Category Archives: family

Run home. Run like the wind.

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This was my sister’s plea to me while I was away on my business trip to Texas.  Run home.  Run like the wind.

That was after I told her about the sign prohibiting weapons in the bar/lounge.  (Why do people need to be reminded that weapons don’t belong in a bar/lounge.

Renting a car in a city of freeways invites problems, especially for me, someone born and bred on the Island of Manhattan, amd driving in the Big Country.  But it is ok to have lapses of judgment on the little things.  I just hate having to ask people to call taxis for me everywhere.  I thought I would feel more in control having a car.  Also, I had a few different meetings scheduled during my trip. 

I had a GPS gizmo.  I kept typing in LBJ Freeway which, by the way, is the largest vehicular artery into Dallas, and the GPS gizmo didn’t recognize it.  Everyone calls it LBJ Freeway, so it never occurred to me to type in Lyndon Baines Johnson Freeway.  Doesn’t GPS recognize “JFK Airport”?  So I was driving blind, knowing only that LBJ Freeway is 635 and I wanted to go east.  Dallas is sprawling so I was driving for what felt like hours and seemed not any closer to anything looking like a business district.  I did make it finally, with my brother’s help in the last few minutes, so I could meet him for lunch.  GPS worked after that. 

It was a good trip and I saw friends and family and did a little business.  But, I missed my family and was ready to come home. 

I tried to get an earlier flight, which was already delayed 3 hours.  Sometimes I was No. 2 on standby and sometimes I was kicked to No. 10.  No one could tell me why.  The attendants wouldn’t let a husband and wife fly together, but they bumped me as I was about to get on the plane because a 20-something woman needed to connect in NY for a flight to VT for a wedding weekend that started the next day (with wedding probably on Sunday).  No one asked if it was ok with me. I would have said, “sure” but I would have insisted on priority standby status in return. So, of course, the airline staff knew better than to ask me or make eye contact with me. That enraged me but I kept it in check, since I don’t break FAA or TSA rules because Homeland Security still makes me think of Dick Cheney and so it freaks me out. And I dropped to 22 on standby for the next oversubscribed plane that was also delayed.

So I just went to the counter of the NEXT flight and met a perky customer assistant who told me there were 20 unsold seats on the flight.  I knew that all the people ahead of me on the new standby list would fill those seats, so I paid a transfer fee and got a seat with a seat assignment and everything.  Then all the angry people who didn’t get on the second flight came storming through the airport to get on my flight.  Cost of transfer ticket: $50; the smug feeling that you’ve outsmarted the hoards: priceless.

All of this so, as a result of delays, I could leave LATER than my original departure. But I think my scheduled flight was canceled because after awhile, LaGuardia shuts down. The thoughts of being trapped in the Republic another night and staying at an airport hotel were more than I could handle.

My earlier smugness had a karmatic boomerang effect.  The man across the aisle on the plane was really loud and was the kind of guy who acts as if all the world’s his stage and every comment is for his benefit and requires his response. Then he had two gin and tonics. The perfunctory handing out of the ear phones was cause for a lively (no, actually, deadly, deadly boring and exasperating) exchange between this guy and the flight attendant. I put my ear plugs in just to close out the noise.

All in 9 hours either in an airport or on a plane.

So while I wanted to run, run like the wind, I schlepped in a glorified cargo pit. G-d, I love this City, even the gross cab air freshener.

 

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Republic of Texas

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Just today a Dallas newspaper had an article about secession.  It posited that more people outside Texas than inside would like the state to secede from the Union.

I saw my brother for lunch.  My sister-in-law suddenly got sick at the sight of me and begged off lunch.  I am trying not to connect the dots.

I sat in the bar/lounge of my hotel, waiting for my friends for dinner, and saw a sign that weapons are not allowed in the bar/lounge.  I’m from New York City, where grit and crime are part of the  urban landscape, and I have never seen such a sign.  I suddenly felt safer in NY.  At least I know that in No-Where-istan, that fabulous, mythical place, there are no weapons, concealed or otherwise.

Actually, given that my hotel was in the seamy part of Dallas (my secretary allowed “cost-cutting” to go too far), I am feeling like I am in an area of Dallas that, if this were NY, would be called Fort Apache, The Bronx.

But no gunfights so far, so I don’t really feel like I am in the Republic of Texas.  This is already a long, strange trip and Jerry Garcia had the benefit of drugs.

republc

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Soldiers and civilians will die whatever the Afghanistan strategy

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G-d bless the men and women in our armed services.  They put their lives on the line in Somalia, on the DMZ between the Koreas, in Afghanistan, in Pakistan and in many other places known and unknown.  They are heroes.  (Ok, there are some gross exceptions to the rule — Abu Gh’raib for example.) 

I hate the war in Iraq and I know I am blessed to have others fight those dangerous battles.  Regardless of how you feel about the war, the veterans deserve all that a grateful nation should give them — honor, respect, the best medical care in the world, the best jobs, the best education for them, their spouses and children, economic security in old age and even throw in a country club membership.  And still, there is no way to repay the dedication and honor of these brave souls who have seen and done the unspeakable.

Afghanistan seems to be a quagmire.  We are damned if we pull out, we are damned if we keep the status quo and there are no assurances of success if we commit further troops there.  In short, soldiers and civilians will die no matter what decision is made. 

I will not allow my son to fight unless there is an imminent threat to our country.  And, in that case, I will go to war with him to protect this nation.  So, I can’t say that other people’s children should go.

For everyone involved in the decision-making process, I hope they have children in the line of fire.  Then, I’ll believe it is the best decision and not a political one.

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President Obama, I am here, I am queer and I am “over” your speech

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You gave a campaign speech.

You re-told the story of the LGBT fight for equality.

Mr. President, how will you add to our collective story line?

I know that you need to get the economy, health care and two wars under control and then, if you still have enough political capital, you can make good on your promises to our community.  That is the way it should be. 

We are Americans, after all, and jobs and economic recovery and health care come first.  

But, please don’t keep promising.  What is the status of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?  In your speech, you essentially said that a national hate crimes bill is effectively a done deal.  I sure hope you are right.

By the way, Mr. President, you could have carried off a lavender or rainbow tie.

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School days

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Today was our parent-teacher conference.  Our son is blossoming at his new school.  The feedback is that, although he has some areas that require work, he is smart, well-liked and presents as a kind, warm-hearted kid. (Note to self: confirm we are really talking about the same child.)  That is great news.

After the conference, we wait because he wants to come out and greet us.  He runs into our arms and then runs away because he is in the middle of something he finds fun. (Note to self: wait until later to cry over how independent he is.)

After last year’s terrible experience in a large public school, my son who needs some extra attention, is finding his place in his new school.  And we, his moms, are slowly shedding the stress of last year and enjoying the re-kindled love of school and learning.  (Note to self: approach networks about a made-for-TV movie.)

It is true that a parent is only as happy as his/her saddest child.  Today, my son is happy.  And if my son is happy, then the economy can stink (but not for much longer).  Life is good today.

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Fighting the Hopelessness

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I come from strong stock. My parents were born in the 1920s to immigrant, semi-literate parents.  My parents were in their late 30s and early 40s when they had us.

They lived through the depression, the wars and made the galactic leap beyond the Lower East Side and Pelham Parkway (in the Bronx) to settle down in midtown Manhattan. We had all of the advantages and none of the handicaps of my parents’ and grandparents’ generations. My grandfather would shake his head — anything is possible in America.

We were raised to expect to work hard and succeed. Success was the inevitable end of hard work. You could miss Mother’s Day or a family celebration — even great uncle Lou’s retirement party — if you were working. (But you couldn’t miss a funeral or a shiva because even if you didn’t like the person alive, G-d forbid you wouldn’t pay your respects after the end. But I digress.)

Success was measured by your ability to give more to your children and community than your parents did. A Nobel Prize was not required but not off the table either, so to speak.

I can’t live up to my heritage. Why?  I am a formerly successful lawyer, whose practice continues to crater in the aftermath of the greatest economic meltdown since the Great Depression.

But failure is not an option. No matter what, we are responsible for our lives and fear of homelessness is good.

Fear is a motivator but hopelessness is the enemy. I try to imagine that I am the protagonist in a Robert Ludlum novel about an anemic looking, gray-haired, 40-something desk jockey — ok, work with me — who fights against the great evil of NO HOPE.  So call me Joan Bourne (Jason would be too butch).

I want my family to live in comfort and I want this world to be a better place for my having been born into it. But fighting the hopelessness is overwhelming.

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Dad’s 89th birthday dinner

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So, another family celebration.  We all talk at once so no one hears anyone else’s opinion.  When we don’t want anyone to argue with us, we start our opinions with, “unencumbered by fact or information.”  Of course, no one is really listening. 

At one point we were talking over each other about which candidates won the run-off primaries in New York City.  My 7 year-old son asked innocently, “who did you vote for and why?”  So we all talked at once but at some point we fell quiet when my brother-in-law was explaining in earnest to my son the differences between the investment strategies of candidates Yassky and Liu, and the issues of defined benefit plan. 

Trying to stop my brother-in-law from needlessly getting over-wrought at the flagrant injustices of our system and my son’s seemingly impassive expression, I kept interjecting, “he is only seven” and “he was born in 2002” and finally, “you need to be more specific about the meaning of the defined benefit plan and the applicable law.”  It took my brother-in-law a minute to realize the joke.  By this time, my son had already tuned us out and was reading his magazine.

The good news is that Dad was just happy that three generations were gathered around the table, celebrating his birthday, and my sister let him have a second glass of wine.  (And, since we weren’t really listening to each other, we can have the same conversation on Sunday night when we have our weekly family dinner.)  

Another successful family gathering.

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David Letterman, Senator Ensign, Roman Polanski

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There are no parallels among these men.

David Letterman did get out in front of the “scandal”. That was smart media.  As long as the women with whom he was intimate were consenting adults — that means without fear for their jobs or career advancement — then it is just another philandering person.  What makes it news is that he is a TV star.  What is sad is that sexual harassment happens everyday and there is no famous star to blackmail to make it stop.  David Letterman has a lot of heartache ahead of him.  But he doesn’t need to apologize to me.

Conversely, Senator Ensign needs to apologize to his voters because he is a fraud — he is not the “family values” candidate that his constituency elected and he broke the public trust in the cover-up. His extra-marital affair was not criminal or actionable — consenting adults without any specter (so far) of harassment in the workplace.

Roman Polanski is, based on the information available, a scoundrel and a sexual predator.  A thirteen year-old is a child and is not capable of consent in sexual circumstances.  Justice delayed is justice denied.  Lock him up and throw away the key.

Let’s not lump these men and their actions together.  None is a shining star, but in only one case was there a sexual criminal.  In another, it was the cover-up that is criminal.  The third, well, unless we hear more, is just disappointing and ooky.

There is one guy, whose handle is TheFlaCracker on Twitter, who refers to all Libiots (liberal idiots) as defending Roman Polanski.  That’s unfair.  I am a G-d damn Democrat and liberal and a Hillary-lover.  I am proud of it.  But, child abuse is not a liberal or conservative issue.  It is solely about our expectations and demands for the safety of society’s and our children.

The true measure of our society is how we treat the children others have “cast off”and those who abuse them.

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Home Sick

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My son complained of a sore throat and running nose this morning, enough so that my partner (POB — partner of blogger), who usually takes no prisoners, relented and let him stay home.  She had meetings and I could telecommute, so I am staying home with him.

He wanted to watch cartoons, especially a particular one that combines his favorites — dinosaurs and trains.  I told him no because being home sick is different than a vacation day.  Now, he is feeling better and is bored and misses his friends at school.  My child is whining, angry and saying hurtful things out of frustration.  (I am not really sure he was sick in the first place.)

The usual child sturm und drang, right?  No, not for our child.

This is a breakthrough for him to feel included, to say he misses his friends, to prefer to leave his toys behind and engage in a group activity, ALL at school.  This is a great, great day in our lives.

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The Bridezombies

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My partner and I are totally committed to each other.  We both want a wedding.  We just can’t seem to start the process of the wedding.

So, how do we get from desire to action to event?

Friends, seeing the pitiful sight, are offering to help with details and decisions.

Here are my thoughts:

  1. There has to be a separate area if people want to talk while the band plays.
  2. The band has to play 1960-80s classics, as well as some swing era stuff. Loud enough for dancing but not so loud that we all run for cover.
  3. The food has to be good but healthy.
  4. The place has to have an airy open feel but with an intimate feel.
  5. I am thinking about 100 people.
  6. I am thinking simple dresses for us, but not matching dresses because then we will look like bridesmaids at our wedding.
  7. No bridesmaids but chupah carriers.
  8. No toasts — just pre-cleared, vetted statements from the two brides, my sister (the SOB, as in “sister of the bride”), possibly our fathers and a representative of my college friends.
  9. We have an offer for a stand-in mother of the brides.  Her job is to criticize the food and the band even though we are paying, and then remember that she is supposed to have fun and then actually have fun.

I invite any comments and additional conditions.

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