Yuck.

I already have this New Year’s Eve planned.  I am going to express enough milk to get The Girl through a day or two, and then I am going to put The Boy to bed, sit down with Hublet and an entire bottle (or more) of champagne, and play a drinking game of my own devising entitled, “Thank God 2009 is OVER.”  The rules are simple:  every time you think of a stress-inducing event from the previous year, chug. 

It could take a case of champagne to get through, now that I think about it.

So the radio silence this week has been caused by The Boy’s acquiring some sort of virus.  He hasn’t been too bothered, and in fact was pleased by one aspect of being sick–it meant that when I took him in for his 8-year-old checkup he didn’t have to get the flu shot.

The doctor said it was either some random thing or a very mild case of flu, so I’m just trying not to breathe while inside the house for the next few days.  I would much rather The Boy spend a couple of days sofa-bound prior to the Blessed Event rather than afterward, but on the other hand the prospect of giving birth with the flu doesn’t really appeal to me. 

And speaking of things that don’t appeal…I’ve been following the Polanski/Letterman/yucky people threads on the intarwebs and I must say that it has all left me with an unpleasant yucky feeling, and one that apparently isn’t obvious.

Lost in all of the “the rich get treated differently,” “rape-rape,” “hollywood is moral because it has compassion,” “is it harrassment or not,” “but he isn’t a politician”  parsing of the standards to which we should hold people is this question:  if we’re spending all of our time defining standards downward in order to spare someone we may like personally, haven’t we then lost our standards?

Polanski is in a realm of his own.  In the immortal words of Dolly Parton, “turn that rooster into a hen.”  That’s all I have to say about that, notwithstanding Harvey Weinstein’s inability to understand that compassion by itself isn’t the same as morality. 

The Letterman issue is where I get puzzled about the parsing.  See, if we have standards, then that means that NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE, or HOW FUNNY YOU MAY BE, or HOW CONSENSUAL THE CHEATING WAS, or HOW MUCH OF A VICTIM OF EXTORTION YOU ARE, or HOW THIS IS A PRIVATE AFFAIR, if you cheat on your wife (or your girlfriend of approxmiately eight million years) you still are wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  And kind of a yucky person, to boot.

Yes, human beings are fallible.  Yes, forgiveness is possible and that issue is between Letterman and his wife and/or Letterman and God, though I doubt he’s the type to believe in any authority he doesn’t see in the mirror on a daily basis.

But going on t.v. and admitting you were wrong doesn’t make the behavior excusable or okay.  And it certainly doesn’t make it okay because you’re an entertainer as opposed to a cleric or a moralizer. 

Wrong is wrong.  Sorry if that harshes your mellow.

Your Wednesday Nutbar

It’s an easy target, but still an amusing read, if you find borderline personality disorders amusing:

Ralph Nader’s Time Magazine interview.

Proving that constant exposure to money, more than anything else, removes people completely from reality.  Best quote: 

By the time the thousand-page monstrosity of complexity and ambiguity gets to his desk, it’s going to be a shred of what the majority of doctors, nurses and the people in this country want — which is full Medicare for all.

I don’t mean to nitpick, but has Nader been paying any attention to anyone outside of his 14 friends who are doctors?  Sentiments among the medical community are mixed about this issue–and I’m softpedaling reality here.

Wow.  I will at least give the headline writer some props here for a headline that works on many, many levels.

And I will give Nader props for making me laugh out loud at the premise that we can all be saved from ourselves if only YOKO ONO gets involved!  Yeah, that’s what this current cluster has been missing–an aging, irrelevant performance artist.  It’s all so clear to me now.

What is an Independent to do?

A.K.A. “Your daily dose of Paglia,” wherein she does a fine job of explaining why, exactly, I am in danger of yelling “A pox on both your houses!” and setting fire to something.  I’m not sure yet what I’ll be setting on fire, but I’m open to suggestions…

Here’s why the democrats are problematic:

Though they claim to speak for the poor and dispossessed, Democrats have increasingly become the party of an upper-middle-class professional elite, top-heavy with journalists, academics and lawyers (one reason for the hypocritical absence of tort reform in the healthcare bills). Weirdly, given their worship of highly individualistic, secularized self-actualization, such professionals are as a whole amazingly credulous these days about big-government solutions to every social problem. They see no danger in expanding government authority and intrusive, wasteful bureaucracy. This is, I submit, a stunning turn away from the anti-authority and anti-establishment principles of authentic 1960s leftism.

There’s also some stuff about all those drugs everyone did during the ’60s, but hopefully those have worn off by now…

And now, lest you think the Republicans are blameless:

What a backbiting mess the GOP is! It lacks even one credible voice of traditional moral values on the national stage and is addicted to sonorous pieties of pharisaical emptiness. Republican politicians sermonize about the sanctity of marriage while racking up divorces and sexual escapades by the truckload. They assail government overreach and yet support interference in women’s control of their own bodies. Advanced whack-a-mole is clearly needed for that yammering smarty-pants Newt Gingrich, who is always so very, very pleased with himself but has yet to produce a single enduring thought. The still inexplicably revered George W. Bush ballooned our national deficits like a drunken sailor and clumsily exacerbated the illegal immigration debate. And bizarrely, the hallucinatory Dick Cheney, a fake-testosterone addict who spooked Bush into a pointless war, continues to be lauded as presidential material.

Yeah, it’s the usual laundry list of evil from the democratic side of the aisle, which is fair, but I’m also looking at you, Governor Sanford, you ginormous, Argentina-addled, oversharing toolbag.  Holy cats.

So.  Since both parties seem completely infested with sanctimonious asses and invested in ignoring reality–specifically, that the reality we’re living in now is one in which WE CANNOT AFFORD all their nifty new government-backed proposals which won’t work the way they’re advertised and all the super shiny neato-keen freedom-limiting bureacracy that will come with it–what’s next?

Besides fire, I mean.

Your Friday Dose of WTF

Well, we’re officially ensconced in the new house, so that’s a load off my mind–and with a scant 5 weeks to spare before the Blessed Event.  Anyone know of some reputable painters who can get the interior whipped into shape in a few days?

Blogging will hopefully be more regular now, at least until the onset of Newborn Syndrome, at which time it will devolve into random smatterings of nonsensical ideas that seemed rational at the time…

But enough of that.  I titled this post the way I did for a reason.

So this morning I had to sign a permission slip for The Boy to be allowed to view the president’s little “stay in school” speech at his school.  Yes, we have arrived at rock bottom in terms of both the level of political discourse in this country and in the level of mistrust of our elected officials on both sides of the aisle.  And while I’m all about some healthy scepticism, particularly when the political class tells you to relax and let them help you because they know what they’re doing and you should just trust them, I’m mostly flabbergasted by all of this hoo-raw.  Although on the other hand, there’s never really been a p.r. nightmare that the NEA couldn’t make much worse, so maybe I shouldn’t be that surprised…

But of course all of this pales in comparison to the REAL burning issue of the day:  Is Lady Ga-Ga an hermaphrodite?  Best related headline:  “Has Lady Ga-Ga got a Poker?”

Silly season, indeed.

YEARGH.

Let me just kick the dust bunnies and cobwebs out of the way, and apologize for my hiatus.  Things here have been…stressful…of late.

It seems this year that for every piece of good news we get, we also get a complimentary kick in the teeth.  Latest example?  Well, the Gestating Girl is apparently gestating along just fine.  She’s already upside down and in the lotus position, practicing her swallowing and gaining weight in preparation for her October debut.  We’re at 3 lbs, 10 oz. right now, which is awesome.  I tend to have nice, petite babies, which makes me happy.  So things are doing  just fine on that front right now.

Which means that of course SOMETHING needs to go horribly awry with the house moving.  Apparently a local builder–who had several homes he couldn’t sell and a debt load he couldn’t therefore sustain–undersold all the homes on the market in the neighborhood where we’re buying just in time to completely screw up the appraisals process.  So, even though the home we’re purchasing appraises well above what we’re paying for it, the aforesaid builder skewed everything downward far enough that the mortgage insurance company my loan agent is using won’t cover the mortgage, hyper-excellent credit rating, sizeable down-payment and fabulous debt-to-income ratio be damned.  Commence mad scrambling from my loan agent, realtor, etc., to find someone else to cover it or figure out a way to make this work.  We’re two weeks from closing, by the way.

So.  I am shortly to be 8 months pregnant and homeless.  You do NOT want to be around me when this happens, and I calmly informed my loan agent and realtor that perhaps they should pass this data along to the mortgage insurance people as well, so that they won’t be alarmed when a large, enraged pregnant woman shows up at their office and commences to give birth on their doorstep.

At least when my newborn daughter shakes her tiny, angry fist at them, I will feel somewhat better.  Maybe if I’m really lucky, she’ll poop on them as well.

Attack of the Ukranian Man-Boobs

All right, I’ve had it. If you are a world leader, please, for the love of all things holy, KEEP YOUR SHIRT ON! Please. I am begging you. Because no matter how successful you are, or how well (or poorly) your country is faring, no one wants to see your boobs.

I PROMISE.

Let’s face it, fellas.  Most of you are upwards of middle aged, the time in life when things start to sag and drag, no matter how many chest presses you do.  Why you would think that showing some saggy pecs to the world would impress anyone with your virility is frankly beyond me.

I mean, think about it.  Would Golda Meir or Benazir Bhutto have done photo ops on a topless beach to prove to the masses that they possessed enough feminine mystique to rule a country? No. Just, no. 

So if they wouldn’t have done it, and you’re a man who may actually wear a larger bra size than either of those women, do us all a favor and Keep. It. Covered. Take a page from the book of decorum, is all I’m asking.

The eyes of web surfers everywhere will thank you, starting with mine.

A Bug, a Big Ol’ Bug. NOT a Feature.

Climate legislation as a means toward “global governance” of climate law? You mean, the same sort of efficient, caring bureaucracies that run the U.N. and its peacekeeping efforts? Or to use a local metaphor, the DMV? That sort of global governance? Why doesn’t that thought fill me with warm fuzzies? Perhaps because my limited experience with state government via academe has pretty much proved that it’s full of venal gasbags who adopt the pose of moral superiority to mask the fact that they’re just as hard in pursuit of the almighty dollar as the “evil rich” they like to blame everything on?

I swear to God, I’m going to end up in a survivalist bunker before this decade is over. I’m beginning to think that everyone has lost their minds, and that they’ve all decided, “Screw it! Let’s just go whole hog and see what happens!” Let’s pass bills we haven’t read! Let’s give quotes to the media asserting that making bills huge and impossible to read is a good thing! Let’s spend money that not only don’t we have right now, but that NO ONE HAS OR WILL HAVE FOR THE FORSEEABLE FUTURE, and as a bonus, ensure that taxes will go up by passing these aforementioned un-read bills! Whee!

And these people are supposed to be the smartest in the room? Academia has failed, folks, and I can’t even drown my sorrows in beer.

If Jonathan Swift Were Still Alive

He would have written this article.

Good grief.

Perception versus Intent

Ya know, with all the flap over the Letterman/Palin hoo-ha, the one thing that stands out to me is that he chose to hang his latest apology (that makes how many, now?) on the perception versus intent thing.

See, call me cynical, but I thought all along that the intent of the joke was for us to perceive the obvious (to those of a particular political bent) message that a republican female and her family are worthy of nothing but mean-spirited scorn. In that light, the joke was perceived exactly as it was intended, and no apology should have been necessary…

But maybe I’m overthinking this.

On a somewhat related note, while skimming the internet during this brou-ha-ha, I came across an interesting take (from a liberal feminist perspective) in the comments section of this blog on why people freak the hell out whenever someone mentions the “a” word–and I mean “abstinence,” not “abortion:”

But I remember when abstinence only became a talking point of the right several years ago. Back than I got that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach over the way people ridiculed it. I’m not a fan of abstinence only, but the criticism of it was filled with misogyny. One of the foundations of a our patriarchy, is that girls exist to serve men, sexually. They must be constantly primped, ready and willing. In fact, about 80% of their value to society involves being sexually available and desirable. If you don’t believe me, watch Degrassi High or the Disney channel.

Anyway, a piece of the abstinence only message involved telling girls they could say no. They could decide they weren’t ready, they wanted to wait, they wanted to focus on other things, like getting an education, like setting themselves up in a career.They could invest their energy in something other than sexuality. You don’t have to have sex to have value. The backlash against this was amazing. How dare you imply girls have a choice? How dare you send a message that they can say no? But it got all lost and hidden behind politics. If you even mentioned that girls could choose to be abstinent, you were a rabid right winger, a christianist, a godbag. Eventually, in my progressive little community we went back to the very “liberal” approach to sex ed. Girls have a “choice”, they have a “choice” to say yes and have sex, they have a “choice” to bear all the responsibility for preventing pregnancy. They have a “choice” to be educated about boys uncontrollable urges. They are receptacles and it is their responsibility to protect boys from any inconvenience or consequence. They have a “choice” to be ridiculed for getting pregnant, for getting an abortion, for saying yes or for saying no.

I’ve always thought that people freaked out about abstinence due to a fundamental flaw in human nature; i.e., that people generally suck and take the easy way out.  I’ve also always imagined that the inner monologue of these folks goes something like this:  “Growing up and being responsible is HARD, and everyone keeps saying that “if it feels good, do it,” and along comes the Official No Fun League to remind us of all those hateful things like responsibility and emotional maturity and that love and sex should mean something beyond an endorphin release and a messy chin!  We hates those people!  Hates them!  And we will gnash our pearly teeth at them for ruining all our fun!”

But whether or not you buy into the whole evil patriarchy thing, that second paragraph in the highlighted comment above should give you something to think about, particularly if you have daughters.  And I would take the argument further, and state that teaching folks that it’s okay to say no to sex, or that sexual relationships have a deeper meaning than 10 sweaty minutes in a backseat and are worth waiting for, could free boys from the societal pressures to be macho sexual players, which results in them acting like a bunch of disrespectful assholes toward women. 

I think I should mention one other interesting tidbit — Palin herself isn’t abstinence-only, but believes in including it as an option in sex ed courses.  Weird, isn’t it, how it’s been portrayed in the media?  And by “weird,” I mean “totally unsurprising, really.”  But if you’re invested in gnashing your pearly teeth at the No Fun League, I guess it’s pretty useful to mischaracterize their positions. 

And so, I leave you with my Thought of the Day Regarding Abstinence:  If Lenny Kravitz can be celibate, then EVERYONE is capable of at least a little self-control, am I right?

Reason #2, 234 Why My Son Will Be An Outcast

The Boy likes to wait until I get home from work to complete the homework assignments he dislikes the most – the writing assignments.  He loves to read, and thinks math is fun, but trying to get him to write something is like pulling teeth.

I suspect that the reason The Boy waits for me to “help” him with the writing is because he’s figured out that I quickly tire of the tug-of-war between him wanting me to give him the sentence and me trying to prompt him to come up with his own ideas, and so he ends up being given more than he has to work for.  He is a clever Boy.  Diabolical, yet clever.

Anyway, his writing assignment for Tuesday was “Write 4 or 5 sentences about the ways that your family helps the earth.”

Oh, for the love of God.  I have no patience for this public school-sponsored indoctination tripe and the ascendency of all things “green,” as though a) We just figured out last week that pollution is bad, mmmmmkay; and b) Paying proper lip service to this crap in public schools is going to somehow make everyone morally superior and cleased of their sins against the Great Mother.  If you’re going to indoctrinate the youth, how about we start with some of the greatest hits from the Top Ten, like – stealing is bad, murder sucks, and oh yeah, honor your parents, punk!  But no, Gaia Uber Alles seems to be the slogan of the day:  all of the warm fuzzies, none of the actual BURDEN OF HAVING TO TRY AND BE A DECENT HUMAN BEING.  Oh boy!  You recycled a can and reused a plastic bag!  You are officially a Good Person! 

I summarize, but you get the point.  I really, really, hate that crap. I am also, perhaps, a bit bitter.

Anyway, Hublet had awaited my confrontation with this particular writing assignment with ill-concealed glee.  I have not yet figured out how he derives such pleasure from watching me rant and rave, but apparently he does, so I just go with it. 

The hormones, as you might imagine, only add explosiveness to the equation.

I took one look at the assignment, and burst out with, “I know, son.  Why don’t you just write this:  ‘It doesn’t matter what piddly crap we do, because if the astrophysicists are correct, the sun is just going to blow up eventually anyway and we’re ALL GONNA DIE!”

The Boy was actually pleased that I had given him a way to get out of the assignment.  He was less pleased when I had to explain the concept of “sarcasm,” and tell him that he might not want to inform his teacher of our Sun’s impending doom.  He was really irked when he still had to make crap up for the assignment, although he did learn both the meaning and the spelling of the word “pablum.”  And “tripe.”

So I won’t be elected Mother of the Year.  I can live with that.