So, in these days of recession and job loss, the morning subway rides are more subdued with less peculiar and bizarre behaviors on display. I think it is a symptom of the ever deepening crisis. Everyone — everyone — is keeping his or her head down and staying out of trouble. I don’t mean to suggest that all is rosy and normal underground. The man next to me this morning was coughing up a lung so bacterial and viral life are still thriving.
Finding out someone I consider(ed) a friend is cheating on his spouse sent me into the rant that follows. (And I don’t mean a-blame-it-on-alcohol one night stand. I can understand one-time show of colossal stupidity or total lapse of judgment because we are human.)
Maybe I am so upset because, on local and national levels, I wonder where are our humanity and our personal and societal accountability?
Our economy has been destroyed by the greedy and power-hungry — really, if you all only cheated only a little, you would be fabulously rich and 30% of Americans wouldn’t be out of work, homeless, worrying about their jobs, without healthcare or any combo of these.
Our society has been co-opted by power hungry people who control by creating “Us”es and “Them”s — really, you could be kingmakers and then be high-paying pundits without starting a culture war and leaving our national principles among the casualties.
Our religions have been hijacked by radicalism — really, as Elvis Costello asked, what’s so funny about peace, love and understanding? What is wrong with our president’s middle name and his family heritage? And what if a man loved a man?
Our politics are populated by self-serving hypocrites — if you live in a glass house, be generous about the frailty of others lest you be fodder for the 24 hour news recycle. You might even get to do something for the Common Weal instead of the Singular Ego.
Maybe humanity starts with humility. Ok, so I guess that means I should not judge my (former) friend. Instead I should hope he finds his way back to his family. So, I have proved my point by being the very type of self satisfied pompous ass against whom I started this rant. Damn. I hate that.
I’ll plan on being humble tomorrow. Today, I will enjoy being the pompous ass. Because I am mad enough, I am tired enough and, gosh darn it, I am (sort of) good enough to rant today. Apologies to the Senator, formerly known as comedian, Al Franken.
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.
I am one of the lucky ones. I am healthy and I have savings and I have a job. And I am scared out of my wits by this economic disaster.
I used to be steady and strong and now I feel powerless in this multi-faceted crisis. I am whipped around like an autumn leaf in the wind.
As long as you talk, Mr. President, I feel safe. But then I go to lectures and I read articles and watch the talking heads on the 24 shmews cycle and everyone has six different opinions and no answers. It is the consensus (from self-proclaimed “experts”) of the talking heads that that we are still in free fall although we’ve caught on to part of a ledge for now, and the problems cannot be fixed because they are not fixable without throwing out the system and starting over.
Please, Mr. President, and, please, members of Congress, don’t take political advantage. Save our nation, restore our faith, be tough with those of us who knowingly borrowed more than we could afford and, most especially, those who gamed the system and gambled away our livelihoods and futures.
Stop all the in-fighting. Write legislation that works and not that is merely expedient.
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?
Think locally, act locally. Everything else is incomprehensible.
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.
Thought for the day: Only buy condos on swamp land if you like to swim with crocodiles.
Flat revenue is the new up. Jeans is the new power suit. And family is the new high value asset.
the economy is getting better . . . if you believe that down is the new up.