Chocolates, PUH-leeze

So my partner and I celebrated ten years together by packing up for two nights/one day at a hotel in the city (no names, but it is in Tribeca and has the word Grand in the name).  I bet it was meant to be a groovy, gritty and cool hotel.  It was a little like being on the set of CSI: Whatever, where they all work in the dark.  Obviously no one old enough to need bifocals has anything to do with these shows (other than Horatio who doesn’t have to move his body — just his arms to lift his sunglasses on and off his face).  Is that why the guy on the original CSI had to leave?  Maybe if someone turned up the lights. . ..  But I digress.  So, this place is so dimly lit that a normal person could walk into a wall or a draped wall, in this way too groovy place.  The rooms had the same lighting issues.  Oh, I get it.  Eco-friendliness.  Nah, not eco-friendliness on purpose. Dark, gritty cool — that was the intent.  The rooms were tiny and had this post-apocalyptic decor.  There was a sad goldfish in a stark bowl in the room because apparently rental pets soothe a person who is staying in a Mad-Max-Beyond-Thunderdome room.

The staff was young and beautiful.  Clearly the only two criteria.  Experience and manners, well, those are so old-school. Also old school are adequate lighting, cheery decor (which can be chic as well — think Design Within Reach) and chocolates with turn-down service.  The economy is bad, I know, and I could give these people a few hints on customer service that might increase the rate of repeat customers.  Hint no. 1: don’t scrimp on the chocolates.

Out of the mouths of babes . . .

My seven year-old said to me, “Mom, don’t be angry, but I found the person to spend my life with and we are getting married.” He knows that his other mother and I first met when we were ten years old at camp (and then re-met almost 25 years later), so maybe he thinks that’s how it happens. The young girl in question is someone he has known for years and we adore her and her parents. But I think it is a little early for the betrothal. Luckily, while they are close friends, they don’t spend that much time together. And, he still would rather play with dinosaurs, so thank G-d for small favors.

Don’t know if I’ll survive his adolescence.

Sarah Palin is bailin’

I was away this weekend, trying to unplug and relax.  I worried about a threatened North Korean attack on the Fourth of July but that would mean that Kim Dong Il was crazy, sick AND stupid.  Still, in the back of my mind, I worried.  I thought Honduras would continue in chaos as nations back the principle of democracy although probably not the president himself.  Even Dick Cheney gave it a rest.  Ok, I thought, the usual grandstanding in Washington while everyone sets about the “people’s business”.

Oh, no! Sarah Palin is back! Check Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary.  She is listed under antonyms for “articulate”, “cogent” and “decipherable”.  She bails because she does not want to be a lame duck? So, she passes the fiscal mess (recession compounded by low oil revenues) to the lieutenant governor?  Unless he is running for governor in the next election, isn’t he a lame duck as well?  I guess she wins the title, “Lamer Duck of Alaska”.  (There would have to be three competitors in order to have a “most lame”, but, Sarah, dear, don’t start worrying about grammar.)  Must be something about the days of Sarah Barricuda or the beauty pageants.

So Governor Family Values Stanford goes down the Appalachian trail. Then Governor Responsibility in Government (but not in family planning) Palin goes OFF the Appalachian trail.

P.S.:  Sarah, being a leader is about sticking it out when it becomes hard and tough decisions have to be made.  Thank G-d you were not vice president.  If you had to ascend to the presidency, would you have bailed if Russia got tough, or Pakistan fell to the Taliban?

The Presidential hug

Dear President Obama:

I saw the tape of your hugging the woman with the terrible cancer problem at your town hall meeting. She seemed like she needed a hug. I don’t have cancer and I want a hug, too. But if I may, I’d like to offer some pointers on hug etiquette. My credentials on this subject are that I came from a hugging and kissing family.

It was a good starter as stranger-on-stranger hugs go. But you, Mr. President, are not a stranger to us. You are, like it or not, our Dad-in-Chief. Not just any dad. A Father Knows Best dad.  So, you need a blend of the stranger hug (the tepid-two-second-and-pat-pat-pat-on-the-back hug) and the mourner’s hug (as if hugging your old friend who has just lost someone special).  Let’s call it the I-get-it/I’m-here-for-you hug. I imagine it is at least a full-frontal ten-second hug, followed by a squeeze for emphasis.

I know you can do this, Mr. President. I can help you practice.  When can I show up for my hug?

Dear Mom

Dear Mom:

In life, some days are just horrible, no-good, terrible days. Today is one of those days.

I wish I could jump back in time to hear your voice and feel your hug.  But, to paraphrase Joni Mitchell, those stupid, stinking painted ponies keep going up and down and round and round on the carousel of time. 

I saw a moment between a mother and daughter — the mother comforting a crying daughter, and taking her home to care of her — and I thought that was what you would have done, just as you did a long time ago even into my late 20s, when I would run home because I was scared of life and responsibilities and failure.  I was sad for the daughter but I knew she would be all right — her mother’s love is strong and her nurturing so apparent.

Carly Simon thinks her mother is dancing with Benjamin Franklin on the other side of the moon.  I think you are lecturing G-d about changing things in the world.  I know you’re busy because the world is a bit of a mess these days.

Stop by for a chat in my dreams when you have a moment —

Love, me

A RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE

I was just on the phone canceling FOR THE SECOND TIME some stupid customer protection service on a credit card. I tried to cancel it two months ago and I had to endure a surly response from my customer service representative — the definition of oxymoron. The first cancellation didn’t go through (probably because my surly representative thought he would gain points by delaying the termination — a little paranoia is part of Manhattan survival skills) and I am on the phone again, with serieuse attitude coming from the Mr. Customer Service who is not the mere definition of oxymoron but is the true personification of oxymoron. Definitely a call center in the US because no one can fake that decidedly American accent. So, there’s a silver lining — the abusive person was a fellow American and his job was not outsourced. I don’t know if I would have remained as calm (a stretch) as I was had I realized that an American job was lost so I could be berated in this manner. He reminded me that the call was being recorded as was the call from my prior excellent customer service experience. I said that I was glad it was being recorded because I would love everyone and anyone to hear the tone and manner of the customer service representatives. We concluded our business and we ended the phone call. Now that I blog I don’t have to regale my partner, who needs me to rant like she needs a hole in the head, and she can have a little less stress this evening. Thank you to everyone who reads this because I (and my partner) owe you big time.

How Anderson Cooper 360 saved my life

Even though I have mentioned Anderson Cooper’s maddeningly, intense coverage of everything large and small, he did save my life once although we have never met. 

This episode happened a little over a year ago.  I was having a really bad day at work.  Everything that could go wrong did, in fact, go wrong.  There was an enormous amount of colleague in-fighting, and nasty in-fighting at that.  And, everyone came to me to settle the arguments and assess responsibility.  All that meant was that everyone then blamed me.  My son was having issues at school and I had to meet with the principal.  A dear friend of the family was falling faster into the swirl of dementia and I was part of the “first response team”.  The economy and my business were under severe pressure — showing the signs of the great crash that was coming. 

I was scared and I was tired and I felt a little hopeless, and everything started to boil over.  I understood in that moment that normal, ordinary people can fall off a cliff.   But I stopped and thought about how this would play on the 24-hour news cycle:  a panel of experts — white, gay and Jewish — would be disowning me as not white (someone would figure out something), not gay (because I was once engaged to a man) and not Jewish (reform, shreform) while another panel of experts — NRA supporters and ultra-right — would look into my background pointing to all the ways that, had I followed, their doctrine, I would have been ok.  And then there is the blogging through commercials.  So, I decided that I could not put my beloved family through that circus and I left the office and worked from home the rest of the day.  And that is how Anderson Cooper saved my life.

A person is as a person is, dead or alive

Death doesn’t erase parts of a person that are more conveniently forgotten or “forgiven”.  As Elie Wiesel once said, only the victims [or hurt parties] can forgive. Leave the cleansing for G-d. Not that I want only to harp on the allegations or the bizarre physical transformations swirling around Michael Jackson. We just need to recognize the complexities of a person and then give that person his or her due. Because each of us is a jumble of good and bad impulses and acts. 

I think we idolize “winners”.  And our “winners” cannot have feet of clay or disappoints their fans, so they either fall from grace or their sins are overlooked.  Unless, of course, the erstwhile “winner” emerges triumphant from adversity and then we have an inspirational Sunday movie about it.

Michael Jackson — why all of him matters

No one fits neatly into the pigeon holes our society creates for us.

Look at my statistics:

I am not married to the mother of my child but we live together (we are waiting for same sex marriage to be legal) so we have a “child AT RISK” .  “At risk” for what is never spelled out but clearly it is beyond what a civil society can bear.

I have a high paying job and we own our home so we are upstanding members of the community.

I am a finance lawyer so I am a blood sucking parasite who doomed our economy.

We have our widower fathers over to dinner on Sunday nights along with my sister and brother-in-law so we are the Cleavers or Ozzie and Harriet.

We are members of a synagogue, so we are righteous.

We have never railed against heterosexuality, so we are prophets.

We are lesbians so we are dangerous to family values and a scourge.

We love this nation and we were against the Iraqi war, so for 8 years we were unpatriotic enemy sympathizers.

Call me Sybil.