Way back when I was little, in the late 50's; there was no such thing as political correctness. Some would say that's good, some would say not. It is what it is...at any rate, I came from an odd family that was always facing the kind of culture clash that occurs when a snotty intellectual type from NY marries a very grounded but modest Midwesterner. There were three kids in our family, and when I was in Kindergarten we moved to a suburb on the SF Peninsula, where my dad worked as a newspaper editor. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, and responsible for 99% of our upbringing- including how we treated each other. I need to explain that we were indeed a modest family. If I asked a question about anything of a 'delicate' nature, my mother would give me precisely the information I asked for...nothing more; nothing less. I should also explain that I was not particularly an inquisitive kid, except when it came to the issues of candy corn and Soupy Sales. I had no particular interest in human anatomy, and never having seen anyone else in my family naked, (especially not my older brother or father) I assumed all humans were created like I was. But seriously, I never thought about it much. I was four, and there were other things to think about, like candy corn, and Soupy Sales. I started Kindergarten in 1959, and a couple of days before I was to start school, my mother sat me down for a talk. Not about birds and bees...oh no- she wanted to talk about the proper way to treat my classmates. Here's why... There was a family down the street that had three kids the same ages as the kids in our family. All the kids on the street played together, divided by age groups more than anything else. We all knew that there was something different about the family, but in my house, you weren't allowed to say the word retarded. I remember that sometimes a few of the kids on the street called them names, but mostly everyone just got along. We all knew that the three kids in that family were retarded, but like I said, we didn't use that word at my house. Maybe because my older brother also had a handicap, maybe because my parents agreed on the issue of how to treat other people- anyway, that's what my mother wanted to talk to me about before I started Kindergarten. She told me that Randy (the kid in the family who was close to my age) was going to be in my kindergarten class, and that I must never be mean to him or call him names, no matter what he did, or what the other kids did in class. She referred to him as special, once she said he was a little different, but she basically let me know that it was kind of my responsibility to have his back, because he lived right down the street and we all played together. So, I knew what she said. (special) I also knew what the word on the street was (retarded) even if that wasn't my word. Skip ahead a few months...nothing that traumatic happened. Randy fit in fine, because hell, it's kindergarten and it's 1959 and kindergartners back then weren't subjected to the kind of academic stress that they are now. We colored, we napped on mats, we drank little cartons of milk that had been delivered early in the morning and were kind of lukewarm by the time we got them. We sang songs about the alphabet and at least once a week, just for excitement, some kid would throw up. The kids in the neighborhood kept playing together, and I pretty much forgot about my mother's lecture. Until one day when Randy and I were playing on the swing set in my backyard. OK, Randy's social skills weren't the greatest. One second we were swinging to see who could get the highest, and the next second,without a word, he had disappeared. When I figured out he wasn't coming back, I went to find him, which I did, in our gravel side yard, with his dungarees around his ankles, peeing on our galvanized garbage can. HOLY SHIT! WHAT WAS THAT THING HE WAS USING TO PEE WITH? Just to be sure the universe hadn't changed, I checked my own panties. Nothing. I looked again. There it was, unmistakable. Hell, I thought to myself. I've never seen ANYTHING like that before. EVER! Then, in a blinding glimpse of the obvious...I got it. I remembered my mother telling me he was different. Yeah, she said special, but I knew the kids on the street said retarded. OK, now it all made sense. Having a reasonable explanation, I filed this information away in my four-year-old brain; never told anyone, never asked about it. I had pretty much forgotten about the whole thing until about a year later when one of the reporters who worked for my dad and his wife had come over to our home for dinner with their brand new baby. I was fascinated with the baby. Being the youngest kid, I didn't recall having contact with a tiny human up close and personal before. This baby, Philip, was absolutely the cutest thing I had ever seen, and I followed Philip and his mother around all evening. As was the custom in 1960, the men sat in the living room and smoked, and the women did all the work. After the dishes were done, the moms took Philip to the bedroom to change him and put him down for a nap. Of course I was on it, delighted with the activities. Until the diaper came off. OH MY GOD! Horrified, I dragged my mother out of the room and down the hall, out of earshot. "Why didn't you tell me Philip was retarded?" I demanded. Yikes, the word just slipped out. I was far too concerned to even gauge my mother's reaction. "What are you talking about?" She looked at me in complete confusion. "He has one of those retarded things...in his diapers- like Randy!" And out came the story of Randy peeing on our garbage can, and what he had in his pants. To this day, I don't ever remember my mother laughing this much. Sometime during all my distress, in the next few minutes, she explained the difference in male and female anatomy, seeming genuinely surprised that I didn't already know there was a difference. Of course, she delivered the information in the same down to earth manner she delivered every other piece of info. Nothing more, nothing less. It became a big joke. I don't think she ever reprimanded me for the retarded reference- that really would have messed me up. I do remember eavesdropping later that night and hearing my father say that if I grew up with an attitude about male intelligence, it would be understandable. Truth to tell, it's not male intelligence I have attitude about...it's just some intelligence. Mostly now, it's about the people who believe Fox News.
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Sunday, April 17, 2011
How I got this way...or the story of my 'Pre PC' anatomy lesson
Way back when I was little, in the late 50's; there was no such thing as political correctness. Some would say that's good, some would say not. It is what it is...at any rate, I came from an odd family that was always facing the kind of culture clash that occurs when a snotty intellectual type from NY marries a very grounded but modest Midwesterner. There were three kids in our family, and when I was in Kindergarten we moved to a suburb on the SF Peninsula, where my dad worked as a newspaper editor. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, and responsible for 99% of our upbringing- including how we treated each other. I need to explain that we were indeed a modest family. If I asked a question about anything of a 'delicate' nature, my mother would give me precisely the information I asked for...nothing more; nothing less. I should also explain that I was not particularly an inquisitive kid, except when it came to the issues of candy corn and Soupy Sales. I had no particular interest in human anatomy, and never having seen anyone else in my family naked, (especially not my older brother or father) I assumed all humans were created like I was. But seriously, I never thought about it much. I was four, and there were other things to think about, like candy corn, and Soupy Sales. I started Kindergarten in 1959, and a couple of days before I was to start school, my mother sat me down for a talk. Not about birds and bees...oh no- she wanted to talk about the proper way to treat my classmates. Here's why... There was a family down the street that had three kids the same ages as the kids in our family. All the kids on the street played together, divided by age groups more than anything else. We all knew that there was something different about the family, but in my house, you weren't allowed to say the word retarded. I remember that sometimes a few of the kids on the street called them names, but mostly everyone just got along. We all knew that the three kids in that family were retarded, but like I said, we didn't use that word at my house. Maybe because my older brother also had a handicap, maybe because my parents agreed on the issue of how to treat other people- anyway, that's what my mother wanted to talk to me about before I started Kindergarten. She told me that Randy (the kid in the family who was close to my age) was going to be in my kindergarten class, and that I must never be mean to him or call him names, no matter what he did, or what the other kids did in class. She referred to him as special, once she said he was a little different, but she basically let me know that it was kind of my responsibility to have his back, because he lived right down the street and we all played together. So, I knew what she said. (special) I also knew what the word on the street was (retarded) even if that wasn't my word. Skip ahead a few months...nothing that traumatic happened. Randy fit in fine, because hell, it's kindergarten and it's 1959 and kindergartners back then weren't subjected to the kind of academic stress that they are now. We colored, we napped on mats, we drank little cartons of milk that had been delivered early in the morning and were kind of lukewarm by the time we got them. We sang songs about the alphabet and at least once a week, just for excitement, some kid would throw up. The kids in the neighborhood kept playing together, and I pretty much forgot about my mother's lecture. Until one day when Randy and I were playing on the swing set in my backyard. OK, Randy's social skills weren't the greatest. One second we were swinging to see who could get the highest, and the next second,without a word, he had disappeared. When I figured out he wasn't coming back, I went to find him, which I did, in our gravel side yard, with his dungarees around his ankles, peeing on our galvanized garbage can. HOLY SHIT! WHAT WAS THAT THING HE WAS USING TO PEE WITH? Just to be sure the universe hadn't changed, I checked my own panties. Nothing. I looked again. There it was, unmistakable. Hell, I thought to myself. I've never seen ANYTHING like that before. EVER! Then, in a blinding glimpse of the obvious...I got it. I remembered my mother telling me he was different. Yeah, she said special, but I knew the kids on the street said retarded. OK, now it all made sense. Having a reasonable explanation, I filed this information away in my four-year-old brain; never told anyone, never asked about it. I had pretty much forgotten about the whole thing until about a year later when one of the reporters who worked for my dad and his wife had come over to our home for dinner with their brand new baby. I was fascinated with the baby. Being the youngest kid, I didn't recall having contact with a tiny human up close and personal before. This baby, Philip, was absolutely the cutest thing I had ever seen, and I followed Philip and his mother around all evening. As was the custom in 1960, the men sat in the living room and smoked, and the women did all the work. After the dishes were done, the moms took Philip to the bedroom to change him and put him down for a nap. Of course I was on it, delighted with the activities. Until the diaper came off. OH MY GOD! Horrified, I dragged my mother out of the room and down the hall, out of earshot. "Why didn't you tell me Philip was retarded?" I demanded. Yikes, the word just slipped out. I was far too concerned to even gauge my mother's reaction. "What are you talking about?" She looked at me in complete confusion. "He has one of those retarded things...in his diapers- like Randy!" And out came the story of Randy peeing on our garbage can, and what he had in his pants. To this day, I don't ever remember my mother laughing this much. Sometime during all my distress, in the next few minutes, she explained the difference in male and female anatomy, seeming genuinely surprised that I didn't already know there was a difference. Of course, she delivered the information in the same down to earth manner she delivered every other piece of info. Nothing more, nothing less. It became a big joke. I don't think she ever reprimanded me for the retarded reference- that really would have messed me up. I do remember eavesdropping later that night and hearing my father say that if I grew up with an attitude about male intelligence, it would be understandable. Truth to tell, it's not male intelligence I have attitude about...it's just some intelligence. Mostly now, it's about the people who believe Fox News.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Our founding fathers never had air-conditioned buses...
I'm no fun to be around when I'm pissed off. And in spite of what I considered a great speech by President Obama yesterday, I'm still mostly pissed off about Paul Ryan's budget proposal, and the influence of the tea baggers in general.
It's this whole idea they have of privatizing gains and socializing losses- and the fact that the tea party movement seems to be driving this train.
How in heaven's name did such scoundrels get elected, and why, oh why do so many people vote against their own best interests?
You absolutely cannot reason with some of these idiots. It doesn't matter that BofA, Citigroup, Exxon, Wells Fargo, and GE paid less in federal income taxes than the average American family. It doesn't matter that the tax rate is lower than its been in decades. All they can do is yammer on about less government, and hang on to little bits of phony information that has been hammered into their brains by the likes of Glen Beck or Rush Limbaugh.
When these guys gather, they like to make references to our founding fathers, and speak about tyranny, and the big ugly intrusive government. But wait, these are mostly the same guys who want to tell me what to do with my uterus, and never mind that a ton of corporate money paid to put their fat butts in big comfy bus seats, where they can drive to assemblies and get as fired up as sophomores at a high school pep rally. Never mind that a whole bunch of these people are social security and medicare recipients. Forget that they somehow buy into the idea that 'Americans for Prosperity' has their best interest at heart, and the Koch brothers are concerned with anything except increasing their own wealth and power, and that many of them will get seriously screwed if Paul Ryan gets anything remotely close to what he's proposing. What's especially frightening is that these people exist in a vacuum. They don't talk to others outside their own group. They get their 'news' from Fox Entertainment, so they're really clueless as to the difference between fact and fiction. (if you repeat something enough, and use a blackboard- yikes, it's real!)
By the way...a bunch of conservative pundits are coming down on the President for being too harsh and personal in his speech yesterday. Some said it was a 'bitch slap' to Rep. Ryan. And the problem is...? If anyone ever deserved a bitch slap...it's anyone affiliated with the train wreck that has taken over the GOP. The American people should all be waiting in line to slap some sense into every single Republican and conservative Democrat who would consider, even for a second, supporting a budget that is so clearly detrimental to middle class and poor Americans.
Here's a link to Paul Ryan's email... https://paulryan.house.gov/Contact/ContactForm.htm?Zip=53140&Zip4 Of course, you're only supposed to use it if you're one of his constituents, but hell- I figure since his budget proposal is going to affect a lot more Americans than the ones living in Racine, rules don't matter. Please- send him a message and tell him what you think of his plan.
And while you're at it, please ask any tea party member you may know...When, exactly did we become a country that has to starve our children and deprive our elderly in order to pay our debts? Would these idiots really have us believe that it's Grandma's doctor visit or the kid down the street who gets a school lunch that's caused this problem? (BUSH TAX CUTS....2 wars...plus, Where are all those jobs that the beneficiaries of the tax breaks were going to create??? And the bastards want MORE???)
Seriously, how can we get mad at the President when we're not making as much noise and getting as much attention as these pinheads who screwed things up so badly in the first place and want another run at it? Does anyone out there remember the surplus we had when Bush took office? Maybe too many people are too busy sniffing exhaust fumes from those big Koch-financed buses...
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
How to lose friends and alienate people...
Here's a blinding glimpse of the obvious...We're an overweight country. Come on, we're a nation that brags about deep-frying Snickers bars; how did we think this mini-drama was going to play out? We eat the wrong stuff, and too much of it. Adding to our misery; far too often, we don't get off our butts and move enough. This is something I know about firsthand. I just polished off a burrito for breakfast, blew off my morning walk, and now plan on spending the next 2 hours parked on my fat ass reading about the awful things that everyone else is doing, so I can complain about them later. Really. Maybe I'll take a break in a few minutes to get some cheesy puffs, but only if it's not too much trouble to walk to the kitchen. Some people are making totally decent, well-intentioned efforts to deal with the problem. I think Michelle Obama and her endeavors to educate children and parents on making healthier choices belong in this category. The operative word here is CHOICE. (On the other hand, Sarah Palin's snarky efforts to mis-quote and misrepresent her actions have made it easy to keep front and center the fact that Sarah has raised being a sham to an art form.) Some mornings, you sit down to the daily news and see that sometimes, people who allegedly have the best intentions end up doing things that are so stupid they alienate those who would otherwise be supporters, and actually turn people away from the very cause they're fighting for. I'm talking about the Little Village Academy, a public school on Chicago's west side, and the decision of Principal Elsa Carmona to no longer allow students to bring their lunches from home. That's right, if you happen to be enrolled in Little Village Academy, and you want to eat lunch, you're forced to eat the crap they serve up on campus. Ms. Carmona explained that the decision was made after she observed the poor choices some students were making. (soft drinks and flaming hot chips) Evidently, after experiencing the choices made by the district's food provider, Chartwells-Thompson, some students decided it was better to simply skip lunch entirely. The 'healthy' lunches served up are considered inedible by many, and the school's choice to ban lunches from home has outraged students, parents, and a variety of observers. This was a really dumb thing to do, on many levels. First off...Ms. Carmona should remember that she is in the business of 'educating' people. If she wants to set a good example, accomplish the goal to get kids to eat healthier, and truly make some changes that will last, she should have set out to educate both students and parents on easy and economical ways they could make better food choices. There is lots of support out there for this kind of thinking. There are lots of people who are doing it right. She could have followed the successful leads of Michelle Obama, Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, or David Zinczenko's 'Eat This, Not That'. She could have led the kids on a path that would have empowered them, and their parents to make smarter choices rather than dictating policy that is surely in process of backfiring in her face. The fact that, given the problem, her best solution was to outlaw home-packed lunches leaves me with the realization that this is another example of why some schools are in deep trouble. If this is the kind of brain trust responsible for making choices in today's tough environment, we're screwed. Not only did she miss a great teachable moment and the opportunity to have a positive impact on a serious issue, but her solution has a questionable motive. In a district with a significant number of low-income children, the issue of cost for school provided lunches is part of the problem. A non-subsidized cost of $2.25 per meal per day is simply more than many families can afford. If they do qualify for assistance, then guess what? Federal dollars get kicked in to...wait for it...the food provider; Chartwells. Isn't that special? Maybe in reality, people can do more with their own dollars, and instead of just putting the hammer down and saying it's my way or the highway, we could use a little imagination and intelligence and provide the tools to help parents who may not know about better nutrition. Besides the fact that this is one of those sneaky-funnel-public-dollars-into-private-for-profit-businesses, this pisses me off because it's one of those incredibly stupid actions that will set the cause of fighting childhood obesity back years. On top of everything else...it's a bad financial decision. The fact that so many of the cafeteria meals are ending up in the trash and not providing better nutrition is infuriating. How about they start penalizing the meal provider for all the food that's not fit to eat? I don't want to hear that if you're hungry, you'll eat. That's as much garbage as the folks at Chartwells are trying to dump on the plates at Little Village Academy. Take a look...http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/education/ct-school-lunch-2c.jpg-20110410,0,4595560.photo Funny how the photo snapped by the Chicago Tribune looks a hell of a lot different that the ones posted on the Chartwells website. It's ridiculous that this is going to set off the conservative wing-nut voice boxes again, ranting about the 'nanny state' and lumping everyone who wants to address the obesity problem in with this group of idiots in Chicago. There are a whole bunch of us, lib-left-wing types who think that this is one of the worst decisions ever. Stupid is stupid. This one is so dumb, it made me lose my appetite.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Can't we just shut down the tea party instead?
With the government on the verge of shutting down, ( I blame the tea baggers and the Republicans who don't have the balls to stand up to them) reading examples of ridiculously stupid legislation is enough to make a girl scream. (As long as it's not against a city noise ordinance to do so.) While the Demos and Repos are battling it out in Washington, I'm finding my patience for BS is wearing thin. First thing I heard that made me want to find the nearest oil and gas lobbyist and pee on his toothbrush, was this insulting ad they're running almost every hour, on one of the two radio stations I can actually receive in this remote area. It's a load of crap that goes something like, "Who do you trust to make Colorado's energy decisions? Coloradans or bureaucrats in Washington DC???" And they say Washington DC like they're referring to Transylvania. Shame on them. Where in hell are those damn oil and gas lobbyists spending so much time? Could it be Washington?? Do ya think? Exactly what are they trying to pull? How stupid do they think we are? Furthermore, they should show some respect for our nation's capital. This is why I am so sick and tired of the stupid tea bagging idiots, too. When they disrespect the government, they disrespect the American people. Where exactly do those bureaucrats come from? Are they perhaps referring to uuummm, elected officials? The ones WE elected? Oh, those bureaucrats. We elected them, so shut up. And frankly, we've seen what happens when an industry takes control over legislation- just think back to Dick Cheney allowing oil execs to write energy policy...in secret. So, if I could just rub elbows with some of those smarmy lobbyists, I would absolutely excuse myself to go pee on something belonging to one of them...like a toothbrush. In fact, if we could ever get our hands on Dick Cheney's toothbrush, and auction off the opportunity to pee on that, it could be the hottest fundraising tool the Democrats ever had. But I guess that would be against the law. Speaking of laws... Here's more of what set me off this morning. The next little goodie was a blurb I read about how the legislation in South Carolina is proceeding to outlaw Sharia law. Yes, non-existent Sharia law. Again...Republicans are behind this...the ones who are so fiscally responsible. Idiots, wasting money on a non-existent threat. Then, there was a strange piece of legislation in Maine. I've been paying attention to Maine, because I have fantasies about moving there after the current governor's term is up (because he's repulsive) and the story had a weird enough headline to catch my attention. It seems that Maine is going to be the first state to make it legal for an amputee or otherwise one-armed person to own and use (in an emergency) a switchblade. My first thought was of a Maine version of West Side Story...being played out with one-armed gangsters wearing Mackinaws. I thought the whole idea was pretty dumb. Turns out there's a bit of logic behind it. The bill was originated by Paul Dumas, Jr. who argued that he is tired of opening his knife with his teeth, and " he can't react quick enough in emergencies when he needs to cut a piece of rope." Mr. Dumas is a horse-rider with one arm, and a legitimate need. If he were on federal land, he wouldn't have an issue, since federal law permits one-armed persons to carry switchblades on federal property, as long as they don't have blades longer than three inches. So...I learned something new. I also learned that like every state, Colorado has its share of silly laws still on the books. For example; cross dressing in public is illegal in Durango. Sterling has an ordinance which states that a cat must be fitted with a tail light if it sneaks out of the house. (Isn't that the whole purpose of sneaking out?) Speaking of cat legislation, in Cresskill, cats must warn birds of their whereabouts by wearing 3 bells. If you abuse rats in Denver, you're going down. You're also in trouble there if you loan your vacuum to a neighbor. Really. Big, big trouble. Don't even think about riding your horse upstairs in Cripple Creek. Against. The. Law. Boulder takes their city property pretty seriously. It's illegal to move a rock on city property, as well as allow your pet goat to graze on city grass. Better watch it. And in case you don't think we take safety seriously in Colorado...well you'd be wrong. It's against the law to have a snowball fight in Aspen (I personally think it's because you might mess up some one's hair, make-up or bruise a recent botox injection) They're all over it in Alamosa, where you positively cannot fire a missile at a car. No way. Never. Ever. So...the question here is if the government does in fact shut down, would that give all of us a chance to go out and break some of these laws? Personally, I'm thinking about taking a horse up to the third floor of a casino in Cripple Creek.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Boycott Donald Trump...it worked on Glen Beck!
It's red lipstick and fishnets for Donald Trump, because he has officially morphed into an old whore, and it's not a pretty thing to behold. He proved it again with more crazy talk. I'm still trying to figure out how he can howl this loud while he's so busy licking tea party balls. After 30 seconds of listening to his 'birther' rant on the Today Show this morning (April 7) my first thought was that he was simply off his medication, because he had that irrational Charlie Sheen thing going. Like Sheen, the Donald is always shamelessly self-promoting, but this last bit of pandering to the idiot birthers really demonstrates that the wheels have come off the wagon. I thought Trump was supposed to be smart. This undisciplined blah blah crazy blah wasn't exactly smart. In fact...listening to the Donald 'trumpeting' about oil, what a superior businessman and deal maker he is, and bashing President Obama over a made-up conspiracy made me throw up in my mouth a little. Quite simply- no one likes to listen to Donald as much as Donald. I want him to shut up or be held accountable for lying. Let's just pretend that the whole birther issue hasn't been put to rest. Let's pretend that this hasn't been documented. That the people perpetrating this hoax don't have an agenda. That they don't lie. That fact check doesn't exist. No, wait. I can't do it...because it has been dealt with. Over and over again. It isn't an issue unless you're incredibly ill-informed, naive, believe Faux News, are a racist looking for another reason to be angry at the fact that we elected Barack Obama President, are a conspiracy-theory nut, or just too stupid to think for yourself. As for Donald Trump...it's time for this opportunistic piece of work to take his lips off the tea party's dick; go quietly into the sunset, and do something good for the country. Fire himself. Wait...maybe we can do it for him. Anyone who thinks Donald Trump is a pain-in-the-ass should publicly vow to boycott everything associated with his businesses. Don't drink the vodka. Don't stay or play at a Trump property. (this means golf courses, too) And...let's do to the Donald what Color of Change instigated against another useless windbag...Glen Beck. Let's contact the advertisers of The Apprentice and tell them we will be voting with our advertising dollars, and as long as the Donald is spouting such irresponsible, disingenuous garbage, we'll be boycotting not only the program, but all sponsors of it. It's a free country. We have the right to free speech. We also have the right to be disgusted, and to voice our opinions and intolerance of such blatantly deceitful statements, and the fools who make them. Read more...Check out Jenice Armstrong of the Philadelphia Daily News http://articles.philly.com/2011-04-05/entertainment/29384791_1_donald-trump-birther-issue-celebrity-apprentice; or Michael Langston Moore's Boston TV Examiner column http://www.examiner.com/tv-in-boston/color-of-change-s-victory-over-glenn-beck-shows-consumers-wield-the-power For a tidy disposal of stupid 'birther' myths, read http://mediamatters.org/research/201104070029 of course, it probably won't do any good if you're a birther. But then, in that case, there's a good chance you don't read anyway. Just settle yourself down and tivo Glen Beck so you have something to do in the future, or wait for the next round of crazy talk from the Donald. It won't be long.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Newt loved America SOOOOO much, he just couldn't keep it in his pants.
We've been asked to buy some outlandish explanations for bad behavior by politicians, celebrities, and those seeking office over the years, but the last offering served up by Newt Gingrich absolutely takes the cake.
In case you missed his interview with CBN (I did and had to settle for reading a transcript) his rationalization for all the adultery he committed; ironically while he was leading the attack on Bill Clinton' s infidelity, was that he loved his country and was really, really busy. Newt...seriously? You're saying this with a straight face? To potential voters...some of whom are women?
Let's just take a quick peek back at your track record. You cheated on Wife #1 with Wife #2, and went on to serve Wife #1 divorce papers while she was in the hospital recovering from surgery to treat her cancer. Then you went on to cheat on Wife #2 with Wife #3. You dumped Wife #2 shortly after she was diagnosed with MS.
And during the time you were waving your penis around like it was the checkered flag at NASCAR, you were going after Bill Clinton for...his affair with Monica Lewinsky.
You were House Speaker, Newt...third in line for the Oval Office- spouting your family values doctrine and setting a good example for the Christian Right to follow...oh, wait- you weren't. You were dumping wives and waving your dick, and lying about almost everything to just about everyone.
And now that you are "inclined to run for president," you have the gall to offer up your patriotism as an excuse for your lying, cheating, adulterous to say nothing of hypocritical actions.
The exact quote was this:
"There's no question at times of my life, particularly driven by how passionately I felt about this country, that I worked far too hard and that things happened in my life that were not appropriate."
Things didn't happen, Newt. You cheated. You didn't honor your marriage vows. You dumped not one, but two sick wives. So much for 'in sickness and in health'. And your excuse is that you love America, and you were busy.
So if I were Wife #3; Calista, I'd be really really concerned about you running for office again. Because chances are, you're going to get busy. And if you still love America, which presumably you'll say you do, (because that kind of thing is important to the voters you're trying to woo)
then it's just a matter of time before you start lining up Wife #4. Of course, you'll cheat first, then dump Calista.
It's not just Calista who should be concerned...Republican voters should be taking a long, hard look at the damage they can sustain from supporting such a foolish, hypocritical old windbag who thinks his supporters have the collective memory of a swarm of fruit flies.
Then again, maybe Newt's not such a fool. Maybe he'll get by with this nonsense. Maybe his supporters don't care if he lies, cheats, and dumps his sick wives. Perhaps as long as he continues to embrace xenophobic, anti-gay, anti-choice positions, they'll simply look the other way.
But there's another thing I just don't get.
I don't see jumping at the chance to get with this-
If he were a great guy; selfless, benevolent, honorable...that would be something else, but knowing he's such an SOB...ladies- please.
Friday, March 11, 2011
It's not your imagination...Tinkerbell's turned hoochy.
We were shopping a while back, not in Paonia,thank you, but in a big box store that shall remain nameless but its initials are Walmart. (to my CA friends, I'm sorry. I said I would never set foot in an evil Walmarket, but I gave in. I was weak, and lazy, and I didn't want to drive 30 additional miles to the next town in order to have a choice of Target, JC Penney, or an even larger Walmart. Shopping here is the best reason to shop online.) Anyway...there we were, plowing through the foreign territory that is Walmart; acres and acres of cheap, tempting crap displayed for our buying pleasure, when I found my husband staring at an circle rack of little girl's T-shirts. He seemed kind of disturbed as he grabbed a pink size 6x tee, emblazoned with a Disney fairy.
"When did Tinkerbell get so slutty?" he demanded to know, waving the shirt in my face.
This is what he was referring to...
This is not the Tinkerbell we remember. Sure...Peter Pan even referred to Tink as 'a common girl' in the 1960 TV movie, but the animators have re-vamped her into an entity that looks like she'd be more comfortable serving cocktails in a strip club by the airport than flitting through a kid's movie.
Given that our fading memories often can't be trusted...(were Hostess Cupcakes really that much better in 1964, or were our taste buds less sophisticated?) I google-searched for an original drawing of Tinkerbell, and found this is what she used to look like...
OK...check her out. She's basically got the same hair, same outfit, those eyebrows that would make the producers of a 'Lifestyle Lift' testimonial proud.
But old, original Tink's arms lack definition, as if she hardly spent anytime at all at the gym. Her bust hasn't been enhanced, and new Tinkerbell has obviously had a chin implant, and probably some rhinoplasty. Original Tink looks like she could be a distant relative of Wilma Flintstone. New Tink looks like she could be a distant relative of Jenna Jameson.
None of this should matter at all, except that if you spend more than 5 minutes in the toy aisle you can't help but notice how blatantly sexual toys for girls have become. Bratz, Monster High Dolls, Struts (I'm not making this crap up-these are horses with high heels) even Trolls have been revamped so they're wearing short skirts and look really slutty. I wonder if Charlie Sheen had any input on this one...
I know I sound like a giant prude, but these toys are really skeevy. It's like they've been designed by pedophiles, because this is pretty simple stuff. Children should not be sexualized. It doesn't matter if you want to paint up three-year-olds and put them in beauty contests, or buy them dolls that emulate streetwalkers. Let children be children. Keep the slutty stuff where it belongs. In sleazy bars by the airport.
"When did Tinkerbell get so slutty?" he demanded to know, waving the shirt in my face.
This is what he was referring to...
This is not the Tinkerbell we remember. Sure...Peter Pan even referred to Tink as 'a common girl' in the 1960 TV movie, but the animators have re-vamped her into an entity that looks like she'd be more comfortable serving cocktails in a strip club by the airport than flitting through a kid's movie.
Given that our fading memories often can't be trusted...(were Hostess Cupcakes really that much better in 1964, or were our taste buds less sophisticated?) I google-searched for an original drawing of Tinkerbell, and found this is what she used to look like...
OK...check her out. She's basically got the same hair, same outfit, those eyebrows that would make the producers of a 'Lifestyle Lift' testimonial proud.But old, original Tink's arms lack definition, as if she hardly spent anytime at all at the gym. Her bust hasn't been enhanced, and new Tinkerbell has obviously had a chin implant, and probably some rhinoplasty. Original Tink looks like she could be a distant relative of Wilma Flintstone. New Tink looks like she could be a distant relative of Jenna Jameson.
None of this should matter at all, except that if you spend more than 5 minutes in the toy aisle you can't help but notice how blatantly sexual toys for girls have become. Bratz, Monster High Dolls, Struts (I'm not making this crap up-these are horses with high heels) even Trolls have been revamped so they're wearing short skirts and look really slutty. I wonder if Charlie Sheen had any input on this one...
I know I sound like a giant prude, but these toys are really skeevy. It's like they've been designed by pedophiles, because this is pretty simple stuff. Children should not be sexualized. It doesn't matter if you want to paint up three-year-olds and put them in beauty contests, or buy them dolls that emulate streetwalkers. Let children be children. Keep the slutty stuff where it belongs. In sleazy bars by the airport.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The Gift of Fred Phelp's Ugliness...
I'd always been taught it's not productive to hate- but like 99.9 % of America, I find Fred Phelps and his group of in-bred morons at the Westboro Baptist Church loathsome. Right off the top of my head, I can't think of a more repulsive group of people.
The recent Supreme Court decision protecting their First Amendment right to picket funerals is troubling, but democracy and freedom are messy and difficult, and often involve protecting the rights of people we'd prefer to beat the crap out of.
Isn't that what's really going on in the hearts and minds of most everyone? Don't most of us just wish that gaggle of dimwits in Kansas would follow the lead of Jim Jones and mix up a big batch of tainted grape kool-aid and drink themselves into the hereafter?
We're civilized, of course, and so we settle for expressing our anger at the Supremes, our disgust at the odious actions of the Phelps family, but more than that, we feel pain for those who have suffered the losses of loved ones, only to have their sacrifices mocked by the stupidity and ignorance of a group fueled by hatred.
When the Westboro thugs only picketed the funerals of AIDS victims, or the gay victims of hate crimes, they didn't get nearly the press they've received by targeting members of the military, or more recently, Elizabeth Edwards and even Christina Taylor-Green; the youngest victim of the Tucson massacre. ( Arizona quickly passed a law which prevented them from doing that.)
The Westboro Bapstist Church has gotten what it wants by gaining a huge amount of national publicity. No small accomplishment for a group which is made up of mostly family members, and random mis-fits, but they've also accomplished something more important. They've united a great number of Americans who have come together to counter-protest. Unlikely allies; bikers, veterans, hacktivists, community groups, and supporters of gay rights. United. Standing together, against a common enemy. In a way- the group at Westboro Baptist Church embodies everything worth standing up to... they're hostile, ignorant, oppressive, dishonest, and extremely cruel.
The Supreme Court decision, while very difficult to stomach, says to the world that as a people, we're bigger than they are. We're stronger; we can unite and speak in a clearer voice. We can overcome petty differences, join hands and create a human chain that cannot be broken by their abhorrent acts. Each and every time we come together, and drown out their hate speech with our counter protests, each time we present physical blocks to keep their ugly signage from being seen by mourners, each time we set aside cultural differences and beliefs to stand side by side in support against them, they lose. They've given us a gift. A strangely wrapped gift, sure- one we'd prefer not to have received, but a gift nonetheless.
That's why they'll never succeed. (That and the fact that everyone knows Fred Phelps is hot for gay boys...otherwise, he wouldn't be so wickedly obsessed with what's happening in everyone else's underwear.)
The recent Supreme Court decision protecting their First Amendment right to picket funerals is troubling, but democracy and freedom are messy and difficult, and often involve protecting the rights of people we'd prefer to beat the crap out of.
Isn't that what's really going on in the hearts and minds of most everyone? Don't most of us just wish that gaggle of dimwits in Kansas would follow the lead of Jim Jones and mix up a big batch of tainted grape kool-aid and drink themselves into the hereafter?
We're civilized, of course, and so we settle for expressing our anger at the Supremes, our disgust at the odious actions of the Phelps family, but more than that, we feel pain for those who have suffered the losses of loved ones, only to have their sacrifices mocked by the stupidity and ignorance of a group fueled by hatred.
When the Westboro thugs only picketed the funerals of AIDS victims, or the gay victims of hate crimes, they didn't get nearly the press they've received by targeting members of the military, or more recently, Elizabeth Edwards and even Christina Taylor-Green; the youngest victim of the Tucson massacre. ( Arizona quickly passed a law which prevented them from doing that.)
The Westboro Bapstist Church has gotten what it wants by gaining a huge amount of national publicity. No small accomplishment for a group which is made up of mostly family members, and random mis-fits, but they've also accomplished something more important. They've united a great number of Americans who have come together to counter-protest. Unlikely allies; bikers, veterans, hacktivists, community groups, and supporters of gay rights. United. Standing together, against a common enemy. In a way- the group at Westboro Baptist Church embodies everything worth standing up to... they're hostile, ignorant, oppressive, dishonest, and extremely cruel.
The Supreme Court decision, while very difficult to stomach, says to the world that as a people, we're bigger than they are. We're stronger; we can unite and speak in a clearer voice. We can overcome petty differences, join hands and create a human chain that cannot be broken by their abhorrent acts. Each and every time we come together, and drown out their hate speech with our counter protests, each time we present physical blocks to keep their ugly signage from being seen by mourners, each time we set aside cultural differences and beliefs to stand side by side in support against them, they lose. They've given us a gift. A strangely wrapped gift, sure- one we'd prefer not to have received, but a gift nonetheless.
That's why they'll never succeed. (That and the fact that everyone knows Fred Phelps is hot for gay boys...otherwise, he wouldn't be so wickedly obsessed with what's happening in everyone else's underwear.)
Friday, February 11, 2011
Tell the dishwasher to hold, I'm talking to the freezer...
Living in the middle of nowhere can really be a pain when a major appliance goes on the fritz.
I hate washing dishes in any way, shape or form, so last year when a brand-new Kenmore dishwasher stopped working after just a few weeks, I was less than pleased. It got even nastier when we found out that it was going to take a couple of weeks for the service tech to come out and figure out the problem, because we lived in such a remote area. God help us if they needed to order parts. I used lots of paper plates for a while.
This experience should make me appreciate the new 'Kenmore Connect' system that Sears is bragging about- but it doesn't.
Evidently, some Sears appliances are so smart that they can send their own communications to the service department- saving a service call and wasted time.
Sounds good, but think about it...where is it going to stop?
First off, if the washer is all that smart, why does it need to call the service department in the first place? Why can't it just fix itself, or for that matter, why did it break to begin with? AHA! Not that smart, are we?
The other thing that really troubles me, is how do you know your smart-assed washer is going to limit its calls to the service department?
How do you know it's not going to run up long distance charges calling all its appliance friends in God-knows what kind of other remote areas where the dryers and refrigerators and dishwashers are all bored crazy?
How do you know that even if they limit their calls to the service department that they won't talk about you behind your back?
I can just imagine my dishwasher tattling to the tech rep that I buy my automatic dishwashing detergent at the dollar store, and I rarely refill the little Jet Dry cup.
Bitchy Dishwasher.
Oh, yeah- and the refrigerator is probably ratting me out right now because I leave snap-top containers on the shelves for so long that the food inside is no longer identifiable. (Why else would those little containers be so cheap if you weren't meant to toss them out when you were afraid to open them?) It's probably also going on and on about how I don't clean it on a weekly basis like I was taught to.
Asshole Refrigerator.
The freezer is complaining because I never label anything and stuff has been in there since the Carter Administration, the Stove is pointing out that I always put the burner plates on wrong so they don't fit together, and the Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer is...never mind, there is nothing the Kitchen Aid could possibly say about its treatment. I worship the counter it sits on, and it knows that. In fact, that could be why the other appliances are talking trash about me. Speaking of trash, we haven't even mentioned what the garbage disposal is saying...
I hate washing dishes in any way, shape or form, so last year when a brand-new Kenmore dishwasher stopped working after just a few weeks, I was less than pleased. It got even nastier when we found out that it was going to take a couple of weeks for the service tech to come out and figure out the problem, because we lived in such a remote area. God help us if they needed to order parts. I used lots of paper plates for a while.
This experience should make me appreciate the new 'Kenmore Connect' system that Sears is bragging about- but it doesn't.
Evidently, some Sears appliances are so smart that they can send their own communications to the service department- saving a service call and wasted time.
Sounds good, but think about it...where is it going to stop?
First off, if the washer is all that smart, why does it need to call the service department in the first place? Why can't it just fix itself, or for that matter, why did it break to begin with? AHA! Not that smart, are we?
The other thing that really troubles me, is how do you know your smart-assed washer is going to limit its calls to the service department?
How do you know it's not going to run up long distance charges calling all its appliance friends in God-knows what kind of other remote areas where the dryers and refrigerators and dishwashers are all bored crazy?
How do you know that even if they limit their calls to the service department that they won't talk about you behind your back?
I can just imagine my dishwasher tattling to the tech rep that I buy my automatic dishwashing detergent at the dollar store, and I rarely refill the little Jet Dry cup.
Bitchy Dishwasher.
Oh, yeah- and the refrigerator is probably ratting me out right now because I leave snap-top containers on the shelves for so long that the food inside is no longer identifiable. (Why else would those little containers be so cheap if you weren't meant to toss them out when you were afraid to open them?) It's probably also going on and on about how I don't clean it on a weekly basis like I was taught to.
Asshole Refrigerator.
The freezer is complaining because I never label anything and stuff has been in there since the Carter Administration, the Stove is pointing out that I always put the burner plates on wrong so they don't fit together, and the Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer is...never mind, there is nothing the Kitchen Aid could possibly say about its treatment. I worship the counter it sits on, and it knows that. In fact, that could be why the other appliances are talking trash about me. Speaking of trash, we haven't even mentioned what the garbage disposal is saying...
Monday, January 17, 2011
So glad my kids are grown...
Overheard at the Hotchkiss City Market...
Older boy pushing his younger sibling in the shopping cart when younger sib starts flailing arms and yelling, "Go get Mom, go get Mom, I have to go potty... NOW!"
Older sib continues to push cart, and calmly asks, "Number one or number two?" (Obviously wants to give Mom a comprehensive report.)
Younger sib stops flailing for a moment then screams, "NUMBER FIVE!"
Older boy pushing his younger sibling in the shopping cart when younger sib starts flailing arms and yelling, "Go get Mom, go get Mom, I have to go potty... NOW!"
Older sib continues to push cart, and calmly asks, "Number one or number two?" (Obviously wants to give Mom a comprehensive report.)
Younger sib stops flailing for a moment then screams, "NUMBER FIVE!"
Friday, December 17, 2010
Does this blog make my butt look big?
I'm sooooo excited! I just got an email from Daphne G. at a site called Lookville.com. Daphne just had to tell me she was 'super impressed' by my blog's design and content. Oh, really, Daphne?
Tell me, tell me, tell me, cause I'm just dyyyying to know... what is it about the 'design' that superimpressed you? The boilerplate template, or the sheep? Ha, it's the sheep! (It's always the sheep.) And the content that you found so scintillating...I'll bet anything that it was my post that explored the topic of cesspools vs. septic tanks. That grabs readers like no body's business.
Let me back up and explain about Lookville.com...
You see, in my world nothing makes less sense than getting a spam invitation to join a fashion review site like Lookville.com. If, like me, you've never heard of Lookville, it's a site where people can post pix of an outfit or accessory they've put together or are considering and get reviews from readers, followers and random fashionistas. Subscribers either model the outfit themselves or post manufacturer's advertising photos.
I have two issues with getting hit with this...the first is that NOTHING could be more irrelevant for my world. Not one of the reviews touched on irrigation boots, Sorels, hats with ear flaps, really sturdy work gloves, or the fashion style my husband likes to refer to as 'Paonia-chic' which essentially means yoga pants under a frilly skirt, accessorized by homemade jewelry and knit hats. Cover the whole mess with an over-sized hand-knit woolly sweater, something handwoven, or if all else fails, a good barn coat, and you're good to go. That outfit will get you anywhere you want to go in the North Fork Valley. (Any of the bars, pizza places, the Paradise theatre or City Market)
You just don't see peep toe patent leather electric blue booties with five inch heels around here, and if you did, it would be kind of a freakshow, because it wouldn't be more than 3 minutes before the wearer of said booties would end up ass-over-teakettle in the gravel, or worse yet, in a snowbank. Plus, the elements would totally trash any really good shoes.
The second problem I've got with this is the site itself. It's really kind of a bitch-fest. Imagine gathering up all the people you know who obsess over all things superficial (as a reference, I'm going back to my brief career in cosmetics) and give them a vehicle for being nothing but judgmental. It's one thing to carefully select an outfit...it's another to have new shoes be your sole (get it?) reason for living. Now factor in the element that Internet communications have the credibility of stuff written on a bathroom wall, (Yes, this blog is included) and you have a whole bunch of people making judgements about stuff that at the end of the day, does not have the power to change the world. (OMG we were going to declare war on that village but chose not to because of how cool they looked...that, and we did not want their substandard goats.)
Hey...if you want an opinion on statement bags, over-the-knee-boots, or floral platform pumps, try making up your own mind.
What I really find amazing is the level of insecurity out there.
Here's a new idea for fashion. Put it on. See how it feels. If you don't feel like you're going to fall over, or vomit, then go ahead and look in the mirror. If you're a city dweller or business person, can you dash for a cab? Move and bend in the middle? If you still don't feel nauseated, then ask yourself, do I like it? Do I like it? If so, go for it. Wear it in good health. Please yourself.
Why in the world do people care so much for the opinions of folks they don't even know, respect or worse yet; know are trying to sell them stuff? Why do we let the opinions of others define us? If you really need some feedback on that leopard print dress, ask someone you trust, who cares enough to be honest. Try asking someone whose style is real, wearable, and doesn't live in an airbrushed world of one-dimension.
Oh, and another thing...if you guys at Lookville were really on it, you wouldn't be spamming like a lottery scam from Nigeria.
Tell me, tell me, tell me, cause I'm just dyyyying to know... what is it about the 'design' that superimpressed you? The boilerplate template, or the sheep? Ha, it's the sheep! (It's always the sheep.) And the content that you found so scintillating...I'll bet anything that it was my post that explored the topic of cesspools vs. septic tanks. That grabs readers like no body's business.
Let me back up and explain about Lookville.com...
You see, in my world nothing makes less sense than getting a spam invitation to join a fashion review site like Lookville.com. If, like me, you've never heard of Lookville, it's a site where people can post pix of an outfit or accessory they've put together or are considering and get reviews from readers, followers and random fashionistas. Subscribers either model the outfit themselves or post manufacturer's advertising photos.
I have two issues with getting hit with this...the first is that NOTHING could be more irrelevant for my world. Not one of the reviews touched on irrigation boots, Sorels, hats with ear flaps, really sturdy work gloves, or the fashion style my husband likes to refer to as 'Paonia-chic' which essentially means yoga pants under a frilly skirt, accessorized by homemade jewelry and knit hats. Cover the whole mess with an over-sized hand-knit woolly sweater, something handwoven, or if all else fails, a good barn coat, and you're good to go. That outfit will get you anywhere you want to go in the North Fork Valley. (Any of the bars, pizza places, the Paradise theatre or City Market)
You just don't see peep toe patent leather electric blue booties with five inch heels around here, and if you did, it would be kind of a freakshow, because it wouldn't be more than 3 minutes before the wearer of said booties would end up ass-over-teakettle in the gravel, or worse yet, in a snowbank. Plus, the elements would totally trash any really good shoes.
The second problem I've got with this is the site itself. It's really kind of a bitch-fest. Imagine gathering up all the people you know who obsess over all things superficial (as a reference, I'm going back to my brief career in cosmetics) and give them a vehicle for being nothing but judgmental. It's one thing to carefully select an outfit...it's another to have new shoes be your sole (get it?) reason for living. Now factor in the element that Internet communications have the credibility of stuff written on a bathroom wall, (Yes, this blog is included) and you have a whole bunch of people making judgements about stuff that at the end of the day, does not have the power to change the world. (OMG we were going to declare war on that village but chose not to because of how cool they looked...that, and we did not want their substandard goats.)
Hey...if you want an opinion on statement bags, over-the-knee-boots, or floral platform pumps, try making up your own mind.
What I really find amazing is the level of insecurity out there.
Here's a new idea for fashion. Put it on. See how it feels. If you don't feel like you're going to fall over, or vomit, then go ahead and look in the mirror. If you're a city dweller or business person, can you dash for a cab? Move and bend in the middle? If you still don't feel nauseated, then ask yourself, do I like it? Do I like it? If so, go for it. Wear it in good health. Please yourself.
Why in the world do people care so much for the opinions of folks they don't even know, respect or worse yet; know are trying to sell them stuff? Why do we let the opinions of others define us? If you really need some feedback on that leopard print dress, ask someone you trust, who cares enough to be honest. Try asking someone whose style is real, wearable, and doesn't live in an airbrushed world of one-dimension.
Oh, and another thing...if you guys at Lookville were really on it, you wouldn't be spamming like a lottery scam from Nigeria.
Monday, December 13, 2010
The voices in my head won't stop talking about me...
Things have not been going smoothly in our household as of late, for a variety of different reasons, but isolation, unpredictable weather and a lack of appreciation for contemporary culture are all contributing factors.
If you were to ask my husband his opinion on the cause of the difficulties, he'd ponder for about a tenth of a second, then offer as an explanation that he's married to a crazy woman. I can't really dispute the fact that I've kind of cornered the market on unpleasantness recently...and am beginning to understand both the terms 'cabin fever' and the reason why while traveling west, pioneer women sometimes went whack-ding and took out their entire families with any weapon they could get their wind-chapped hands on.
Over the past few weeks I've seriously considered whether or not a Bundt pan could be used as a lethal weapon. Rural translation...stay out of my way, or you'll be wearing that bake-sale donation. Oh yeah, and stop judging.
Wait, this isn't coming out right. I still love the small town life...but seeing the same few blocks of 'downtown', with the same characters permanently parked there...YIKES! The thought that everyone in town knows your business, but can't recognize the guest host on SNL can really get on a girl's nerves after a while, especially when that girl and her guy are busy yelling at each other. Even if there is no malice involved on the part of the townsfolk, it still makes me yearn for the days when I could be both anonymous and connected at the same time. Back in California, if I referred to my beloved as an asshat under my breath, there was no one who would report it back to him. And...people there knew what an asshat was.
I'm almost done with my mad-on over this; because just when it gets to the point when I think I'm going to lose it and start screaming obscenities at livestock, or the next person who wants to know how I am so they can use the information like a Kroger coupon ( SERIOUSLY, THERE ARE NO SECRETS HERE!) the community comes together and does something really wonderful, and just like in a working marriage...all is forgiven.
Over the past couple of weeks, while I've been hiding out; finding solace in Classic Coke (go for the kind in glass bottles, it must be 'Hecho in Mexico', because it's made with cane sugar and tastes just like it did when we were kids) and Cheezy Puffs (FYI: wash your hands after you eat these...the J, K, and P keys on my laptop are permanently dyed orange from cheezy puff powder. Not pretty) the good folks of the North Fork Valley (yeah, the same ones I've been bitching about) have raised a bunch of money for scholarships, as well as put on a party and provided an abundance of Christmas gifts for children who would otherwise have no holiday at all.
Again, I come face to face with another example of the good, the bad, and the ugly... only this time a big chunk of the ugly has been of my own creation.
The next time cabin fever rears it's nasty head, a little imagination and effort channelled into a road trip and some exposure to city life should fix it. I'll be 100% over it, and back in small-town appreciation mode again. Except from now on, when someone wants to know my business...I'll just make shit up.
If you were to ask my husband his opinion on the cause of the difficulties, he'd ponder for about a tenth of a second, then offer as an explanation that he's married to a crazy woman. I can't really dispute the fact that I've kind of cornered the market on unpleasantness recently...and am beginning to understand both the terms 'cabin fever' and the reason why while traveling west, pioneer women sometimes went whack-ding and took out their entire families with any weapon they could get their wind-chapped hands on.
Over the past few weeks I've seriously considered whether or not a Bundt pan could be used as a lethal weapon. Rural translation...stay out of my way, or you'll be wearing that bake-sale donation. Oh yeah, and stop judging.
Wait, this isn't coming out right. I still love the small town life...but seeing the same few blocks of 'downtown', with the same characters permanently parked there...YIKES! The thought that everyone in town knows your business, but can't recognize the guest host on SNL can really get on a girl's nerves after a while, especially when that girl and her guy are busy yelling at each other. Even if there is no malice involved on the part of the townsfolk, it still makes me yearn for the days when I could be both anonymous and connected at the same time. Back in California, if I referred to my beloved as an asshat under my breath, there was no one who would report it back to him. And...people there knew what an asshat was.
I'm almost done with my mad-on over this; because just when it gets to the point when I think I'm going to lose it and start screaming obscenities at livestock, or the next person who wants to know how I am so they can use the information like a Kroger coupon ( SERIOUSLY, THERE ARE NO SECRETS HERE!) the community comes together and does something really wonderful, and just like in a working marriage...all is forgiven.
Over the past couple of weeks, while I've been hiding out; finding solace in Classic Coke (go for the kind in glass bottles, it must be 'Hecho in Mexico', because it's made with cane sugar and tastes just like it did when we were kids) and Cheezy Puffs (FYI: wash your hands after you eat these...the J, K, and P keys on my laptop are permanently dyed orange from cheezy puff powder. Not pretty) the good folks of the North Fork Valley (yeah, the same ones I've been bitching about) have raised a bunch of money for scholarships, as well as put on a party and provided an abundance of Christmas gifts for children who would otherwise have no holiday at all.
Again, I come face to face with another example of the good, the bad, and the ugly... only this time a big chunk of the ugly has been of my own creation.
The next time cabin fever rears it's nasty head, a little imagination and effort channelled into a road trip and some exposure to city life should fix it. I'll be 100% over it, and back in small-town appreciation mode again. Except from now on, when someone wants to know my business...I'll just make shit up.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Meet your Meat...
OK...I'm a hypocrite. I'll be the first to admit it. A semi-recovering-half-assed- vegetarian-WHO DOES NOT WANT TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH MY FOOD! That's a reality of living in a rural farm community I'll never get used to, and have a bad case of 'not fitting in'. Seriously, this is a group I don't want to fit in with. I don't want to 'celebrate' the slaughter, I don't want to stand knee-deep in blood, and I certainly don't want to go to farm classes where you can learn how to kill a sheep or goat or pig or whatever. I know it's hypocritical. I know its shallow, and unrealistic. I don't care. I'm careful about the meat I consume- I just don't want to have a hand in killing it. There are all kinds of things around town to participate in,
This is the kind of thing I get emails about regularly; for example...
High Wire Ranch, 27497 Buffalo Rd., Hotchkiss, CO: Buffalo and Elk sausage / meat tasting - Farm Tours - Meet the animals!
Droste Chocolates from Eckert, CO
Wine Tasting by S. Rhodes Vineyards
Meat tasting, and Meet the animals. NO THANK YOU!
I do however, have a HUGE interest in the chocolate. It rocks. They have chocolates that rival See's, and some are dusted in gold. I get the chills just thinking about them. But...I digress.
I don't think it's all that 'healthy' to build a relationship with something you're going to kill and eat. Otherwise, it would be perfectly OK to knock off Fluffy and Fido- and it isn't. If it were, sit-coms and movies wouldn't constantly be playing up the trauma involved...so I would simply like to not be told I'm strange because the whole 'joy of the kill' thing gives me the ick.
I'm not about to go out and join PETA...they have a special talent in pissing people off, but for the life of me I don't know how you can bond with an animal, name it, care for it, and not get emotionally attached- and if you do get emotionally attached and kill it anyway, that seems even scarier.
I used to really hate the idea of hunting, but compared to taking out a cow or pig or sheep you've nurtured since infancy, it's starting to not sound so bad.
I've lost my wonderment with the earth-cookie folks around here who want to dance around and celebrate the kill.
Some of them really creep me out. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they didn't dress so weird, and give me the stink-eye when I run into them in the City Market and they notice that I have a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese in the grocery cart. For the record, I always try and hide the blue box under something organic. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Anyway...judgement goes both ways-and if I'm going to be judged about eating plastic mac & cheese, then I get to say what I think about getting friendly with your dinner before you lop its head off. It's whack.
I think there would be a whole lot more vegetarians out there if everyone had to kill their own food, because there are lots of hypocrites like me, and if people are honest, really honest, the killing part is very distasteful. Tell the truth- when you witnessed Sarah Palin gleefully beating the crap out of the halibut on her reality show, didn't you really want to slap her silly? I just saw a 30-second promo, and I wanted to knock her smug-shrill-half-gov-quitting ass right into the water, because she seemed to take such gusto in bashing the fish. Sick. She makes us feel for the fish. How about last year, when she was caught being totally oblivious to a turkey being slaughtered behind her, as she gave a PR speech for the camera. That got all kinds of attention...Why? Because it repulsed normal folk. That's all I'm saying...it's perfectly normal, and OK to be repulsed by the act of killing, blood, guts, etc. Even if it's just livestock.
The house my mother bought has a slaughterhouse behind the back fence. She didn't know it at the time she bought it, and one of the differences between California and Colorado is... um....zoning. Oh, yeah, and they way they deal with disclosure. She genuinely believed the big metal building was a game processing plant, until she was all moved in and the deliveries of cows, sheep, pigs and goats started at all hours- about two feet beyond her back fence. The activities that go on within earshot have made her totally revert back to her old vegetarian ways. Perhaps it runs in the family.
So I guess you could chalk this up as one of my 'uglies' for living in rural Colorado. Not so fast. The quality of the meat is way better than anything I could get easily in CA...even if it comes with a price. I think I"ll go make a nice salad.
This is the kind of thing I get emails about regularly; for example...
High Wire Ranch, 27497 Buffalo Rd., Hotchkiss, CO: Buffalo and Elk sausage / meat tasting - Farm Tours - Meet the animals!
Droste Chocolates from Eckert, CO
Wine Tasting by S. Rhodes Vineyards
Meat tasting, and Meet the animals. NO THANK YOU!
I do however, have a HUGE interest in the chocolate. It rocks. They have chocolates that rival See's, and some are dusted in gold. I get the chills just thinking about them. But...I digress.
I don't think it's all that 'healthy' to build a relationship with something you're going to kill and eat. Otherwise, it would be perfectly OK to knock off Fluffy and Fido- and it isn't. If it were, sit-coms and movies wouldn't constantly be playing up the trauma involved...so I would simply like to not be told I'm strange because the whole 'joy of the kill' thing gives me the ick.
I'm not about to go out and join PETA...they have a special talent in pissing people off, but for the life of me I don't know how you can bond with an animal, name it, care for it, and not get emotionally attached- and if you do get emotionally attached and kill it anyway, that seems even scarier.
I used to really hate the idea of hunting, but compared to taking out a cow or pig or sheep you've nurtured since infancy, it's starting to not sound so bad.
I've lost my wonderment with the earth-cookie folks around here who want to dance around and celebrate the kill.
Some of them really creep me out. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they didn't dress so weird, and give me the stink-eye when I run into them in the City Market and they notice that I have a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese in the grocery cart. For the record, I always try and hide the blue box under something organic. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Anyway...judgement goes both ways-and if I'm going to be judged about eating plastic mac & cheese, then I get to say what I think about getting friendly with your dinner before you lop its head off. It's whack.
I think there would be a whole lot more vegetarians out there if everyone had to kill their own food, because there are lots of hypocrites like me, and if people are honest, really honest, the killing part is very distasteful. Tell the truth- when you witnessed Sarah Palin gleefully beating the crap out of the halibut on her reality show, didn't you really want to slap her silly? I just saw a 30-second promo, and I wanted to knock her smug-shrill-half-gov-quitting ass right into the water, because she seemed to take such gusto in bashing the fish. Sick. She makes us feel for the fish. How about last year, when she was caught being totally oblivious to a turkey being slaughtered behind her, as she gave a PR speech for the camera. That got all kinds of attention...Why? Because it repulsed normal folk. That's all I'm saying...it's perfectly normal, and OK to be repulsed by the act of killing, blood, guts, etc. Even if it's just livestock.
The house my mother bought has a slaughterhouse behind the back fence. She didn't know it at the time she bought it, and one of the differences between California and Colorado is... um....zoning. Oh, yeah, and they way they deal with disclosure. She genuinely believed the big metal building was a game processing plant, until she was all moved in and the deliveries of cows, sheep, pigs and goats started at all hours- about two feet beyond her back fence. The activities that go on within earshot have made her totally revert back to her old vegetarian ways. Perhaps it runs in the family.
So I guess you could chalk this up as one of my 'uglies' for living in rural Colorado. Not so fast. The quality of the meat is way better than anything I could get easily in CA...even if it comes with a price. I think I"ll go make a nice salad.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Good, The Bad and The Ugly...
Serious lack of posts as of late. Maybe it's the crappy weather that finally seems to be shifting, maybe it's missing the ocean, maybe it's the lack of decent Chinese food. Could be nothing more than the fact that I've become a big bag of excuses. Inspiration comes from the oddest places...My good Colorado experience is really indicative of life in a small town. My husband broke his eyeglasses for the 4,218th time. He's really hard on eyeglasses, but that's a story for another day. He's been wearing one pair without those little plastic nose-thingies for weeks, and didn't complain about the discomfort (much) until we were walking through the supermarket parking lot (yes, it's about the only place I ever go) and his sunglasses just fell apart, and fell right off his face. He couldn't put it off any longer- he had to go to the optical store (which was a 2 minute walk from the house) and get both pair fixed. First off, I think it's amazing that a town of 1000 people has an optician. Second, that she repaired both pair of his glasses while he waited, and refused to charge him anything. They engaged in a polite argument until she agreed to accept payment. I'm sure she finally relented because my husband can be really, really loud, and he reminded her that she'd already fixed his glasses for him and not charged him and he simply would never be able to come back if he wasn't allowed to pay her. As a result, she charged him $12.00 for fixing both pair. He still feels guilty. That's the good side of small town life.
The bad story is that last Tuesday I was too busy missing the ocean to cook dinner. I whined until my husband broke down and agreed to go to the only place we knew we could get a good pizza. The restaurant in question doesn't open for business until 5:00 pm. At 7:58 pm, he walked in to order our pizza and was told, "Kitchen's closed." Really? "Wait- you guys just opened a few hours ago. When do you close?" THEY CLOSE AT 8:00. THE PIZZA RESTAURANT IS OPEN FOR 3 HOURS A NIGHT. THAT'S IT! So, needless to say, he came home empty-handed, and by that time, the grocery store was closed, too- so we couldn't even get cardboard frozen pizza. I don't have to go into detail about how this did not improve my frame of mind. We drove the three block downtown area, hoping perhaps we'd missed an eatery that may be open after 8:00 on a Tuesday. No luck. By then I was too pissed off to cook (anything I would have attempted would have been toxic) but as we were turning on the highway to drive 9 miles to the next tiny town, we noticed the Stop & Save which is a gas station and convenience store that also doubles as a pizza restaurant.
I can't believe I've made it this long and not had gas station pizza. The best part was the clerk's response when we ordered a pizza with mushrooms and olives.
"For the same price you can get Lotsameat!" she was bubbling with enthusiasm.
"What kind of meat is it?" I asked, still considering myself a half-assed 'former' vegetarian.
She wrinkled her nose and stared at the asbestos-tiled ceiling. "I'm not sure, but there's lots of it, and it's the same price as the mushrooms!"
We convinced her that we'd be just fine without an extra 6lbs. of what was most likely pork-product, and she told us they'd put our pizza in the oven and we'd be good to go- in 25 minutes.
I don't know how many of you have spent 25 minutes waiting in a gas-station-convenience-store-pizza-restaurant, but it's just loads of fun, especially when you're cranky, hungry and tired.
We walked up and down every aisle, at least 47 times. We bought a hat (it was on sale!) a Beatles lunchbox (it was a limited edition!) 4 candy bars we had not seen since we were kids (they tasted like they may have actually been produced in the 1960's) 2 new flavors of gum, (did you know they make Pina Colada gum?) a few personal care products that I am far too discreet to mention, but unlike me, they do not contain an expiration date, and a box of dog snacks, because the dog would be really ticked off at us when we returned home. After all, we told him we were going out for 5 minutes. That's the bad part of small town life.
Here's the thing- when you live in a rural area, you learn to turn any experience into an opportunity. This gas-station-pizza experience gave me the chance to seek entertainment in the most ordinary of settings (plus I got a pretty cool hat) and it also gave us a wonderful opportunity to contribute to the local economy. The pizza was a bargain at $12 bucks. The shopping we did at the convenience store added another $38.00 to the evening's total. I still don't know what kind of meat comes on the Lotsameat special. That's the ugly part.
The bad story is that last Tuesday I was too busy missing the ocean to cook dinner. I whined until my husband broke down and agreed to go to the only place we knew we could get a good pizza. The restaurant in question doesn't open for business until 5:00 pm. At 7:58 pm, he walked in to order our pizza and was told, "Kitchen's closed." Really? "Wait- you guys just opened a few hours ago. When do you close?" THEY CLOSE AT 8:00. THE PIZZA RESTAURANT IS OPEN FOR 3 HOURS A NIGHT. THAT'S IT! So, needless to say, he came home empty-handed, and by that time, the grocery store was closed, too- so we couldn't even get cardboard frozen pizza. I don't have to go into detail about how this did not improve my frame of mind. We drove the three block downtown area, hoping perhaps we'd missed an eatery that may be open after 8:00 on a Tuesday. No luck. By then I was too pissed off to cook (anything I would have attempted would have been toxic) but as we were turning on the highway to drive 9 miles to the next tiny town, we noticed the Stop & Save which is a gas station and convenience store that also doubles as a pizza restaurant.
I can't believe I've made it this long and not had gas station pizza. The best part was the clerk's response when we ordered a pizza with mushrooms and olives.
"For the same price you can get Lotsameat!" she was bubbling with enthusiasm.
"What kind of meat is it?" I asked, still considering myself a half-assed 'former' vegetarian.
She wrinkled her nose and stared at the asbestos-tiled ceiling. "I'm not sure, but there's lots of it, and it's the same price as the mushrooms!"
We convinced her that we'd be just fine without an extra 6lbs. of what was most likely pork-product, and she told us they'd put our pizza in the oven and we'd be good to go- in 25 minutes.
I don't know how many of you have spent 25 minutes waiting in a gas-station-convenience-store-pizza-restaurant, but it's just loads of fun, especially when you're cranky, hungry and tired.
We walked up and down every aisle, at least 47 times. We bought a hat (it was on sale!) a Beatles lunchbox (it was a limited edition!) 4 candy bars we had not seen since we were kids (they tasted like they may have actually been produced in the 1960's) 2 new flavors of gum, (did you know they make Pina Colada gum?) a few personal care products that I am far too discreet to mention, but unlike me, they do not contain an expiration date, and a box of dog snacks, because the dog would be really ticked off at us when we returned home. After all, we told him we were going out for 5 minutes. That's the bad part of small town life.
Here's the thing- when you live in a rural area, you learn to turn any experience into an opportunity. This gas-station-pizza experience gave me the chance to seek entertainment in the most ordinary of settings (plus I got a pretty cool hat) and it also gave us a wonderful opportunity to contribute to the local economy. The pizza was a bargain at $12 bucks. The shopping we did at the convenience store added another $38.00 to the evening's total. I still don't know what kind of meat comes on the Lotsameat special. That's the ugly part.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
your business model is...poop!
I haven't posted anything for a while- a sheer lack of inspiration that was instantly vanquished by the signage posted on a vehicle I followed for a little while today on Highway 133 (or as my husband, the consummate Californian, says...THE 133) Anyway, the sign on the truck advertised the business: CHEERFUL CESSPOOL SERVICE. Oh Yeah. First off; I want to know why. How is anyone all that cheerful about providing a 'cesspool' service? This is the next best advertising slogan I've ever seen on a vehicle. The best one was on a truck I passed on the way to the White Plains airport, which read, XYZ CLEAN-UP. WE'RE #1 IN THE #2 BUSINESS along with WE PICK UP WHERE YOUR DOG LEFT OFF. But that was a few years ago. I'd laughed, then pretty much forgotten about it. There's really something sophomoric about poo humor. But this reminded me of another thing...when is the last time you heard the term 'cesspool' if it wasn't referring to city life or moral decay or various other things that republicans try to make everyone frightened of? When someone is talking about an actual cesspool they often mean a septic tank. As I've been informed, (TMI) cesspools are not legal in many places anymore. Some of the differences involve things like drainage slopes, sewage chambers, and mortar. Please don't ask me how I know this. It has to do with being on the receiving end of a very uncomfortable phone call involving a neighbor's property and a very drunk friend of theirs who pooped in their toilet while they were on vacation and clogged up their plumbing and what they found creeping into the bathtub upon their return. Not pretty. That's why I know it's a septic tank, and I know that it requires proper maintenance. But in all the scary stories I've heard; nothing ever involved the Cheerful Cesspool Service. However, if we'd known about them- we'd probably have referred them to the neighbors in distress. Most likely, they could have picked up where someone left off.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
not buying the P & G mommy pander...
OK...I should start with the fact that I actually watched more of the Vancouver Olympics than any Olympic Games since the tragic Summer Olympics of 1972. Maybe it's just my love of all things Canadian (especially Brent Butt, the fact that there a President Kennedy Avenue in Montreal, pretty much any comedian from Toronto, the Fairmont Palliser Hotel in Calgary, and the entire city of Vancouver, even though my sister was kind of kidnapped by some random loggers when she was visiting as a teenager. Jeez, I hope my mother isn't reading this...)
Anyway...in watching so much of the Olympic Games, I couldn't help but notice the Procter and Gamble "Thanks, Mom" ad campaign.
Now, I need to clarify. I'm a mom, and if I do say so myself, I've done a lot for my kids that they should say thank you for. But first off, so has their dad, and second, no one needs a corporate reminder from P&G to yank our emotions around to say thank you. I found it offensive on many levels. First off- they completely excluded Dads from the equation, and that's not right. I know lots of heroic single moms, and single dads, and traditional families, and blended families, and same-sex families who are doing their best for their kids, and sacrificing, and doing the heavy lifting, (and not going on publicity tours like the former governor of Alaska)and I think it totally sucks that P & G left Dads out of their ad campaign, as if they don't matter. It's like saying half the population doesn't matter. Yeah, yeah, yeah, there are lots of dads who are not much more than sperm donors. But there are a hell of a lot more out there who get up and go to work, then start up at home, cleaning the kid barf off the back of the car seat, and spend hours convincing the 2 year old he's not going to get sucked down the bathtub drain, stand up to the bullying gym teacher, take the slutty clothes away from the 12-year-old who borrowed them from her friend, call the friend's house to make sure if there are weapons in the home where your kids are spending the night, they are locked up; then sit up all night with a broken hearted 14-year-old, patiently explaining that it gets better, but right now life is going to hurt for a while. I know about the Dad who lets you wake him up at 3:00 am for a ride home, because the friend you went out with snuck some stuff to drink and now you both need a ride home. I know about catching hell for screwing up, but also the comfort in knowing that all would be forgiven. I understand about the Mom and Dad team. I had one. I am part of one. I'm married to a guy who embraced all those necessary 'Dad' things- including driving his kids bat-shit crazy, and I can't imagine trying to raise healthy humans without that energy. I also can't imagine why P&G felt it was necessary to exclude Dad in their warm, fuzzy commercials. So, to Proctor and Gamble...it's not just Moms that do stuff, and (hello??) buy stuff. On top of all this, you picked the Vancouver Olympics to do the "Thanks Mom" roll-out. Canadians have raised 'please and thank you' to an art form, in case no one has noticed...without P & G prompting us. Maybe it's just time to broaden those horizons a bit. Perhaps take a new look at what makes up a family, and if you want to reach out with a warm fuzzy; reach out to everyone who plays a role in raising healthy humans. There's a whole lot of Grandma's and Grandpa's out there too, who may appreciate a shout out. I'm just sayin...
Anyway...in watching so much of the Olympic Games, I couldn't help but notice the Procter and Gamble "Thanks, Mom" ad campaign.
Now, I need to clarify. I'm a mom, and if I do say so myself, I've done a lot for my kids that they should say thank you for. But first off, so has their dad, and second, no one needs a corporate reminder from P&G to yank our emotions around to say thank you. I found it offensive on many levels. First off- they completely excluded Dads from the equation, and that's not right. I know lots of heroic single moms, and single dads, and traditional families, and blended families, and same-sex families who are doing their best for their kids, and sacrificing, and doing the heavy lifting, (and not going on publicity tours like the former governor of Alaska)and I think it totally sucks that P & G left Dads out of their ad campaign, as if they don't matter. It's like saying half the population doesn't matter. Yeah, yeah, yeah, there are lots of dads who are not much more than sperm donors. But there are a hell of a lot more out there who get up and go to work, then start up at home, cleaning the kid barf off the back of the car seat, and spend hours convincing the 2 year old he's not going to get sucked down the bathtub drain, stand up to the bullying gym teacher, take the slutty clothes away from the 12-year-old who borrowed them from her friend, call the friend's house to make sure if there are weapons in the home where your kids are spending the night, they are locked up; then sit up all night with a broken hearted 14-year-old, patiently explaining that it gets better, but right now life is going to hurt for a while. I know about the Dad who lets you wake him up at 3:00 am for a ride home, because the friend you went out with snuck some stuff to drink and now you both need a ride home. I know about catching hell for screwing up, but also the comfort in knowing that all would be forgiven. I understand about the Mom and Dad team. I had one. I am part of one. I'm married to a guy who embraced all those necessary 'Dad' things- including driving his kids bat-shit crazy, and I can't imagine trying to raise healthy humans without that energy. I also can't imagine why P&G felt it was necessary to exclude Dad in their warm, fuzzy commercials. So, to Proctor and Gamble...it's not just Moms that do stuff, and (hello??) buy stuff. On top of all this, you picked the Vancouver Olympics to do the "Thanks Mom" roll-out. Canadians have raised 'please and thank you' to an art form, in case no one has noticed...without P & G prompting us. Maybe it's just time to broaden those horizons a bit. Perhaps take a new look at what makes up a family, and if you want to reach out with a warm fuzzy; reach out to everyone who plays a role in raising healthy humans. There's a whole lot of Grandma's and Grandpa's out there too, who may appreciate a shout out. I'm just sayin...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Not political, but...
Just found this photo in personal archives. Taken on 9/21/2008. In case any of the Obama-blamers in town (or out-of town) can't recall, that's prior to the 2008 election. Sometimes it is really important for everyone to remember what the world was like during the eight years that the Repos were in office...just so we don't do it again. Yeah, it would help if the Demos weren't so spineless...however- does anyone with a brain want to go back to a Republican majority? We should never, ever forget what it was like, so we don't do it again- and we don't allow a frightened, uneducated, lazy minority of voters from the bible belt to decide for us
You can say whatever you want about me being a crazy,ranting, middle aged white woman... but while you're here, look! Here's a picture of my cat!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Make Congressional Republicans give up their government-run health care...
One of the things I really appreciate about this little town is the way that people tend to get along well, despite their differences. Some of the nicest folks I've met have political statements emblazoned across the sides of their quad-cab, 4WD pick-up trucks that make me want to vomit through the open window on to the generous front seat of the aforementioned vehicle. Except that the person driving the truck, advertising the ignorant, homophobic, xenophobic, selfish, disingenuous attitude seems like a really decent human being. I don't get it.
I didn't get it yesterday, watching the Health Care Summit from Blair House. I mostly listened, without actually looking at the CNN screen; and without looking at the captions, it was ever-
so-easy to tell the Repos. They sounded smirky, smarmy, and supremely selfish and dishonest.(claiming the American people are wholly against the health care proposal...but failing to mention that when read the provisions it covers, the majority of Americans support it!) But then, with the exception of President Obama, a whole bunch of Demos sounded like wienies. I'm so sick of the whole mess I wish we could find some kind of Constitutional provision that would allow for taking health coverage away from every member of the House and Senate (and their families, to add some real pressure) until they can sit down and work this out. It's difficult and complicated. So is being an 
American. Those tea-bagging idiots who march around with misspelled signage should be strongly encouraged to spend as much time actually reading the Constitution and attempting to understand it as they do flapping their lips and scrawling angry messages on pieces of cardboard. I understand their anger- but what I don't understand, and find intolerable is where they direct their anger. Where was this anger during the eight years that the Bush administration worked quietly to weaken regulations? Dick Cheney, who can't seem to keep his mouth shut now, certainly found it necessary to keep energy policy mum...nary a word escaped his loose lips when he actually had an opportunity to serve the American people. Digression...back to health care; I keep hearing this anger about 'government run health care' and fear about the 'government' making health care decisions. What I want is for one of these opposition Repo brain trusts to explain to me like I'm a six year old..."How is government-run health care going to be worse for me than a for-profit company that makes decisions for me? Here's my reality: Both my husband and I receive our health care through government run entities. It wasn't always this way. I used to have private health insurance, provided from a major for-profit company. It went from a cost of $700.00 per month to $1657.00 per month for a family of four- over the course of five years. In addition, they placed increasing restrictions on what procedures I could receive, the deductible I would pay, when I could have procedures done, and where I could have treatment. It was impossible to speak with a human being, unless, of course it was about a payment that was due. When they dropped my coverage, (because I actually needed it) they didn't bother to send a notification. I found out when I went to pick up a prescription and it wasn't covered. Fast forward to 2010. Since we moved, since I signed up for the dreaded 'government run' health coverage, my costs have been reasonable, the care I receive has been superior, and the system has been amazingly efficient. (FYI: Medicare runs with administrative costs of approx. 2-3%. The last report I read, Aetna came in at 22%) My husband gets his medical through the VA- another example of personal experience running counter to public opinion. We'd always heard that care through the VA would be inferior to what we would receive privately. The reality we've experienced is the exact opposite. The VA facility in Grand Junction CO could be held as an example of how to do things- if you want a system that runs efficiently, treats patients kindly, with respect, and most of all, addresses their needs.
Over the past 15 years, all the time we had private insurance (that we paid dearly for) it became glaringly apparent that the quality of the medical care we'd been receiving was slipping badly. Through no fault of their own, our doctors were spending less time gathering information, being less attentive, prescribing more medication, rushing through office visits. At the same time the costs to patients are rising out of control, insurance company profits and pharmaceutical company profits continue to rise. No reasonable person is against profits- but this is so out of proportion it's insanity. The Repos would have you believe that most people who have no health insurance have chosen not to be covered. Seriously? How stupid to they think we are? Wait, let me read some of those protest signs about offing Grandma again. Yeah, pretty stupid. If the tea-baggers want to be pissed at the government, they should be pissed at the past administrations (both Demos & Repos) who refused to regulate, hold people accountable, and make some tough decisions. We see what happens when you leave corporations to their own devices. It's why we are where we are. But right now, I just want the Demos to grow a pair, stand up to the old white men who only know no, and start acting like Demos. I want the Republicans to remove the insurance lobbyist's lips from their big white asses, and put their money where their big fat negative self-serving mouths are. If they are so against government run health care, they should give theirs up. Shut up, stop being hypocrites, and stop using government run health care if you are going to bad mouth it. And if you're that nice guy in town with all the anti Obama crap all over your truck, I'm the one who yakked on your front seat.
I didn't get it yesterday, watching the Health Care Summit from Blair House. I mostly listened, without actually looking at the CNN screen; and without looking at the captions, it was ever-
so-easy to tell the Repos. They sounded smirky, smarmy, and supremely selfish and dishonest.(claiming the American people are wholly against the health care proposal...but failing to mention that when read the provisions it covers, the majority of Americans support it!) But then, with the exception of President Obama, a whole bunch of Demos sounded like wienies. I'm so sick of the whole mess I wish we could find some kind of Constitutional provision that would allow for taking health coverage away from every member of the House and Senate (and their families, to add some real pressure) until they can sit down and work this out. It's difficult and complicated. So is being an 
American. Those tea-bagging idiots who march around with misspelled signage should be strongly encouraged to spend as much time actually reading the Constitution and attempting to understand it as they do flapping their lips and scrawling angry messages on pieces of cardboard. I understand their anger- but what I don't understand, and find intolerable is where they direct their anger. Where was this anger during the eight years that the Bush administration worked quietly to weaken regulations? Dick Cheney, who can't seem to keep his mouth shut now, certainly found it necessary to keep energy policy mum...nary a word escaped his loose lips when he actually had an opportunity to serve the American people. Digression...back to health care; I keep hearing this anger about 'government run health care' and fear about the 'government' making health care decisions. What I want is for one of these opposition Repo brain trusts to explain to me like I'm a six year old..."How is government-run health care going to be worse for me than a for-profit company that makes decisions for me? Here's my reality: Both my husband and I receive our health care through government run entities. It wasn't always this way. I used to have private health insurance, provided from a major for-profit company. It went from a cost of $700.00 per month to $1657.00 per month for a family of four- over the course of five years. In addition, they placed increasing restrictions on what procedures I could receive, the deductible I would pay, when I could have procedures done, and where I could have treatment. It was impossible to speak with a human being, unless, of course it was about a payment that was due. When they dropped my coverage, (because I actually needed it) they didn't bother to send a notification. I found out when I went to pick up a prescription and it wasn't covered. Fast forward to 2010. Since we moved, since I signed up for the dreaded 'government run' health coverage, my costs have been reasonable, the care I receive has been superior, and the system has been amazingly efficient. (FYI: Medicare runs with administrative costs of approx. 2-3%. The last report I read, Aetna came in at 22%) My husband gets his medical through the VA- another example of personal experience running counter to public opinion. We'd always heard that care through the VA would be inferior to what we would receive privately. The reality we've experienced is the exact opposite. The VA facility in Grand Junction CO could be held as an example of how to do things- if you want a system that runs efficiently, treats patients kindly, with respect, and most of all, addresses their needs.Over the past 15 years, all the time we had private insurance (that we paid dearly for) it became glaringly apparent that the quality of the medical care we'd been receiving was slipping badly. Through no fault of their own, our doctors were spending less time gathering information, being less attentive, prescribing more medication, rushing through office visits. At the same time the costs to patients are rising out of control, insurance company profits and pharmaceutical company profits continue to rise. No reasonable person is against profits- but this is so out of proportion it's insanity. The Repos would have you believe that most people who have no health insurance have chosen not to be covered. Seriously? How stupid to they think we are? Wait, let me read some of those protest signs about offing Grandma again. Yeah, pretty stupid. If the tea-baggers want to be pissed at the government, they should be pissed at the past administrations (both Demos & Repos) who refused to regulate, hold people accountable, and make some tough decisions. We see what happens when you leave corporations to their own devices. It's why we are where we are. But right now, I just want the Demos to grow a pair, stand up to the old white men who only know no, and start acting like Demos. I want the Republicans to remove the insurance lobbyist's lips from their big white asses, and put their money where their big fat negative self-serving mouths are. If they are so against government run health care, they should give theirs up. Shut up, stop being hypocrites, and stop using government run health care if you are going to bad mouth it. And if you're that nice guy in town with all the anti Obama crap all over your truck, I'm the one who yakked on your front seat.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Uh-oh, it's stupid calling...
Years ago, I did a brief stint working for a cosmetic company. I won't mention any names, but they wear white lab coats and promote a fresh, well-groomed, flawless appearance. (at that time, they never allowed us to wear fragrance, except for the one and only that they manufactured, which drove me crazy and had me in perpetual hot water with my district manager) I digress... It was 1989, after the 7.1 Loma Prieta quake in CA that made me question my priorities; my job, my judgement in general. I decided to quit a full-time job at an advertising agency where, like everyone else who does the heavy lifting at an ad agency, I was overworked and underpaid- so I could spend more time with my kids. Never mind that they weren't wild about the idea of spending more time with me...that's a story for another day. I still needed to work, but I wanted to do something 'fun'. I wanted to work a few hours a day instead spending 60 hour weeks bitching at vendors and putting up with anal retentive art directors. I wanted to be home to prepare a decent meal. I wanted to have time to pee more than once a day. The day after the earthquake, when the agency principal thought he'd still be traveling from the East Bay to SF for a client meeting, in spite of the fact that the Bay Bridge had collapsed (how do you even function when you're so disconnected from reality?)
I realized that I could have died in that confining office, as the windows were breaking and things were flying off the shelves, so I quietly gave notice. Following a whim, I took a position as a part time rep for a well-known cosmetic company, and became the shallowest human being on planet earth. I liked it. It was fun, except that the other women who worked there were mercilessly critical when it came to each other's appearance. Standard greetings sounded something like this... "Hey, you need lips! Jesus Christ, who did your eyebrows, the dog? What the hell is going on with your upper lip? It's wax time. Wax time. Wax time!" It was relentless. And to add to my misery, a lot of my coworkers were incapable of carrying on a conversation that didn't center around whose husband they had just done, what dress they'd just charged, or what drug they were about to consume. Mention a current event and be rewarded with a look you'd expect from someone just out of electroshock treatment. Bring up a topic other than fashion, and you'd get the cold shoulder, then a harsh reminder that your eyeliner needed refreshing.
But, the products were cool, most of the customers were delightful, and it was absolutely the type of work where no one would ever call you at home with problems. (Oh, you have to come in right away, I can't seem to get the shade right on this eyeshadow...the budget and deadline are completely going to shit, and the client is going to pull everything if I don't get my eye make up corrected... not going to happen.) So, I cruised on happily for a few months, until one day, when in a hurry to get to the BART Station, I slipped on an icy patch (yes, there is ice in California...sometimes) and went down; face-first on the sidewalk. My friends will tell you I am not the most coordinated person. They'll be gracious and find other nice things to say about me, but they'll tell you I'm mostly a klutz. I have permanent scars on both knees from years of repeated tripping and falling over nothing more than suggestions. So, when I landed hard on my FACE, it wasn't pretty. I skinned my face, which wouldn't have been such an awful thing, except that my job was promoting make-up, and the marvelous things it could do for a person. I ended up with big ugly scrapes; but soldiering on, showed up at the better department store where I'd been assigned, only to be told that I couldn't work until my face healed up. So...for a week and a half, I didn't call in sick, I called in 'ugly'. (Their words, not mine)I should explain that I'm not exactly a great beauty to begin with... OK-looking, on good days, attractive, but this job was at a time in my life when I was much younger, and hell, who doesn't look great when they're in their 30's? The bandages I sported on one cheek and across my chin did not enhance my features. I totally understand why I was sent home. In a world where all energy focuses on achieving perfection, facial wounds are not a look to strive for.
Even going to the grocery store or riding BART, I was aware of averted eyes. It was pretty awful, and to make things worse, it really hurt. At least all the other times I'd fallen down and scraped the skin off various body parts, I could cover up the disaster with clothing. I'd pretty much forgotten about this, until last week. We had a couple of snow storms, which made everything look fresh, and flawless, and every one's yards look sort of well-groomed.
My world was covered in a pristine sparkling white as clean as my 1989 lab coat. I like that part of snow. The part I don't like is the sneaky part. The part that fools you.(and talks about you behind your back) The part that looks all dry and fluffy on top, but is thinly masking icy nastiness underneath. I discovered that part when I literally stepped in it. Carrying an open can of Friskies Sea Captains Choice (why is it the favorite of stray cats everywhere is the one with the most horrific aroma?) I sunk through the snow to the slick ice below, my feet slipped out from under me, and I ended up on my face. Once again. This time my socks were full of snow (no, I didn't bother to put my boots on, thank you) and my hair was full of cat food. I have to admit, this face-landing wasn't as traumatic as my California face-landing, as that one was on concrete. This was on snow. Also, the face I landed on is 21 years older, and I am no longer relying on it to help me earn a living. Plus, the folks around here are hardly a superficial lot- I'll bet I could walk into City Market or the Post Office, or even Ace Hardware with Band-Aids all over my face and people wouldn't look twice. They'd probably just think it was an unfortunate incident with a horse. Or cow. Or maybe a goat. But this time, I'll be calling in 'Stupid' for going out without my boots.
I realized that I could have died in that confining office, as the windows were breaking and things were flying off the shelves, so I quietly gave notice. Following a whim, I took a position as a part time rep for a well-known cosmetic company, and became the shallowest human being on planet earth. I liked it. It was fun, except that the other women who worked there were mercilessly critical when it came to each other's appearance. Standard greetings sounded something like this... "Hey, you need lips! Jesus Christ, who did your eyebrows, the dog? What the hell is going on with your upper lip? It's wax time. Wax time. Wax time!" It was relentless. And to add to my misery, a lot of my coworkers were incapable of carrying on a conversation that didn't center around whose husband they had just done, what dress they'd just charged, or what drug they were about to consume. Mention a current event and be rewarded with a look you'd expect from someone just out of electroshock treatment. Bring up a topic other than fashion, and you'd get the cold shoulder, then a harsh reminder that your eyeliner needed refreshing.
But, the products were cool, most of the customers were delightful, and it was absolutely the type of work where no one would ever call you at home with problems. (Oh, you have to come in right away, I can't seem to get the shade right on this eyeshadow...the budget and deadline are completely going to shit, and the client is going to pull everything if I don't get my eye make up corrected... not going to happen.) So, I cruised on happily for a few months, until one day, when in a hurry to get to the BART Station, I slipped on an icy patch (yes, there is ice in California...sometimes) and went down; face-first on the sidewalk. My friends will tell you I am not the most coordinated person. They'll be gracious and find other nice things to say about me, but they'll tell you I'm mostly a klutz. I have permanent scars on both knees from years of repeated tripping and falling over nothing more than suggestions. So, when I landed hard on my FACE, it wasn't pretty. I skinned my face, which wouldn't have been such an awful thing, except that my job was promoting make-up, and the marvelous things it could do for a person. I ended up with big ugly scrapes; but soldiering on, showed up at the better department store where I'd been assigned, only to be told that I couldn't work until my face healed up. So...for a week and a half, I didn't call in sick, I called in 'ugly'. (Their words, not mine)I should explain that I'm not exactly a great beauty to begin with... OK-looking, on good days, attractive, but this job was at a time in my life when I was much younger, and hell, who doesn't look great when they're in their 30's? The bandages I sported on one cheek and across my chin did not enhance my features. I totally understand why I was sent home. In a world where all energy focuses on achieving perfection, facial wounds are not a look to strive for.
Even going to the grocery store or riding BART, I was aware of averted eyes. It was pretty awful, and to make things worse, it really hurt. At least all the other times I'd fallen down and scraped the skin off various body parts, I could cover up the disaster with clothing. I'd pretty much forgotten about this, until last week. We had a couple of snow storms, which made everything look fresh, and flawless, and every one's yards look sort of well-groomed.
My world was covered in a pristine sparkling white as clean as my 1989 lab coat. I like that part of snow. The part I don't like is the sneaky part. The part that fools you.(and talks about you behind your back) The part that looks all dry and fluffy on top, but is thinly masking icy nastiness underneath. I discovered that part when I literally stepped in it. Carrying an open can of Friskies Sea Captains Choice (why is it the favorite of stray cats everywhere is the one with the most horrific aroma?) I sunk through the snow to the slick ice below, my feet slipped out from under me, and I ended up on my face. Once again. This time my socks were full of snow (no, I didn't bother to put my boots on, thank you) and my hair was full of cat food. I have to admit, this face-landing wasn't as traumatic as my California face-landing, as that one was on concrete. This was on snow. Also, the face I landed on is 21 years older, and I am no longer relying on it to help me earn a living. Plus, the folks around here are hardly a superficial lot- I'll bet I could walk into City Market or the Post Office, or even Ace Hardware with Band-Aids all over my face and people wouldn't look twice. They'd probably just think it was an unfortunate incident with a horse. Or cow. Or maybe a goat. But this time, I'll be calling in 'Stupid' for going out without my boots.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The stuff that gets stolen...
Besides reading classified ads, my other favorite pass time is the 'police blotter' sections of small-town papers. Back in the suburbs in NoCal, it rarely made for interesting reading. When we lived in Walnut Creek, it was all about 'stuff' that was stolen; when we moved to Pittsburg, there were the all-too-frequent reports of violence. This part is nothing to joke about. There was some bad stuff happening- shooting, stabbing, people beating the crap out of each other with furniture. (I'm not making this up, a while back there was an incident where two family members got into a disagreement during dinner, which escalated into a brawl in the street, where, before they could be pulled apart, they beat each other senseless with dining room chairs.) Although I was never personally affected more than having to drive around a detour of what we used to affectionately call 'police activity'. (we would run into 5 or 6 patrol cars parked in a chevron pattern in the middle of the street to block traffic while they chased the bad guys on foot) This would always set me to whining because it meant waiting an extra 15 minutes just to get to the freeway entrance, (sometimes just 100 yards ahead) where once on the freeway, I could sit for an extra hour waiting for more police vehicles to get by, when I just wanted to get to a destination a mere 9 miles away. Other people's violent behavior = more sitting in traffic. So insensitive! See, that's the kind of attitude that will keep me from ever being allowed back in California. Having been removed from this for a little over a year, I feel - well, removed from it. I decided to do a completely nonscientific survey and compare the police notes from my old newspaper to some I'd gleaned from the Delta County Independent. Just looking at the stuff that gets stolen, in Walnut Creek, CA in one week there were reports of: a camera stolen from a vehicle, a purse stolen from an unlocked vehicle, 2 laptops stolen from 2 different vehicles overnight, another purse stolen from a locked vehicle overnight, a wallet, an iPod, and a navigation system - all taken from different vehicles in different locations, at different times of the day. There was also a business theft; the report of some perfume products being stolen from a downtown retail establishment.
Let's take a look at Delta County... there were reports of a bottle containing some pills being stolen from an unlocked vehicle, some firewood being stolen from the back of a truck; a woman reported that a mirror, a television and her father's ashes had been stolen from her home (but the rest of the story is that they had been stolen by her sister.) Dipsticks were stolen from 2 tractors; and a trailer axle and a sluice box were also reported stolen. The business theft reported here involved a gas station reporting counterfeit five dollar bills. (Seriously...fives?)
What kind of self-respecting counterfeiter risks a trip to ClubFed for fives?
Back in CA...the really awful news that made national headlines earlier this week was from Richmond, CA- where 2 men opened fire during a church service Sunday, injuring two worshippers. Thankfully, no one was killed. I'm not sure if they caught the guys or not.
Sadly, I think there's a whole contingent of locals who just aren't that shocked by this one- the area has averaged about one murder per week of 2010, drive-by shootings are all too common; which is what happens when residents live by the 'no snitching' rule.
Yikes, I didn't mean to go there...but can't help but wonder if the same outraged churchgoers are the ones who are raising their kids not to 'snitch' to the cops...
Meanwhile, out on the Mesa...
A Hotchkiss man reported an incident of road rage. He reported the other driver stopped his car, got out, waved his arms and made threats. Another resident called 911 to report he was being harassed by telemarketers. OK, who hasn't been tempted to do that, especially when we just sat down to dinner or a new episode of NCIS just started?
Is there a take-away from this? Thieves get better stuff in California suburbs? People in rural areas call 911 for silly reasons? Delta County is no place for low-budget counterfeiters?
I think it's all relative-
One's thief's perfume is an other's sluice box...
Let's take a look at Delta County... there were reports of a bottle containing some pills being stolen from an unlocked vehicle, some firewood being stolen from the back of a truck; a woman reported that a mirror, a television and her father's ashes had been stolen from her home (but the rest of the story is that they had been stolen by her sister.) Dipsticks were stolen from 2 tractors; and a trailer axle and a sluice box were also reported stolen. The business theft reported here involved a gas station reporting counterfeit five dollar bills. (Seriously...fives?)
What kind of self-respecting counterfeiter risks a trip to ClubFed for fives?
Back in CA...the really awful news that made national headlines earlier this week was from Richmond, CA- where 2 men opened fire during a church service Sunday, injuring two worshippers. Thankfully, no one was killed. I'm not sure if they caught the guys or not.
Sadly, I think there's a whole contingent of locals who just aren't that shocked by this one- the area has averaged about one murder per week of 2010, drive-by shootings are all too common; which is what happens when residents live by the 'no snitching' rule.
Yikes, I didn't mean to go there...but can't help but wonder if the same outraged churchgoers are the ones who are raising their kids not to 'snitch' to the cops...
Meanwhile, out on the Mesa...
A Hotchkiss man reported an incident of road rage. He reported the other driver stopped his car, got out, waved his arms and made threats. Another resident called 911 to report he was being harassed by telemarketers. OK, who hasn't been tempted to do that, especially when we just sat down to dinner or a new episode of NCIS just started?
Is there a take-away from this? Thieves get better stuff in California suburbs? People in rural areas call 911 for silly reasons? Delta County is no place for low-budget counterfeiters?
I think it's all relative-
One's thief's perfume is an other's sluice box...
Sunday, February 14, 2010
What's that pole with the three lights for?
I don't think I'll ever be allowed back in the state of California again. It's not like there is anything felonious involved...but it's time to face the music. I no longer possess the driving skills and knowledge necessary to survive in the Golden State. I used to be a 'professional' driver. Most Californians are. We have to be; we spend most of our waking hours sitting in traffic. Seriously; if this wasn't the case, I'd never, ever get to speak to any of my good friends who still reside in CA. They call me while they are spending the obligatory hours behind the wheel each day...and I am happy to get the calls. Sometimes it makes me a little homesick. I hear traffic noise; horns honking, sirens, the occasional shout-out. If it's a long conversation, I can almost smell the exhaust. Now for my reality.
We drove to 'Junction' the other day, and it had been so long since I had to deal with a stoplight, I momentarily forgot what to do. I have also become a stupid pedestrian as well. (push the button...wait for the picture to change) How quickly we forget.
In my defense, I was distracted by the abundance of ridiculous street names in Grand Junction.
What were people thinking when they named F1/2 , D 5/8 , or E 1/4 Road? Come on- you guys couldn't come up with some cowboy sounding names? How about more crap named after rock formations- there's an abundance of inspiration for that. OK, how about just doing what every other city in the US does, and name stuff after old white guys?
Does anyone have any idea how dull and unimaginative this seems to a newcomer? Letters and Numbers...and fractions? Why? It would be easier to remember streets named after body parts, or diseases for that matter. We've kind of gone crazy for pharmaceuticals- why don't we name streets after our favorite medications? Imagine Lyrica Lane, Zetia Circle, Chantix Drive. If you think this is nuts...may I remind of you that we're just trying to do better than Highway 6 and 50. The bar isn't that high. I submit for approval, the Ambien Expressway. For anyone who doesn't think it's feasible, check out this photo.
This is from a traffic cam in Grand Junction. Note the heavy traffic; which someone believed necessitating the need for a traffic cam.
I'm a jaded California driver. (read: Asshat) I know. I'm also not complaining about the lack of traffic, I'm just saying I could totally sleep on this highway.
We drove to 'Junction' the other day, and it had been so long since I had to deal with a stoplight, I momentarily forgot what to do. I have also become a stupid pedestrian as well. (push the button...wait for the picture to change) How quickly we forget.
In my defense, I was distracted by the abundance of ridiculous street names in Grand Junction.
What were people thinking when they named F1/2 , D 5/8 , or E 1/4 Road? Come on- you guys couldn't come up with some cowboy sounding names? How about more crap named after rock formations- there's an abundance of inspiration for that. OK, how about just doing what every other city in the US does, and name stuff after old white guys?
Does anyone have any idea how dull and unimaginative this seems to a newcomer? Letters and Numbers...and fractions? Why? It would be easier to remember streets named after body parts, or diseases for that matter. We've kind of gone crazy for pharmaceuticals- why don't we name streets after our favorite medications? Imagine Lyrica Lane, Zetia Circle, Chantix Drive. If you think this is nuts...may I remind of you that we're just trying to do better than Highway 6 and 50. The bar isn't that high. I submit for approval, the Ambien Expressway. For anyone who doesn't think it's feasible, check out this photo.
This is from a traffic cam in Grand Junction. Note the heavy traffic; which someone believed necessitating the need for a traffic cam.
I'm a jaded California driver. (read: Asshat) I know. I'm also not complaining about the lack of traffic, I'm just saying I could totally sleep on this highway.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Let's all go to the drive-thru...
I know, I know...all my incessant whining about the lack of convenient food and alcohol is about to come back to bite me in the ass. First off; a clarification...I am not nearly as obsessed with the procurement of alcohol as I am with the procurement of butter (and desserts in general). That said; I've been complaining to anyone who will listen (the folks at the Post Office, the Credit Union, the local Ace Hardware, and a pretty cool apparel store called Farmer Franks) about the fact that we can't buy alcohol in the grocery store here in Colorado. I guess that isn't that unusual for many states- but in California, it's just weird. You get used to a really good wine selection and specialty liquor, all in one stop. You can pick it up while you're shopping for other necessities; like-butter. Seriously, going to a real liquor store where I come from can be kind of a nasty experience, but it's only because so many people buy their liquor in the grocery store, Costco, or BevMo. If you go to a liquor store in some areas, it's possible you'll run into the unsavory element of panhandlers and juveniles engaged in getting someone over 21 to buy them cheap booze. That's just crap I'd rather avoid. I know folks here in Colorado are all about protecting small businesses, and contend that if grocery stores could sell liquor then it would mean the end of independent liquor stores. I don't know what I think about that, but I can tell you even though a girl can buy Bombay Sapphire at Safeway along with eggs and organic apples, there is still no shortage of liquor stores in California. I'm just sayin'.
I'm not really emotionally invested in the debate- except that I was just told that's why there are no Trader Joe's in the entire state of Colorado. Colorado won't allow the alcohol license; and it's a deal breaker for TJ's. I think that part sucks. I just Google-mapped the closest TJ's and it's in Santa Fe New Mexico. 7 hours and 38 minutes one way. For any Californians out there; this would be like driving from SF to LA for groceries. I really want my Joe's Oh's, and their selection of cheeses, and that canned tuna packed in olive oil- oh yeah, and those soft liquorice bits- and about 108,000 other items, but not enough to drive 7 -1/2 hours to get them. Grrrrr.
The only bright spot in this whole liquor store vs. grocery store debate is a concession the liquor store owners have provided to make up for the fact that you have no choice in patronizing their establishments. Even if you have to make a special trip to an additional store, you don't have to remove your lazy ass from the front seat of your car. Just go to the drive-through. Drive-through liquor stores. Is is just me, or does this seem weird? Maybe it's the whole drinking and driving thing. Maybe it's the "I'm too unmotivated to get out of the car," thing- but something about this rubs me the wrong way. I'm not saying I don't use it...because hey- YOU DON'T HAVE TO GET OUT OF THE CAR! and I'm nothing if not a hypocrite. I'd just like it a lot more if they sold butter & coconut cake at the liquor store, too.
I'm not really emotionally invested in the debate- except that I was just told that's why there are no Trader Joe's in the entire state of Colorado. Colorado won't allow the alcohol license; and it's a deal breaker for TJ's. I think that part sucks. I just Google-mapped the closest TJ's and it's in Santa Fe New Mexico. 7 hours and 38 minutes one way. For any Californians out there; this would be like driving from SF to LA for groceries. I really want my Joe's Oh's, and their selection of cheeses, and that canned tuna packed in olive oil- oh yeah, and those soft liquorice bits- and about 108,000 other items, but not enough to drive 7 -1/2 hours to get them. Grrrrr.
The only bright spot in this whole liquor store vs. grocery store debate is a concession the liquor store owners have provided to make up for the fact that you have no choice in patronizing their establishments. Even if you have to make a special trip to an additional store, you don't have to remove your lazy ass from the front seat of your car. Just go to the drive-through. Drive-through liquor stores. Is is just me, or does this seem weird? Maybe it's the whole drinking and driving thing. Maybe it's the "I'm too unmotivated to get out of the car," thing- but something about this rubs me the wrong way. I'm not saying I don't use it...because hey- YOU DON'T HAVE TO GET OUT OF THE CAR! and I'm nothing if not a hypocrite. I'd just like it a lot more if they sold butter & coconut cake at the liquor store, too.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Do only boring people get bored?
Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, there just isn't a lot going on. This mostly applies if you don't want to hang out at one of the local watering holes here in Hotchkiss... (BIKERS WELCOME!) (HUNTERS WELCOME!...WE-DON'T-CARE-IF-HUNTING-SEASON-IS-OVER WE'RE-STILL-PUTTING-OUT-THE-BANNER!) Surely one can understand; if a girl doesn't identify with either group, hanging out at a hunter-or-biker bar can be a little disconcerting. Just for the record, the biker bar is a couple of doors down from a quilting shop. I would be just as intimidated if the bar posted a bright orange banner outside reading "QUILTERS WELCOME!" Because honestly, those crafty ladies that always know what to ask for in a fabric store really scare the crap out of me.
I digress...the point I'm trying to make is that when there is nothing I want to do, I fall back on one of my favorite hobbies. Reading classified ads from the local papers. Before you scoff, remember that Letterman has a whole segment dedicated to small town news. People from all over the country send in clippings from their local papers that they find humorous. I'm far too lazy to do that- I just rip the page out of the paper and stuff it into the same file folder as the bills I'm supposed to pay each month. (that could explain some problems I've been having lately...)
Since I didn't want to go a-quilting, or drinking with people who really like to shoot stuff, I thought I'd clean out some files. I found a bunch of newspaper clippings that I can't remember why I saved, but these ads might be the reason...
"WHO TOLD RITA THEY HAD CASINO STUFF? SHE IS 50 AND CAN'T REMEMBER!! CALL SUZI AT 555-0921. THANKS. (isn't it cool that I used a 555 number just like on TV?)
OK, if you didn't think that was funny, how about this one...I'm not making this up....
HAVE YOU BEEN DREAMING OF A BIG TATTOO BUT CAN'T COME UP WITH ALL THE MONEY IN ADVANCE? WANT TO FINANCE IT? CALL ATF. 970-555-0921. WE WILL FINANCE YOUR TATTOO FOR YOU.
(you don't think it's that ATF, do you?)
There were also some 'freebie' ads that gave me pause. The best one was a listing for a big ball of string and a disposable cat box- free to the first caller.
I think I figured it out...the folks that post these ads have simply spent way too much time hanging out in bars with those crafty quilting ladies or guys who like to shoot things. While they're on their bikes.
I digress...the point I'm trying to make is that when there is nothing I want to do, I fall back on one of my favorite hobbies. Reading classified ads from the local papers. Before you scoff, remember that Letterman has a whole segment dedicated to small town news. People from all over the country send in clippings from their local papers that they find humorous. I'm far too lazy to do that- I just rip the page out of the paper and stuff it into the same file folder as the bills I'm supposed to pay each month. (that could explain some problems I've been having lately...)
Since I didn't want to go a-quilting, or drinking with people who really like to shoot stuff, I thought I'd clean out some files. I found a bunch of newspaper clippings that I can't remember why I saved, but these ads might be the reason...
"WHO TOLD RITA THEY HAD CASINO STUFF? SHE IS 50 AND CAN'T REMEMBER!! CALL SUZI AT 555-0921. THANKS. (isn't it cool that I used a 555 number just like on TV?)
OK, if you didn't think that was funny, how about this one...I'm not making this up....
HAVE YOU BEEN DREAMING OF A BIG TATTOO BUT CAN'T COME UP WITH ALL THE MONEY IN ADVANCE? WANT TO FINANCE IT? CALL ATF. 970-555-0921. WE WILL FINANCE YOUR TATTOO FOR YOU.
(you don't think it's that ATF, do you?)
There were also some 'freebie' ads that gave me pause. The best one was a listing for a big ball of string and a disposable cat box- free to the first caller.
I think I figured it out...the folks that post these ads have simply spent way too much time hanging out in bars with those crafty quilting ladies or guys who like to shoot things. While they're on their bikes.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Mama said there would be days like this....
This is going to be brief, because I've got a headache...am kind of incapacitated by environmental elements (yea, right) I have little control over, and need to go take a nap.
I just learned 3 things I need to share immediately.
1. If someone warns you about ice on the road, and hazardous conditions...they are not being dramatic- they are trying to warn you about the elements. Pay attention!
2. When you run into a neighbor who wants to chat, and you're standing in the parking lot outside City Market, and it's 28 degrees outside ( this part is important) even if your neighbor is standing there in a sweatshirt with no jacket; stop the conversation, and get the gloves out of your purse, put your hood up or hat on, or walk directly to your car and go home. Seriously, go home! If you stand there in temperatures below freezing, with your nose running and your fingers numb while you're catching up on neighborhood gossip-trust me, NO GOOD WILL COME OF IT!
3. Don't for a moment think that you can drink a couple of shots of Colorado's Own Corn Whiskey and go on to perform any kitchen tasks that involve high heat, or sharp knives. I'm here to tell you, unless you're used to it- like other things I've mentioned, will not have a good outcome.
This is a rather short post...because I have to go warm up, check the front of my car for damage; my extremities for frostbite; and then, most likely, throw up.
Yeah, I'm a rookie. What else is new?
I just learned 3 things I need to share immediately.
1. If someone warns you about ice on the road, and hazardous conditions...they are not being dramatic- they are trying to warn you about the elements. Pay attention!
2. When you run into a neighbor who wants to chat, and you're standing in the parking lot outside City Market, and it's 28 degrees outside ( this part is important) even if your neighbor is standing there in a sweatshirt with no jacket; stop the conversation, and get the gloves out of your purse, put your hood up or hat on, or walk directly to your car and go home. Seriously, go home! If you stand there in temperatures below freezing, with your nose running and your fingers numb while you're catching up on neighborhood gossip-trust me, NO GOOD WILL COME OF IT!
3. Don't for a moment think that you can drink a couple of shots of Colorado's Own Corn Whiskey and go on to perform any kitchen tasks that involve high heat, or sharp knives. I'm here to tell you, unless you're used to it- like other things I've mentioned, will not have a good outcome.
This is a rather short post...because I have to go warm up, check the front of my car for damage; my extremities for frostbite; and then, most likely, throw up.
Yeah, I'm a rookie. What else is new?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)