Author Archives: 40andover

Who is Grover Norquist and why is he so powerful?

Posted on by
Reply

Check this guy out.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grover_Norquist.

Why is this man more powerful than the rest of us voters?  Why does he get to trump the one-man, one-vote rule of our democracy?

If you think I am joking, read this:  http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2011-05-24/norquist-emerges-as-barrier-to-u-s-debt-deal.html.

Most of the GOP lawmakers have signed a pledge prepared by his organization that there will be no new taxes or increases in taxes.  According to the Bloomberg article, Norquist, President of “Americans for Tax Reform, says he has secured written pledges from 40 of the 47 Republicans in the Senate and 233 of 240 party members in the House. More than 1,300 state-level legislators, governors and even auditors have also signed, Norquist said. That includes Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker, Texas Governor Rick Perry and Ohio Governor John Kasich, all Republicans, he said.”

Of course he was lobbying for Fannie and Freddie before he was against them as emblematic of government waste and overreach.  (He may not be wrong, but he says it with unclean hands.)   “Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac brought us this collapse … This was criminal negligence on the part of Barney Frank and Dodd.”  Really?  Really? 

Oh, yeah, his partner in his lobbying venture was convicted in the Abramoff scandal.

I guess it begs the question: how stupid are WE?  After all, we as a country elected representatives that promised to be doctrinaire no matter what happens, no matter what they find when they get to Washington, no matter what they learn on the job.  If these representatives took that pledge after we elected them, that would be treason, because they would be beholden to someone not “the people” or the “nation”.  Yes, treason.  TREASON.

Grover Norquist is made possible through the ignorance of us all.

Share

It’s raining, it’s pouring

Posted on by
1

We, in NY, are luckier than most — we didn’t have massive flooding, destructive tornadoes, out-of-control oil spills sullying our coast lines or active volcanoes.

But if this rainy, gray weather doesn’t stop soon, I am moving to Seattle or London.  At least there no one deludes him or herself into thinking that the sun will come out tomorrow.  In fact, no one bets his or her bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun. (Apologies to Orphan Annie.)

It is just Gray.  Dreary.  Soupy.  Frizzy.  And Sleepy.  Give me a few minutes, and I will come up with two more Dwarfs.  But forget Snow White.  Let her sleep (she is the one who sleeps, right?).  Why wake her for this weather?

Share

Hitting the roof

Posted on by
Reply

Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok, even the Republicans, Boehner himself, have acknowledged the catastrophic nature of our nation’s defaulting on its obligations. Yet, lawmakers are trying to leverage our need to raise the debt ceiling to exact political points.

Yes, lawmakers think they can play brinksmanship with our future.  The mere fact that our politicians would keep the world — and us — in suspense until August will erode our creditworthiness abroad and the global confidence in our economy.  We think of us as a society where our word is our bond.  Well, look in the mirror.  It isn’t pretty.

Imagine how you would view a country so divided in their “parliament” that one side is willing to risk ruin to have its way — slash and burn tactics.  So, just because we are the United States of America, you think we can mess with this stuff, without ramifications?  If you do, you are arrogant AND crazy.

Am I good with so much debt? No way.  I pay my credit cards on time.  I can afford my mortgage and could pay it off tomorrow. I believe that a person, a family, a country must live within its means.  If we need to spend more, then someone needs a second (part-time) job.  We didn’t do that and fought two wars and gave tax cuts to people like me who never asked for one, didn’t need one and didn’t want one.  So, now we have to live with the consequences. And I am willing to pay more in taxes to clean up George Bush’s and Trent Lott’s and Bill Frist’s nightmare.

It is important to note that the GOP — under whose governance drove us into this debt hole — is the party that is playing it to the bone.  Not because they are arrogant; but because they are hypocrites.   And the hypocrisy is so galling that it makes me want to go to the Congress and shout: “WORRY ABOUT US AND NOT YOUR POLL NUMBERS, YOUR JOBS AND YOUR POWER!!!!!!! FIX IT NOW.” If there is a report of a middle-aged lunatic screaming in the House of Representatives, you’ll know that I may be off-line for a while, in federal custody.

I think we have to raise the debt ceiling, not only because the credit of our great nation is at stake, but because it makes sense.  And, although I am an unabashed and unapologetic liberal, I am conservative in my investments and my rationale for raising the debt ceiling is, to my mind, steeped in the rudiments of getting out of debt and on a sustainable course.

It is, perhaps, counter-intuitive that a shirt-maker in bankruptcy should be allowed to borrow MORE in order to pay workers to stitch together the pieces of cloth so that they become shirts.  Scraps of cloth are worthless; however, a completed shirt sells for something.  That differential is presumably more than the amount borrowed.  The net effect is that there is a meaningful exit from bankruptcy where the assets of the company are maximized to pay off debts and re-emerge on sounder footing.

We have many fights ahead about just how we re-emerge from this mess a stronger nation, indivisible, with liberty, FAIRNESS and justice for all.  Let’s give ourselves some breathing room, for our sakes and the future of our country.

You may disagree with me on principle (IFOB (Italian friend of blogger) and JR (old friend from Camp Wingate/Camp Kirkland): go at me) but you can’t disagree with the necessity and exigencies of the circumstances — with a no-win choice, you must choose to raise the roof.

 

Share

Non-bloggable moments

Posted on by
2

College friends were in town this weekend and those who were in town on Friday came over at our house for a late bite.  We were all catching up on each other’s news, and I was telling a story, and my dear, dear, friend, let’s call her DCFOB (DC friend of blogger), exclaimed, “this story isn’t on your blog!! I thought everything was on your blog!!”

Dear, dear, DCFOB, not everything can be on my blog.  Then, no one would talk to me.  So, yes, there are wild and crazy stories — just ask IFOB (Italian friend of blogger) but there need to be blog-free zones.  In fact, one of our dear friends prefaced one conversation this weekend by stating, “this is a blog-free conversation!”

So, everyone, I try to be tactful where others are concerned.  I am not always (or often) successful, but I do try.  Really, really, hard.  And some stories . . . well, I think I have shown exceptional restraint.  But, when senility starts to eat away at my discretion, just hope that the memories get lost too.  Otherwise, be afraid.  Very afraid.

Share

High School Reunion

Posted on by
2

THIRTY YEARS.

Thirty years.

Thirty YEAHS (said like a New Yorker).

It isn’t as if we were celebrating 30 years of marriage or a career.  We were celebrating surviving for 30 years since we last saw each other as a group.  “So, whatcha been doin’?” would require days, if not weeks, with every classmate, in order to catch up.

But we only had a few hours.

I was the class nerd whose parents couldn’t afford to have me keep up with the clothes and accessories of the others.  So, I always felt I was on the outside looking in and, sometimes, some of the girls were mean.   And, of course, I had an inkling that I was different somehow (later, to realize I was gay).  I think it manifested by not understanding how to connect to the other girls; I was always at home talking with the guys.

So, this is was a loaded event for me.  But I had a plan:

look thin and prosperous.

Except I hurt my arm 10 days ago and hadn’t been to the gym.  And, POB (partner of blogger) is no longer employed.

Great plan; bad execution.

So, I was bloated and feeling unprosperous.  And yet I am a lucky person in life and I am really happy, so, Saturday, I had a new plan:

Just make sure the make-up is flawless and the lipstick color is awesome.

So I put on comfy clothes and went.  There was a small pre-party at a classmate’s chocolate shop, with people who were always quirky and kind enough to accept my bizarro-ness and eccentricities even then.  Immediately upon entering the chocolate shop, all trepidation disappeared.  And the years melted away in such a warm and wonderful way.

[Just a side bar about the chocolate shop: Bond Street Chocolate, www.bondstchocolate.com, a tiny, fabulous place that is worth the schlep to East 4th Street; it isn’t actually on Bond Street].

Everyone was instantly recognizable.  Same laughs, same voices, same cadences and same energies.  Some looked so fabulous that I just know they have their own Dorian Gray-like pictures in their closets.  They were AGELESS.  And no scalpel touched their faces.  (Maybe some hair coloring and under-eye cover stick but that was it and we are 48!!)

We all arrived at the official party.  The turn out was amazing.  And, again, people were instantly recognizable.

Life has tread on all of us.  We lost our harder edges.  The mean girls weren’t mean anymore.   Those old distinctions didn’t matter anymore.  We all had happy times, disappointing times, scary times, and sad times and that makes us all a lot more grounded than teenagers spending grades 7-12 together in a tiny Upper East Side private school.

I left grateful for the occasion to reconnect with people who share some of my past and, I hope, part of my future.

Share

Older? Yes. Wiser? Hmmm.

Posted on by
Reply

I thought that wisdom came with gray hair (and wrinkles).  A cosmic consolation prize for an aging gameshow contestant.

My parents got wiser and smarter as they got older (well, until they started to forget everything, so let’s leave that).

So my point is that I was expecting to feel a growing serenity — that you’ve-seen-enough-of-the-world-to-know-that-things-work-out-and-you-can-roll-with-the-punches-of- life kind of feeling — by the time the wrinkles started appearing under my eyes (or would be appearing but for the daily slathering of face cream).  Actually, the wrinkles are there, but if you apply the hydrating cream, then put on make-up and never, ever, wear your bifocals when looking in the mirror, then the wrinkles just disappear.  (Is this too much back story, here?)

Instead, I feel more anxiety and less sure about the world around me.  (AND, I have gray hair and wrinkles.)

I will be seriously bummed if I bypass the serenity thing and go straight from high-anxiety to senility.  Actually, that may get me to about the same state of mind. 

Ok, never mind.

Share

It makes me wonder

Posted on by
Reply

People always say that two people can view the same set of events from the almost identical vantage points and have three different versions.

I posted earlier on Facebook that I was walking by a group of men outside a neighborhood bodega, “chewing the fat” about Osama Bin Laden.  “How did the man manage three wives holed up in the same house for five years?” Clearly, proof positive that he was a worthy adversary of the United States of America.

I did not take that away from the unfolding events.  (I will say that I was happy that his kids were able to go out and play.  Judaism teaches that the sins of the fathers are not inherited by their children.)

I didn’t immediately think the wives were complicit or victims.  Those kind of knee-jerk conclusions simply marginalize them as cardboard cut-outs to fit our view of women in the fringes of a culture, religion and world view we have not even begun to understand.

I also did not take away, as Herman Cain did, that President Obama may have “dithered” before making the decision.  On what basis does Mr. Godfather’s Pizza say this?

Here is what I took away from this:

  • The president made a decision that would make him a hero if it worked, or a pariah like Jimmy Carter, if it didn’t.
  • The decision rocked an unsteady alliance with Pakistan, an unstable country with lots of nuclear warheads.
  • The killing will incite retaliation.
  • If Osama Bin Laden was a continuing terror mastermind, then this is what had to be done.
  • If he was the isolated, broken man that some videos suggest, then this was a vengeful and stupid mission with untold consequences dripping in blood.

 

Share

Being 51

Posted on by
1

Being 51 isn’t as hard as I expected.  (Ok, I am really only 47, but you would understand this all from prior blog entries.)

I can do things that any 47 year-old can do, only I look GREAT at it.  I was doing some unassisted pull ups at the gym and one guy came up to me and said he was impressed and that he doesn’t even see young women do that.

What do you think gave it away?  The gray hair, some wrinkles, that way my body imperceptibly (at least to me) changed with time and gravity?

I asked him, “What tipped you off that I wasn’t young any more?”

He was embarrassed — poor guy — and took out his wallet and showed me his fat pictures.  I guess he felt he owed me.  Here is this young guy with a sculpted body who was a candidate for the “Biggest Loser” about 6 months ago.  Up close, I could see the faint stretch marks around his outrageously toned biceps and triceps.

I told the guy he could even call me old lady.  Of course, I didn’t say that I would smack him if he actually did.  Then again, with his new body, he wouldn’t feel it if I tried.

Share

Being Mom on Mother’s Day

Posted on by
1

POB (partner of blogger) and I don’t exchange mother’s day cards, although TLP (our son, the little prince) must make two — one for each of us.

I still have a vague feeling that I have forgotten something on Mother’s Day, as if I should be sending a card to someone.

But, when we gathered for the obligatory lunch, I went through the mental catalogue:

  • Dad’s mother: May 1973;
  • Mom’s mother: June 1988;
  • Mom: January 2003; and
  • POB’s mother: April 2006.

Nope, no one to whom to send a mother’s day card.  Anyway, the postage for four cards from here to Heaven would probably break the bank.

Now, POB and I are the honorees.  We get the handmade cards that we will treasure for a lifetime even if the ungluing pink glitter is all over the house.

Even my brother called to wish us a happy mother’s day.  He must have that same sense of forgetting to do something — like sending a card to Mom.

I know SOB (sister of blogger) is having a good cry going through the family pictures in her photo album which we reverentially call “The Shrine”.

It just doesn’t feel right.  Mom, it is still your day. Always will be.

I love you.

 

 

Share

Another year, another synagogue retreat

Posted on by
Reply

This year’s synagogue retreat didn’t provide as much blogging material as last year’s.  But I have a gift of missing the whole point of a spiritual retreat.  But someone said that G-d is in the details.  That can’t be correct; see below.

The retreat started the same as last year, with the welcome sign that dared me to wreak such havoc that the sign would be revised to read “Maybe we are blessed by your arrival”.

Next year, I hope to report back that my efforts were successful.

The theme of the retreat was “transitions”.  Actually, throughout the retreat, there were some really poignant and insightful observations as to certain life cycle and relationship transitions.  Even I have to admit (grudgingly) that the discussions and religious services did strike chords in me.

There was a specific emphasis on inclusion of members of the transgender community and their stories and issues.  Accordingly, our name tags listed our preferred pronouns, such as “she/her” “ze/hir” “he/his” “they/their”.   My selections were so ordinary:

We got an upgrade from our accommodations last year.  As you may remember, we stayed in a bungalow that the forest was in process of reclaiming.  Apparently, nature correctly recognized it as a compost before the retreat management did.  This year, our accommodations ranked a few levels above girl scout camp:

Ok, maybe just one level above girl scout camp.  But we did have a mini-fridge.

The camp keeps the Sabbath and maintains a kosher kitchen.  So, no coffee on the Sabbath.  A riot almost breaks out each year.  I heard someone offer anyone $1,000 for a latte.  That night, the same person was offering even more for a shot of tequila, right after everyone found out there was no wine with dinner.  Ok, the camp maybe “shomer shabbos” (Sabbath observant) but us visitors, well, not so much.

Also, the food was not so kid-friendly (cholent, quinoa with fruit and string beans, etc.), so one family broke the Sabbath and drove their kids to McDonald’s because the kids could find nothing to eat.  Hey, living by Torah means that you can’t let your kids starve.  (We packed enough snacks, yogurt and fruit so that TLP (our son, the little prince) would have enough to eat.  We also had to rely on this stash.)

But there are helpful reminders to everyone about religiosity, especially in one’s most private moments:

(Same sign as last year, but good material is good material.)

The camp is also a working farm, so we saw Hasidic Jews tending to the goats.  There was goatyurt for sale, “blessed” goat cheese, and other kumbaya stuff. In fact, the gift shop offered bottles of essence of peace of mind and women’s cycles.

Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya. Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

I don’t know if POB (partner of blogger) can convince me to go for a third time.

Share