Beautiful surfer beach, spectacular waves, cool sea breeze, white sand, driftwood, sea grass, [wait for it . . . ] ah, dog shit.
Paradise w/o a pooper scooper law
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Monthly Archives: August 2009
GOP: Congrats on your Pyrrhic Victory
So, scare tactics work (see below article). Great. Thanks for that information.
Pyrrhic victory, don’t you think? No reform now — let’s leave the disaster to our children.
Thanks, Glenn Beck, Dick Armey, GOP leaders. I hope your children and grandchildren remember that, at this critical juncture, you chose to support big business profits over better medical services and economic stability.
From Yahoo:
67 percent of respondents believe that wait times for health care services, such as surgery, will increase (91 percent of Republicans, 37 percent of Democrats, 72 percent of Independents).
About five out of 10 believe the federal government will become directly involved in making personal health care decisions (80 percent of Republicans, 25 percent of Democrats, 56 percent of Independents).
Roughly six out of 10 Americans believe taxpayers will be required to pay for abortions (78 percent of Republicans, 30 percent of Democrats, 58 percent of Independents)
46 percent believe reforms will result in health care coverage for all illegal immigrants (66 percent of Republicans, 29 percent of Democrats, 43 percent of Independents).
54 percent believe the public option will increase premiums for Americans with private health insurance (78 percent of Republicans, 28 percent of Democrats, 58 percent of Independents).
Five out of 10 think cuts will be made to Medicare in order to cover more Americans (66 percent of Republicans, 37 percent of Democrats, 44 percent of Independents).
There were exceptions.
Fewer participants believe “myths” regarding the impact of proposed changes on current health insurance coverage. For instance, less than 30 percent think private insurance coverage will be eliminated. And just 36 percent think a public insurance option will put private insurance companies out of business.
In addition, only three out of 10 respondents believe the government will require the elderly to make decisions about how and when they will die.
Blogcation Day 3
Really wonderful sleep in a room cooled by ocean breezes. Still in pajamas at 9am on a Tuesday. It is a beautiful day. Down the path is a gorgeous “surfer beach”. Last night we walked along the water and it was that beautiful, relaxing scene you think you’ll only see in the movies. The erosion of the beach makes getting onto the beach tricky.
Today I have to work, but that is ok. I feel the cynicism and snarkiness drifting away . . . . but wait I got an ALL CAPS email from a work colleague. Ok, the cynicism is creeping back in . . . .
The Hatfields and the McCoys and the Clampetts?
Feuding families cause riot in Marion, Alabama
About 4% of the population of Marion rioted over a family feud. 4% of a town belongs to one or another family? Let’s think about the evolutionary implications for a “tight-knit” community.
EEeeeeewwww. EEEEeeeewww. Ok, on further reflection, let’s not.
AND, Michael Jackson is seeming less freakish by the day.
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Associated Press Monday, August 24, 2009
MARION, Ala. – Two Alabama families that had been fighting for years turned their feud into a full-scale riot Monday outside a small-town city hall, with up to 150 screaming people hurling tire irons and wielding baseball bats. The town’s police chief was hit in the head with a crowbar but was OK.
The two- or three-year-old feud apparently prompted a fight earlier in the day at a high school, after a window was shot out of a home Sunday night. Then, “all hell broke loose” later in the day, said Sgt. Carlton Hogue of the Perry County Sheriff’s Department.
“It was a full-scale riot is what it was,” said Tony Long, mayor of the town of 3,300 about 85 miles west of Montgomery.
Blogcation Day 2, part 2
It is a very tricky business living in someone else’s house for a week. The kitchen is never clean enough. The outdoor furniture is rusty. The grill needs to be heaved for a new one, with the implied promise of regular cleaning. This house is not equipped with detergents and other cleaners one might find in a “good home”.
The attached picture is the amount of garbage that greeted us, courtesy of the prior renters.
We cleaned as best we could and bought extra detergent and cleaning supplies, toilet paper and paper towels.
The scene is stunning however. Steps away from the ocean. The smell of the ocean. The cool ocean breeze. Beautiful view of the sky at dusk. Really picturesque.
The house itself is designed to maximize one’s enjoyment of the ocean, the breeze and the vista. So, it is really wonderful, all in all (especially after we cleaned).
So my bottom line is: Until we can afford to buy a beach house (and are willing to commit to going to it on the weekends), I am just going to take off my glasses and not look too closely.
Blogcation: Day 2
We found a lovely beach on the Sound and the water was terrific. I went for a run on the beach which was punctuated by calls and emails re: deals happening (or not happening) at the office. Those on the phone could hear the soothing sound of the sea. Good for them. Really, good for them.
We all went in the water and splashed around and I led my son around on his boogie board. My partner and I traded off being in the water, so she could relax and I could email the office. Not a bad deal, really, given the circumstances. My son was so happy that my heart swelled. Once that happens, you know that something will happen to deflate that happy feeling. Wait for it . . . wait . . . here it comes: my son decided that he would disobey us and go into the water alone instead of playing with his trucks in the sand as he had promised. Luckily, even with his promises, we keep him under visual surveillance. I sprinted into the water and picked him up in a fireman’s carry and brought him to the beach. I spoke to him in that scary way that my dad would speak to us if we did something really bad. I hope my son was scared. I was. And I will have a backache.
Then he took to throwing stones. Apparently, he doesn’t plan on living in a glass house. But I needed to use Dad’s way of stern talking again.
We decide to drive a little, looking for a farmer’s market more true to its name than others we have found to date. A little hard on the backroads but we find it. More produce, more Hamptons prices. This is an alien nation within the continental United States. And the dollar exchange rate is not great.
Now we are back at the beach house. We are watching Life of Mammals with David Attenborough (this episode, sea mammals).
All is Eden again. Except I have to look at my blackberry. I may send out an email that I am taking a nap. Maybe that would be a career limiting mistake.
My partner is relaxing, too. She just wants to make potato salad today and is leaving things unchopped in the fridge. Did I need to mention that she brought her own cutting knives? Hey, if chopping is therapeutic, you don’t just go to anyone’s doctor.
Even with the work intrusions, vacation is a necessary break from our usual fast-paced lives. It can be a physical staycation our couchcation (as my brother-in-law prefers), but it needs to be a mental vacation (and blogcation).
This was a boring entry. Isn’t that great? No real epic episodes (so far). Now we just have to be ok with the relative calm. Calm could be a problem. Is there a pharmacologist nearby?
Paradise lost
So I read my partner the last entry. Not a good idea. She is wonderful. And now she is calmly reading a book on her iPod and feeling the flow of vacation. Tomorrow I will be doing work and will be stressed out of my mind. She will guest blog about my neurotic tendencies and all will be Eden once again. I hope.
First day of my blogcation
I forgot that the first days of vacation are stressful.
Yesterday, after miserable traffic, we stop at the IGA in Montauk. Very triste. And very crowded. Reminds me of the Pioneer or Red Apple grocery stores in the City. I was itching to get out and get to the beach house.
Today, we are still getting settled. My partner needs a day before she lets go and goes with the flow. But we are in that day before she goes with the flow. What a difference a day makes.
We try to find a bay beach where we went last year. The driving directions were less than lovingly given, let’s leave it at that. We arrive and settle on to the beach. We swim in the water and stand on the slippery rocks on the jetty waiting for the big waves to throw us off and into the water. If you believe that last sentence, you are a lunatic. Actually, my son and I go into the water up to our knees. It is easy because the waves come to us. Two life guards on duty but no one can help someone caught in a rip tide. There are lunatic people (including parents and children) surfing the waves. Darwin’s theory in play.
We decide to look at the water and the boats from the safety of a restaurant. I am amazed that my son knows that he can order off-menu. But he is a New Yorker. He eats his chicken finger and french fries in an obviously casually self-proclaimed seafood shack.
We need some produce and I resolve that I cannot go to the UGH, my nickname of the Montauk IGA. We stop at the Farmer’s Market in Amagansett, now owned by Eli Zabar (from New York City). The staff is painfully slow and inexperienced but we manage to get some lovely looking produce. We need hamburger buns, but there are, of course, only BRIOCHE hamburger buns. For Goodness’ sake, brioche for a regular grilled hamburger? Over the top. The non-produce items do not catch our eyes. I am resigned to go to the UGH again. But first I have to pay $70 for produce and some ground beef. I have warmer feelings for the UGH because in the totality of options, UGH loses its nickname, because not so triste by comparison. Plus the IGA has discernible ice cream brands. One does not mess with new-fangled ice cream on vacations unless it is on a cone. If one has to commit fully to a tub of ice cream at least a 30 minute drive from the house, it better have a known pedigree.
My partner decides that the thing to do on the first full vacation day is to make gazpacho. I decide to nap. The rhythmic chopping soothes me to sleep. The chopping also spurs dreams involving the wife of Chucky with knives and rats. But I may just be scarred from Friday night in our home that has been reclaimed by the jungle.
I wake up refreshed. My partner is not. Every piece of produce is chopped. Vegetables into a gazpacho and fruit in a salad. Everything in bite sizes. Clearly all is not Eden. Apparently, the outdoor grill is gross and we cannot eat here; we must eat out. Her father, sister and nephew are coming and nothing is falling into place. I clean the grill to my partner’s satisfaction and fire it up to kill any microbes I leave behind.
They are late. We are staying in a house off a dirt road so you need to know where you are going. My sister-in-law and nephew live in the Hamptons all year-round and my father-in-law comes up on the weekends. My partner spent her childhood summers here. Still, although they are coming at 5pm, it will get dark and they will get lost. Realizing that my partner is not ready to let go and be on vacation, I offer to go out to the main road and guide them in. She is grateful. I am schlepping a mile down a sandy, pebbly, dusty road to help direct people who know their way around. Calm is more important than sanity.
I am standing along the side of a highway looking for a large yellow car. In NYC, we hail yellow cars. Here, I stand like an idiot on the highway inhaling noxious fumes. And some kid shouts something nasty at me from a passing car. Neanderthal and rich — a reason to mourn the direction of our society.
Is this vacation or what?
Health care
We are getting lesser care and paying more and the health care giants are getting richer and doing less.
Is everyone so afraid of changing the status quo?
Yet, everyone is dissatisfied with the status quo.
Am I scared that the public option will be a lumbering giant and people will get lost in the system? Hell, yeah. But people are already lost in the current system and something has to change. Health insurance companies are too entrenched in government and in our lives.
We have to do something big and bold.
I am not telling my son that I was too scared to support change to the intolerable status quo.
I stand with President Obama. Do it for your children. Make them proud.
My very own urban jungle and I don’t mean the Bronx Zoo
Last night, my partner and I were exhausted. We had just put our son to bed after dinner out to celebrate the end of camp and the start of our one-week family vacation at the beach. We had gone back and forth about whether a staycation was more wise financially and, as you will read, I am grateful for the splurge.
As background, a few weeks ago, there was a mouse in our bedroom. It is an old, pre-war building and there has been much renovation in the various apartments around ours. Also, until the mouse sighting, we had kept gobs and gobs of health food in my bedside table drawer.
Instead of moving out and selling the apartment (a non-starter, according to my partner) or setting traps (barbaric), we immediately discontinue our health regimen (what other people might call chocolate bars of a wide variety and satisfaction level) and I get those sound wave machines that emit a piercing sound intolerable to mice, gerbils and dare-I-utter-the-word-in-the-urban-jungle-rat. Oh, and we will be getting a terrier dog next year when our son is 8. A mere coincidence.
So, back to last night, we are now comfy-cozy, reading in our bed. Ok, I exaggerate, the air was hot and still and my partner, ever-loving, knows I hate the sound of the air conditioner. She falls asleep. I do not. Being a restless sleeper in all cases, and not being able to put work out of my head in this particular case, I go to the living room and lie on the couch trying to clear my head. THUUUUDDD. I look over on the window sill of the dining room and I see a mouse. (G-d, I hope it was a mouse.) It must have been living in the crevice between our bookshelves and the ceiling (note to self: write a comment about that carpenter on Angie’s List).
I run screaming into the bedroom, waking up our son in the process, who didn’t really care about the commotion because the tooth fairy had left him $5 for a lower front tooth. Thank G-d for the priorities of children. (Two top front teeth cost $10 a piece; and on the Upper EAST Side, that same front tooth can run a parent $20.)
My partner comforts me and is supportive as I resolve to get me a rifle like Jed Clampett and shoot me something to put into Granny’s soup. I had tried to be nice, but I will not be toyed with by . . . varmints. And this mouse wasn’t scared or, if it was, it was too well-fed to move very fast. I cannot tell you how fastidious we are about taking out garbage and cleaning the kitchen every night, so we are VERY freaked out.
We lie down again in bed and my partner puts her hand gently on mine to comfort me. Then, she grips my hand and shrieks. There is a bird or a bat in our bedroom!! Our housekeeper sometimes opens the windows without putting in screens and some aerial varmint must have gotten caught in our apartment.
It is swooping all around — high and low — and we are both screaming. Our son yells, “what is going on?” and I want to yell, “the tooth fairy is shaking us down for all the cash your teeth cost!!” but even in these trying times, I am a good mother. So, I yell, “nothing sweetie, go to sleep now” as if on any given day at midnight my partner and I are shrieking in utter terror.
I am living in the movie that is the fusion of two classic horror flicks and it is called “Willard and The Birds“. I also star as the Wife of Chucky ready with knives to throw at mice and avian intruders.
The flying varmint hides in the crevice between the top of one of our bedroom bookcases and the ceiling. A pattern emerges. Jimmy Hoffa may be buried up there. Even the word crevice is starting to freak me out.
We leave the windows wide open, hoping that, at day break, the Thing in Our Crevice will fly out. But there are fierce lighting and thunder showers through the night, so we were all staying as roomies. Finally, exhaustion causes us to fall asleep, although I did think about wearing my sunglasses in case the bird was really from a Hitchcock movie.
Morning comes. I call my sister, who is doing spectacular acts of kindness (see other blogs) as soon as I think she is home from taking a sick former colleague to the airport. My sister is groggy and emotionally spent and I tell her I need her husband the bird nerd to rescue us from The Thing in the Crevice. eeeeewww. eeeeeeeeww.
She says that she’ll come over and help and then adds, helpfully, we’ll be like Ethel and Lucy. Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok, ok, my sister is thinking comedy and I am living a horror movie. I call my brother-in-law on his cell and ask him to come by after his errands even though we will be long gone, seeking refuge in a beach house. He is such a great guy. He is so willing to help and he will bring my sister along and I think, oh, good, now it will be Ricky and Lucy looking for The Thing in the Crevice. One person’s comedy is another’s tragedy.
They call my partner’s cell while we are on the road (I am the designated driver) to give us updates. My sister really wants if I will blog about this. Does she know me?