicken nuggets, 6 orders of fries, 1 grilled chicken sandwich, 5 small Sprites, 2 large diet Cokes and 2 large Frostys." At this point, no one had misbehaved and I'd heard only the sound of a father ordering dinner, but I couldn't fathom a scenario in which my quest for a simple diet Coke might be thwarted by a missing order of nuggets or a burger that had an unwelcome addition of mustard. So, as no one was behind me, I backed up and out of the line, and drove straight home.
Saturday morning, after having a relaxing morning I headed out for some power shopping with two primary goals in mind: 1) floor lamp, and; 2) new bed for the guest room. I'm in Lamps Plus five minutes or so when I hear a thump, then a crash, then a shrill voice that I'm sure Sophie can hear back at home imploring an obstreperous delinquent by the name of "Bryce" to pull it together, shut up, and act his age. I'm always struck by what many parents today are willing to put up with. One thump, much less a crash, and my happy ass would've been ordered outside to sit and wait. But no. All of us in the store were regaled alternately by pleading ("I'm just trying to pick out some cool lighting for your room" ) to shaming ("I'm so embarassed for you--a boy your age acting like this"). Now, by this time, my allegiance had switched to Bryce. I wondered if his acting this way was a cry for help--a deliberate attempt to push his mother over the edge so that he could be rescued by a relative whose voice didn't cause coyotes to weep. This woman clearly had lost any sense that there were other people in the store who could hear her futile screeching. Now, I know people who know the challenges inherent in taking children out in public and would' ve tsked disapprovingly in Bryce's direction--understanding the frustration that Bryce's mother was feeling. However, why is it I have a strong hunch that Bryce's behavior in Lamps Plus that day is part of a giant chicken coming home to roost in a nest built by Medusa?
Later same day....I'm loading Sophie in the truck when I look across the parking lot and see a lone toddler--maybe 3-4 years old, standing on a curb only inches from being in a busy parking lot. Parking lot is relatively quiet, but I start to walk across in case I need to snatch her out of harm's way. Suddenly a voice from somewhere yells "TAMRA--don't you dare step off that curb--don't make me come out there!" Tamra promptly steps into the street and at any minute I expect to see a panicked parent come running. Instead, The Voice tells someone to "go get your sister out of the street." Mere moments later an older boy comes out, picks up Tamra and disappears back into some apartment.
And still later the same day... I'm leaving my mother's house and I pass a man riding a bicycle. He has all the required accessories, including a helmet. But, he also has a small child riding on his shoulders--with no helmet. So, the one who is clearly already brain damaged wears the helmet and leaves the child open to serious injury should he lose control of the bike and drop her. What the hell???
And yes, still later...I get in the drive-thru queue at Wendy's to get a Diet Coke and in front of me is a mini-van with a licence plate frame that informed disterested people that someone associated with said van is an alumni of Brigham Young University. I'll admit my brain fetched the most easily accessible stereotype and I muttered to myself that that van was probably full of more children. A fatherly head sticks out from said van and yells into the drive-thru ordering-thing: "We need 5 junior cheeseburgers, 3 orders 99 cent chicken nuggets, 6 orders of fries, 1 grilled chicken sandwich, 5 small Sprites, 2 large diet Cokes and 2 large Frostys." At this point, no one had misbehaved and I'd heard only the sound of a father ordering dinner, but I couldn't fathom a scenario in which my quest for a simple diet Coke might be thwarted by a missing order of nuggets or a burger that had an unwelcome addition of mustard. So, as no one was behind me, I backed up and out of the line, and drove straight home.
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