Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ category

Virginia Thomas- Not Over The Hill?

October 19, 2010

I am torn between feelings of anger and pity for Virginia Thomas (wife of Clarence Thomas).

Mrs. Thomas apparently called Anita Hill’s office at 7:31 a.m. on the Saturday of Columbus Day Weekend to leave the following message:  “Good morning Anita Hill, it’s Ginni Thomas.  I just wanted to reach across the airwaves and the years and ask you to consider something. I would love you to consider an apology sometimes and some full explanation of why you did what you did with my husband.  So give it some thought. And certainly pray about this and hope that one day you will help us understand why you did what you did. OK, have a good day.”

Ms. Thomas later portrayed this message as “extending an olive branch,” also saying that “the offer still stands.”

Let’s start with the anger/irritation piece.  (That’s usually more fun.)   I would tend to characterize a request that someone apologize and pray about all the bad things they supposedly did as more of a hickory switch than “an olive branch.”  Do olives grow on pricker bushes?  (Slight pun intended.)

Which begs the bigger question: why does Mrs. Thomas think Ms. Hill should apologize?   Ms. Hill was the one harassed.  Mr. Thomas got a celebrated job for life.

And why does Ms. Thomas want an explanation of what Ms. Hill did “with” her husband?

Ah–now pity/compassion springs into gear.    One can only think that the woman must live in continuing doubt, anger, delusion.

As further evidence of these extremely uncomfortable states–the recorded message.   Surely, Mrs. Thomas must have understood that it would likely become public, and too, that it would highlight the very incidents that seem to haunt her.

One would think that she might also have realized that the call would draw further attention to her political activities, as head of Liberty Central, a Tea Party-esque group, in receipt of hundreds of thousands in unidentified donations.  (Just in case you were wondering, the group, according to its chief operating officer and general counsel, has “internal reviews and protections to ensure that no donor causes a conflict of interest for either Ginni or her husband.”)

Oh good.  (One can only pray, and hope, that “conflict of interest” is not interpreted through the same lens as “olive branch.”)

PS – In fairness, I worry that the message as reported may not be accurate.  Maybe Mrs. Thomas actually said that she certainly prayed and hoped that Ms. Hill would meet her request and not that Ms. Hill should pray and hope.   This would change the tenor of the message; if I’m passing on misinformation, I genuinely do apologize.

New York Gubernatorial Debates–Madam, Muttonchops, MTA, Mess

October 18, 2010

 

New York A Mess, The MTA Worse--Holding Breath?

 

I got to watch (I should say, I made myself watch) the last half of the New York gubernatorial debate tonight.  Some of the “little” (i.e. lesser known) candidates were surprisingly interesting, including Jimmy McMillan who had by far the best facial hair (white mutton chops extending to mustache and beard), gloves, and party name: “The Rent Is Too Damn High Party”.   Kristin Davis, an ex-madam representing the Anti-Prohibition Party, was another favorite.   (She may have had the best line of the evening, calling career politicians, “the biggest whores in the State,” as she claimed that she was “the only person on the stage with the right experience to deal with them.”)

Charles Barron (of the Freedom Party), who appeared to be more of a professional pol than McMillan or Davis, seemed mainly there to needle Cuomo while not supporting Paladino.  Howie Hawkins (the Green Party) and Warren Redlich (Libertarian) came off as wonky but sincere and irritated with everyone.

Cuomo’s most memorable line (to me at least) was “Go Yankees!”, and Paladino’s (when asked to give a yes or no answer as to whether he believed in gay marriage) was:  “Gay marriage is an issue; it’s very important to the people….”

What was reassuring was that there was, at least from the lesser known candidates, a bit of candor, difference, eccentricity. ( This is New York, after all, a place where even middle class people traditionally have openly collectws their furniture from used stuff set out upon the street–it’s awful to think that it’s gone completely slick. )  The lines of the lesser known candidates were practiced–Ms. Davis seemed tied to a pad, Mr. McMillan a litany–but not their positions.  Davis and McMillan, like the Libertarian Redlich and the Green Party Hawkins, seemed to try to convince the audience of the rightness of their views, but not to camouflauge them as universally appealing.

Cuomo was, as leader, painfully careful–even the references to New York’s glorious political past (presumably when his father was in office) seemed calculated to gain points while also maintaining absolute deniability.

Paladino was a bit more willing to be himself, but his self is, well… worrisome.

What was heartening (in a way) is that everyone agreed that New York was a mess right now: that corruption had to end; the schools improved; the MTA, specifically, disemboweled.

We’ll see what happens.   (I won’t hold my breath.)

I Know I Should Be Happy About All the Women Candidates

October 17, 2010

Maureen Dowd today compared some of the “new” women candidates to the mean girls at school, the ones that painted your locker and made up stories that you were pregnant.

I am lucky not to remember a a big contingent of “mean girls” at my high school.  (The minute that I write this the fear arises that someone from my high school will post a comment saying that the reason I don’t remember the mean girls is because I was one of them.  I really really hope that’s not true.)

My high school, an all-girls’ school, was not a social Shangri-la.  There were girls that were more popular than others, more sophisticated, more cool.  But it was a relatively small school, and during the time I was there (the early 70’s), most of our emnity seemed focus on an external rival–the boys’ school, our brother school, which was only about a block away, but infinitely richer, with more land, buildings, more equipment, and far more edible food.  (Male alumni had money and power, women didn’t.)

The boys’ school, an in-our-face symbol of societal unfairness, not only quelled our internal bickering, but also made us conscious of a certain kind of responsibility.   If we wanted to get to the very same places as those boys across the green, we couldn’t afford to be just as good as they were, we were going to have to be better.

I don’t know if this turned out to be true.  When we first graduated, it was probably harder to progress as a women–to get a coveted place at certain Ivy League institutions, or, let’s say, the Supreme Court.  Later, as things burst open in certain ways, women were probably sought after.

Even so, politics has been a particularly difficult field.  There the narrow range of what is deemed acceptable in the female, and too, the demands of biology and family life have seemed particular obstacles.  Even women that got boosts from spousal connections (e.g. Hilary Clinton and Elizabeth Dole) traditionally felt bound to develop strong policy expertise and a reputation for an extremely solid work ethic.

And then came Sarah Palin, and this current host of female politicians.

Their success seems to illustrate that women have advanced to the point where they are as free as men to be idiotic, mean-spirited, uninformed.

I know I should feel happy.

In Memoriam – Rhona Saffer

October 16, 2010

I went today to the memorial service for a dear friend who died this past summer of breast cancer.  All agreed that she was funny, bright, warm, brave, strong and beautiful.  But the theme that resonated most was her extraordinary kindness and care for others.  Because of this compassion, she sometimes “mothered” her many friends; but, of course, she was especially devoted to her own children.  (They, like her, are wonderful people.)

This is a poem (a pantoum) that I wrote for her, during her lifetime, after she told me how she feared and regretted the pain that her death would cause her children.  Although any mother could relate to such feelings, they seemed particularly emblematic of her courage and selflessness.

The Last Thing
For Rhona Saffer


Know that,
when I must go,
I will love you
just the same.

When I must go,
I know it will not feel
just the same.
There will be cool air—

I know it will not feel
like my lips—
but there will be cool air
caressing your face

like my lips,
while your smile only,
caressing your face
(oh reflection of mine),

will be your smile only.
I never wanted to cause you pain,
oh reflection of mine.
That was the last thing

I ever wanted to cause you. Pain.
No, I would love you—
that was the last thing.
Just the same,

know, I would love you,
I will love you,
just the same.
Know that.

She was a much loving, much loved, person;  she is sorely missed.

Pearl’s Approach To Friday Morning

October 15, 2010

 

Yes, I know I have to get up soon... soon... soon....

 

Rescuing Miners/Minors

October 13, 2010

Thank you Chile, and you Chilean (and Bolivian) miners for an inspiring story of stamina, hope, organization.  Thanks too for heartwarming imagery–you and your loved ones weren’t only sincere and brave, but wonderfully photogenic!

Now, trying to piggy-back on that wonderful Chilean glow (sorry!):

1. In the U.S., we are going through an election where (despite the collapse of much of the private sector about two years ago), many are touting the absolute superiority of private (for-profit) efforts to accomplish virtually any task.  It’s interesting to note, in this context, that it was the Chilean government that arranged the massive rescue effort of the miners, though the San Jose mine is privately owned.  Also worth mentioning is the fact that the mine-owning company, Empresa Minera San Esteban, had a poor safety record even before the current mine collapse, receiving 42 fines for safety violations between 2004 and 2010.   (Sound familiar?)

I’m not mentioning this because I’m against private enterprise!   I’m just not sure that, in a dire situation, I’d want my health and safety to rely primarily on the efforts of a large company which is closing watching its P and L.

2. As part of the speechifying after the rescue, Chilean President Piñera said that the most important celebration “is the one in our hearts, in our conscience.”  This was a situation in which people could feel both that something right had been done and that something had been done right.

Human beings seem to like to save other human beings; people crave heroism,  especially when it happens relatively quickly.

In contrast, the slow, trudging, mundane types of rescue seem often to sap the conscience, even as more commonplace victims fail to get the benefit of national adrenaline.  I’m thinking now of minors, as opposed to miners–kids whose families are stuck in a cycle of poverty; whose teachers labor in schools with few supplies and less support.

A massive and coordinated effort, one involving organization and stamina and courage, is sadly needed.  Unfortunately, an increasingly large number of Americans seem to have convinced themselves that you can’t rescue other people, even young ones, at least, not with their tax dollars.

There are legitimate questions as to how adequate funds for education are best spent, but the bigger question at the moment is one of adquacy,  a question of conscience.

I don’t mean to diminish the truly wonderful, and well-handled, rescue effort in Chile.  But, I do sometimes wonder whether the fact of it having been made is as extraordinary as has been presented.  When it was discovered in August that the miners were alive, but trapped, what was Chile to do?   Could the country really just stand by under those circumstances?  Try to forget that the minors were still there (until they died)?

Again, there is a lesson.  Those minors trapped in poverty and poor education in the U.S. are not going to disappear just because we don’t feel like dealing with them.  Even if we try to keep them out of our hearts, we will not be able to just put them out of mind.

Blocking Writer’s Block – A Beautiful Day (Oh No!)

October 11, 2010

It was a beautiful weekend in New York City.

This can be a real trial for a would-be writer, especially one with a day job, a family, and at least one hamper of dirty laundry.

Most writers do not like waste; they carefully save scraps of scribbled paper, notebooks, drafts.  Only a terrible mishap, or true epiphany (sometimes one leads to the other), induces most writer-types, artist types generally, to discard.

A beautiful day, a free day, a three-day weekend, is something you want to savor.   As a writer, you feel you are supposed to be experiencing the beauty of the world; as a person, you want to experience the beauty of the world; as a job holder, an office worker, you are desperate to be carefree, outdoors, enjoying a sunny sky.

One problem is that most would-be writers work on computers (they save their scribbles in notebooks, but they really would prefer to avoid having to re-type) ; and most computers really don’t function well under sunny skies.  Computers, even laptops, tend to be curmudgeonly homebodies; grinches who love grey; cloud-seekers.

But it’s your one free day!  But you want to work!  But it’s beautiful outside!

You feel guilty for staying indoors working; guilty for hanging outside not-really-working.  (I confess this guilt may plague me more than the average would-be writer–I was raised, after all, as a Lutheran.)

Some thoughts:   Try a notebook, even if you will have to re-type.

Or take your laptop into the shade.   Deeper Shade.

Try just walking and thinking for a while.

And then, finally, bite the bullet, and work indoors, hopefully by an open window.

Here’s the gist of it:  if you are a would-be writer; and have a day job, and a family, and dirty laundry, you really can’t live your life quite like other people–those lucky less-fragmented souls who can, for example, just lay out in the sun or play tennis much of the day.

If you want to do your work, you simply have to devote some of your free time to it, even when the day is beautiful.

You might, however, put off the laundry.

(PS – once again I take inspiration from my dog, Pearl, shown above, enjoying the outdoors but not fixated on it, knowing that she has to get home to do her one of her true jobs.)

PPS–the titles of two videos above don’t seem to be coming out–first –“Pearl Nonplussed by the Hudson”, second–“Pearl Doing One of Her True Jobs”.

Seasons Collide – The Clogged Gears of the Organizationally Blobby

October 8, 2010

 

Pearl luckily doesn't mind "C" things.

 

Blog plus job plus dog, and even adding in yoga, can make you feel a bit of a blob sometimes–not a physical blob so much as an organizational blob.  (“S” could probably substitute for the first letter of that last word.)

It’s not a lack of external neatness; it’s what’s behind the external neatness — i.e.  clutter, chaos, catastrophe (looming).  Enough “C” things that your Consciousness begins to feel like a Computer Clogged with Cookies (Commercial); a Closet Clotted with Clothes (Crumpled);  a Cupboard Clustered With Cups (Chipped).

This kind of Clutter becomes especially Complex as seasons Change, and one set of expectations Collides with another.  (All that summer Cotton; all that autumn….um….non-Cotton.)

One approach–don’t Care so much.

But wait–you’ve already tried that one.  And even though you say you don’t Care–so much–you’re getting really tired of looking for that paper, that sweater, that thought–

Alternative approach–Care a little more.  Take the time to make more time.

Do a little less of all the frenetic, what-you-tell-yourself-is-productive, stuff and a little more of the slow, steady, sorting, supportive stuff, i.e. Clear the decks.

P.S. But don’t spend too long setting up systems you’ll maintain.  (I think you know why.)

More on Writer’s Block, Yoga, Pearl–Weaning Yourself From the Dependence on Acknowledgement i.e. Pats

October 6, 2010

 

Writing Beside Pearl (Only She Usually Maintains A Slightly Bigger Private Space.) (Also, sorry for Apple plug...)

 

Yesterday, thinking about yoga and my dog Pearl, I wrote about blocking writer’s block through finding a seat in your blank page.  Mulling over these issues further made me think about the time, some years ago, when I stopped going to yoga classes.

I practice Astanga yoga and had gone to six or seven classes a week for some years.  Then suddenly, it all got too expensive, and more importantly, too stressful.

It is very easy in a Guru-oriented practice like yoga to fixate on your teacher–to obsess over whether you are pleasing him or her, to (on the inside) constantly beg for approval.  It is easy to fixate on your fellow students too.  (Why are they getting all the assists?  Does my teacher even like me?  Is it the sweat?)

These types of thought patterns can turn one literally into a downward dog, sniffing constantly for a simulated treat.  (Think “spaniel”.)

Now, Pearl, my fifteen-year old dog, is a very different kettle of canine.  She is not averse to pats, but she won’t perform for them.   (It’s cheese or nothing.)   She likes to be quietly near her human; but she doesn’t grovel.  (Except, that is, if there’s cheese, and, perhaps–if you start it–the occasional belly rub.)

 

Perhaps A Belly Rub

 

Doing yoga to score points with a cool teachery type (at least two earrings in one of his ears, one nose stud for the female nostril)  is clearly unyogic, but doing yoga in isolation is also pretty difficult.   Often I feel sluggish and apathetic.  Even so, I generally can make myself go through the motions because of three basic reasons: (i) it is what I do;  (ii) it makes me feel good, and (iii) it is one of my few clear channels to a greater Self.

Writing is very much like that (if you leave out the sweat.)  It is fun to take a writing class; it is fun to write with a buddy–but how do you keep going without the pats of your colleagues; without acknowledgement, and no certainty of an audience.

First, you have to tell yourself that writing is simply what you do.

Secondly, you have to focus on the physical pleasure of writing–the flow of energy through your arms, the dance of your fingertips.  You have to let yourself understand that even writing “tada tada tada” can be a sensual experience.  (Much less the word “sensual.”)  And what about the elation of scribbling off that last sentence?   (Tada!)

Three–you have to let yourself enjoy your greater Self–the mind’s eye that reads what you write before you even get it down.

Finally, find your inner Pearl–that part of you which will not shy from a pat, but won’t perform a trick for it.  This is hard, but recognize that when you just let your self write–the physical pleasure, the verbal company, and the sheer satisfaction of doing what you do–will be enough to carry you forward.

(And, probably, to maintain integrity, you should maintain a safe distance from…cheese.)

 

Cheese!

 

For more on blocking writer’s block, click here or check out the category from the ManicDDaily homepage.

Calling Robert Pattinson

October 4, 2010

Where Are You RPatz?

Oh where oh where oh where is Robert Pattinson when you need him?

It’s October (possibly only weeks before another Black Tuesday) and I’m desperate for some escapism–mind candy, serial silliness, possibly  believable fantasy.  (This is not the kind of fantasy that imagines that the people of this country will finally join ranks to take positive action over any of the 4 E’s – Education, Energy, the Environment and the Economy – this is something I can sink my teeth into.)

Oh Rob!  What I need is something…  anything… to take my mind away from the facts that winter is icumen in, another office Christmas party almost upon me, and, most mindboggling of all, another year, another decade, is beginning and I still haven’t finished virtually any of the projects that I thought I would surely have finished by the last decade.  (Make that millenium!)

Rob!

Last October, you offered solace!  Smoulder! The image of a restrained, caring, wealthy vampire who would do just about anything for an outwardly clumsy and ordinary but secretly gifted and super sweet-smelling Everygirl.  (The kind we all are at heart.)   And, in the glare of you and Kristen and all those paparazzi, I could simply avoid all that work I promised myself I would do.

And now what?

Well, for one thing, you’ve cut your hair.

And, sorry, but now I’ve seen the movies.  (I don’t blame you.  Honestly, it’s the screenwriter, directors, producers–)

So what do I do?

Paul Krugman just doesn’t cut it.  (Seriously.)

I’m allergic to chocolate.

And forget about those silly Swedish books. Salander is sometimes fun,  but Kalle f–ing Blomquist?

I guess I’ll just have to get working.

(Lhude sing goddamn.)